Imagination no longer needed.
He thrust one more time and moaned her name before collapsing on top of her.
Silence for a world of moments, languid, heavy limbs, tangled and incapable of movement. Chests heaving and hearts pounding and his lips whispering kisses along her neck where his face nestled.
She wriggled her toes first, found them mobile. Then she found the strength to trace the length of his spine with her fingers, then to feel the bulk of his muscle with her palm.
With a groan, he rolled to the side and gathered her into his arms. “Diarmuid and Grainne loved each other so much they lived their lives in constant movement.”
“Hm? Who are Dar… Diar… Who are they?” Impossible to talk when her tongue was so tired.
“It’s an old Irish story my mother used to tell me. Grainne was betrothed to marry a chieftain of some sort. A powerful man. But Diarmuid loved her and stole her away.”
“Did she love him back?”
He nodded, his chin rubbing against the back of her head. “She should not have, I suppose. Made for uncomfortable sleeping. Thechieftain gave chase, and they never stayed in the same place more than one night, slept anywhere they could—field or cave or tree.”
“She didn’t mind. I’m sure of it.” Isabella rolled over and secured her arm around his waist, snuggled deep into Rowan’s embrace.
“They were caught eventually.”
“Oh. And the story does not end well, does it?”
His arms tightened. “Not at all. But I didn’t know that until I followed my father onto the admiral’s ship. He wasn’t the admiral then. Just a captain. One of his crew, an Irishman, told the real tale, the tragic one. I yelled at him first because it wasn’t what I knew. My mother told it differently.”
“How so?”
“In her version theSidhe, the fairy people, took pity on the lovers and let them into the Otherworld where they still roam, hand in hand.”
“A far superior version of the tale. I hope you told that sailor so.” She poked his chest.
“His was the right version. But… I agreed with you, then. I agree with you now, too. Sleep,a chuisle. I’ll watch over you.”
“Sleep? How can I? We’ve much to plan.” She slung her legs over the side of the bed.
He kissed the back of her neck, her shoulder, his hand smoothing its way around her waist to dip between her legs. “No planning. I’ve just stolen you from a king. Let me enjoy my victory awhile longer.”
She wanted to, oh yes. She would let him, but he must realize one thing first.
She jumped from the bed and tossed his shirt over her head. “I belong to no man to be stolen from. If you will have me, you must only defy your own doubts.” She backed toward the door and slipped into the sitting room in seconds, and just as quickly heard the thud of his feet on the floor. She darted toward the study, but before she could reach it, his strong arm banded around her waist, and he tugged her against his hard and ready body. And he kissed her, laughing, in the sunlight.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When they stepped out of the hotel arm in arm, the sun hit him like a runaway coach. He sneezed. He didn’t care. She may be a lady, but she was still Isabella. In her straw bonnet and her blue gown with her little brown walking boots flashing out from under her skirts with each step. She was still practical and brave and efficient, his Isabella, Mrs. Trent soon. No matter the title standing like an iron gate before her name.Lady.
He pulled her more closely to his side as they crossed the street and headed toward Mayfair.Mayfair. And each step that brought them closer to their destination echoed an almost desperate reminder in his mind—lady or no, she fit quite well into his life; lady or no, he was quite well-off and could afford a nice townhouse and good clothes; lady or no, she made him smile, and he wanted to be the home she came to when weary.
She chatted as they walked beneath the trees, weaving between other couples hurrying about their way, happiness radiating from her like heat from a winter fire.
He could make her happy. He would die trying, at least.
“My brother will like you, I think,” she said. “He likes my otherbrothers-in-law, but they were fast friends before they married into the family.”
“And who are they?”
“Viscount Noble, Mr. Benjamin Bailey, and Mr. Tristan Kingston.”
“Kingston. Did you know he used to own Hestia? I managed it under his admittedly uninterested direction. I think he was glad to be rid of it when I offered to buy it from him.”
