“Claiming my prize.” Another kiss. This one deeper.
“Another round,” she said, pulling away breathless.
“As my lady wishes.” But she wasn’t his yet. Not really. Never would be.Be happy to get what’s given you. Don’t make the mistake of hoping for more.His constant self-advice. Necessary for survival but often difficult to swallow.
She won the next round, even though he didn’t hold back this time, and she took for her prize another kiss. Christ, they were sweeter when she gave them with no prompting. His heart expanded when her lips touched his. He wanted to lead her back upstairs, but Daniel would hear them and start yelling. What use an empty house when it wasn’t empty? Soon it would be.
Instead of lining up another round, Richard led Beatrice into the woods, to a swing he’d hung from a stout branch for Lucy and the boys.
She settled into it and clutched the ropes, and he sent her skyward. Her laugh was sunlight. Her skirts whooshed through the air like ribbons, green and lace and springtime embodied in the bright body of the perfect woman.
After a while, he set her on a slower, lower, steadier rhythm. “You like to swing.”
“I do. You are an excellent uncle.” A pause. “You will be an excellent father.”
He wouldn’t be a father. “Thank you.” Despite the beautiful day, shadows encroached. He searched for something happy to cling to. “Oh, you’ll be interested to hear that my man of business has discovered a few residences to rent in London.”
Her spine stiffened. “For us… to use?”
“Yes.”
No response. Did she not want him anymore? Had a week satisfied her? It would never satisfy him. A house in London would not satisfy him. Not if it was mostly empty, rarely used, a symbol of their furtive pairing when he wanted something lasting, when he wanted every single day with her.
“Having second thoughts?” he asked.
“It’s just… a house in London seems so very… serious. Permanent. But… well…” He stopped swinging her, and she stared at her skirts as the swing rocked slowly into stillness. “I will be in London all the time. And you will be here most of the time. You are bound to forget me. To move on to more… convenient women.”
“I will not.”
She shrugged. “All men think they will not, but men know nothing of loyalty.”
Rage rocked through him, and he choked it down. “You fear permanence. Fear the disappearance of it. I do not. I welcome it. If you would allow it, I’d marry you now.”
Still, she stared at her skirts.
“Right.” He was a bastard. He must never forget. No one else would. “I’m aware that is not a possibility. Your uncle is a good man. He would not welcome me into his family. And you are a good niece. You would not wish to burden him with questionable connections.”
She hopped off the swing, chin swinging high, eyes bright and brutally angry. “You’ve never met my uncle. This has nothing to do with him.”
He stepped closer, saying the only words he could take hold of. Was he tossing a challenge at her feet or pleading?
“Marry me, Beatrice.”
A sound caught in her throat.
He pulled her more tightly against him until their legs and bellies and chests pressed hot against each other, until their hearts raced side by side. “Marry me, and I promise to adore you every day for the rest of our lives. I’ll protect you in boats and on land. I’ll push our children on swings. I’ll build gardens and studies for you. I’ll take you to our bed and worship you. I’ll argue with you and kiss you and?—”
“Richard, stop.”
“I’ll make you the happiest woman in England. It will be my sole delight, my one true purpose.”
She pulled out of his embrace, whispered, “Richard.”
“Please, Beatrice.” He held his palms to the sky, featherlight from how damn empty they were. “Marry me.”
“What we have is good. It is safe. No one gets hurt when… when it ends.”
“I don’t want it to end.”
