She put the book aside, slipped off the bed and tried her door. Should she leave it ajar so he would see it when he came up to bed? Or would that be too brazen a hint? No. She was going to be brazen enough. Besides, it was letting in a draft. She closed the door and sank cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire.
Finally she heard him come up. His door closed. She waited a little while, imagining him preparing for bed. She swallowed, took a deep breath and knocked softly on his door. It swung open instantly. Julian stood there in just his breeches and shirtsleeves.
“Vita?” he said softly. She didn’t say anything—her tongue was thick with nerves—but he held out his hand and she took it. He drew her inside, closed the door behind her and locked it.
“You’re freezing, love. Come over to the fire and warm up.”
But it wasn’t the fire she needed to warm her. She put her hands on his shoulders and gazed earnestly up at him. “Are you sure about marrying me, Julian?”
His arms slid around her waist and he drew her against him. “More than sure. I love you with all my heart and soul and body, and I don’t want to be apart from you ever again.” His eyes blazed blue. “Does this mean you’ve made up your mind?”
She nodded. “There will be difficulties, but I’m sure we can—I can work through them.”
“Wewill work through any problems together.” He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her softly, almostreverently, on the lips. It was a vow. She smiled, and his returning smile lit the room. He picked her up, whirled her around and they fell together, laughing, on the bed.
And then they were kissing, kissing, kissing. His mouth and hands everywhere, tasting her, caressing her, lavishing her with soft, sumptuous, silken kisses that fired her blood and melted her bones. She ran her palm down his jawline, reveling in the faint prickle of bristles under firm, masculine skin, enjoying the soft rasping sound it made.
He drew back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I should have shaved tonight.”
“No, I like it,” she murmured, and stroked her palm over his jaw again. “This is almost how I first met you, only you’re not quite as bristly tonight.”
“And you like it?”
She gave him a slow, sultry smile and brushed against him like a cat, breathing in the faint fragrance of his cologne. He hadn’t worn cologne in France. She tried to decide which she preferred, the fresh, fragrant skin-with-cologne scent of Julian or the bare bold naked unadorned man scent that was Reynard. Both were incredibly appealing to her senses.
And then they were kissing again.
She couldn’t get enough of it, of him. She felt not just desirable, but cherished, as if she were something—nosomeoneprecious.
She pulled off his shirt and ran her hands over his hard masculine chest.
“Hah! Two can play at that game, missy,” he growled. He tugged at her nightgown. “What the devilisthis thing my sister has dressed you in? It’s practically a tent.” He was floundering in its voluminous folds. “We might have first made love in a caravan, but I’m hanged if the second time is going to be in a tent!”
She laughed. “Oh, but it’s lovely and warm,” she purred provocatively, making no attempt to help him.
“You don’t need this to keep you warm. That’s my job.” He finally found the hem. “Lift up,” he said, and an instant later she was bare to the air and the nightgown had been flung away. “Ah, now that’s how I prefer you to be dressed.” And he proceeded to lavish her with…love. It wasn’t just bed sports, it was love. Though as bed sports went, she was learning a lot.
They made love twice, and each time he took her to a peak where she arched and shuddered and then—shockingly—screamed. Just exactly like a wild vixen. And then collapsed, boneless and euphoric.
“I’m glad we’re in the other wing of the house,” she told him after the first time, when she’d been lying in his arms, dreamy and sated. “I wouldn’t want your sister to hear that.”
He laughed and proceeded to show her that she wasn’t nearly as tired as she’d thought.
They made love again in the morning, and when they went down to breakfast, Dot gave them a knowing look and a big smile. Zoë tried not to blush, but she felt it heating her face.
“Let’s get married,” Julian said after breakfast.
Zoë gave him a quizzical look. “I thought we’d already agreed on that.”
“Yes, but I mean now. Today. I have a special license with me.”
“Today? You mean here?”
“Yes, in the village church if you like. It’s quite ancient and rather lovely, as I think I mentioned.” He gave her a hopeful look.
“I am not getting married in the village church, no matter how ancient and lovely it is,” she told him. “My sisters and Lucy would be so disappointed if they missed my wedding. No, I will marry you at St. George’s in Hanover Square with my sisters and their husbands and Lucy and Gerald and Lady Scattergood if we can get her there—andyour grandmother as well as your other wives and their children.”
“Other wives? What’s this about other wives?” Dot had overheard them, and Zoë left it to Julian to explain his three wives. When he’d finished, Dot thumped him on the arm. “You are atrocious!” she told him.
