“I’m not leaving this place without you, Samuel. You didn’t leave the Hothouse without me.”
“That was decades ago. We were children. There’s nothing you owe me now.”
She laughed wryly. “Only my life, health, happiness, and all the love in my heart.” She slid her arms around his waist and looked up at him. “This isn’t about the past, Samuel. It’s about our future. I can’t imagine being happy without you.”
“Katie, you must know . . . it’s only because of you that I can imagine being happy at all.”
She swallowed back a lump of emotion. “Then why are you resisting me now, after everything? Is it solely a matter of your bull-headed pride?”
A half smile tugged at his lips. “If my ‘bull-headed pride’ is inconvenient, you should know that any pride I have is entirely your fault.”
He closed his eyes and pressed his brow to hers.
“It’s all your fault.” His voice was rough with emotion. “You listened when I needed it. Laughed when I needed that. You wouldn’t go away, no matter how I scowled or raged. You loved me despite everything, and you made me look deep inside myself to find the strength to love you in return. I’m a different man because of you.”
Her heart swelled with joy.
“But that’s not enough. I’m not enough. What if I’d hurt you last night? What if it happens again?”
“You didn’t hurt me,” she insisted. “You’ve never hurt me. Even when you’ve . . . slipped away in the heat of the moment, you’ve always come back. You’ve always kept me safe.”
“What if . . .” His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat and continued. “There’d be children. I worry about children.”
She hugged him tight. “We needn’t be in any rush to start a family. You’ve been one year back in England, after spending a decade on campaign. Give yourself some time to heal. You don’t have to quarantine yourself to some uninhabited wilderness. The darkness will ebb eventually. When it does, I’ll still be here.”
“You shouldn’t have to wait. You deserve someone who’s not broken and brutish and . . .” He exhaled roughly and gripped her tight. “There are better men, Katie.”
“Really? I’ve yet to meet one.”
As she pressed her lips to his in a sweet, tender kiss, Kate could taste victory. The battle was nearly won.
She kissed the stubble-roughened edge of his jaw and made her voice a sultry whisper. “You know, we could be starting our honeymoon in less than an hour.”
She twisted in his embrace just a little, letting her br**sts rub against his chest. Teasing them both with the exquisite sensation. He moaned deep in his chest.
“Do you know what Aunt Marmoset told me once? She compared you to a spice drop. Overpowering and hard at first, but all sweetness at the center. I’ll admit, I’ve been desperate to try an experiment.” She gave him a teasing look. “How many times do you suppose I could lick you before you crack?”
His every muscle tightened.
Smiling, she tucked her face into the curve of his neck and ran her tongue seductively over his skin. “There’s one.”
“Katie.” The word was a low, throaty warning. It made her toes curl.
She nuzzled at the notch of his open shirt, pushing the fabric aside. The familiar musk of his skin stirred her in deep places.
With a teasing swirl of her tongue, she tasted the notch at the base of his throat. “Two . . .”
“Finn,” he called in a booming voice, lifting his head. “Send for the vicar.”
She pulled back, shocked. “Two? That’s all, truly? Two? I’m not sure whether to feel proud or disappointed.”
Finn’s face appeared in the grate. “If it’s all the same to you, Corporal, do you mind holding off another half hour? I’ve got midnight in the betting pool.”
“Yes, I do mind. Fetch the vicar. Now.”
Kate smiled. That was her future husband. When he finally made up his mind to do a thing, no one had better stand in his way. Thank God.
She smiled at Samuel in the dark. “I hope the blossoms in my hair aren’t too wilted.”
“They’re perfect.” His blue eyes roamed her face. “You’re so beautiful, Katie. I haven’t words.”
She didn’t need words. What woman could want flattery, when she could have such pure, raw adoration? The pride and love in his gaze were palpable.
She stroked his unshaven jaw. “You are unbearably handsome, as always. I couldn’t have dreamed a more perfect wedding. All our family and friends are already gathered outside. With a few candles, this funny little building will make a romantic chapel. But do you think Lord Rycliff would remove the irons before we say our vows? I’ve heard men call matrimony ‘getting shackled,’ but this is a bit extreme.”
“Extreme? This from the woman who tied me to a bed.”