Saying those words—the words he’d been denied so long, until he denied that they meant anything—damn, it felt good. And saying the words while sliding deep inside her? It felt amazing.
“I love you, Izzy.” He thrust deep and true, sliding further home with every dig of his hips. “I love you. You. Beautiful . . . tempting . . . clever . . . lovely . . . you.”
He paused inside her, sheathed to the hilt. Holding her pinned to the wall, the both of them fighting for breath. Her thighs quivered against his. There wasn’t any way to get closer. He’d pushed into her just as far as he possibly could, thrust as deeply as he could ever reach.
But was it enough? Could he manage to touch her heart?
He had to know.
He closed his eyes and pressed his brow to her sweet, powdered skin. That old, insidious voice thundered in his blood. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve her.
But he had to ask anyway.
He spoke the words that were most difficult of all.
“Love me.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Love me.”
The words were a hoarse, faint whisper. But Izzy knew how much they’d cost him.
“I do.” She hugged his neck tight, lest she be swept away by this flood of tender emotion. She kissed his brow, his cheek. “Oh, Ransom. I love you. I do.”
On a shaky gasp, he pulled almost all the way out, then thrust home once more. “Again.”
“I love you. I love you.”
She could have said it a hundred times. She could have held him deep inside her for just as long as he could wish. But they didn’t have that kind of time. He worked hard and fast, bringing them both to a stunning, silent crisis. She sank her teeth into her wrist to keep from crying out.
Then he withdrew from her body, setting her feet back down on the floor. He held her for a few moments longer. Just breathing.
“I needed that,” he said. “You don’t know how much.”
She smiled. “I think we both did.”
She lowered her skirts and smoothed out the worst of the wrinkles while he refastened the buttons of his breeches.
“Izzy, here is what I can say with confidence, as a man who would know.” He straightened his waistcoat with a tug, then each sleeve in turn. “You’re a wildly attractive, palpably sensual woman. Perhaps suitors kept their distance because of the Tales. Perhaps your father held them at bay because he feared losing you. I don’t know why men never pursued you in the past. I can only tell you why they won’t pursue you in the future.”
“Why’s that?”
He gave her an isn’t-it-obvious shrug. “Because I won’t let them.”
“Oh.” Izzy melted against the wall.
He spread his arms for her appraisal. “Am I put back together? Will I do?”
“You’re devastating.” Still reeling, she touched a hand to her coiffure. Or what remained of it. “My hair. You go ahead. I’ll just run upstairs and—”
“Leave it.” He took her arm and pulled it through his. “And don’t be worried about appearances. Stay close to me, every moment. There won’t be any doubt in those solicitors’ minds about what I’m doing with you.” He paused. “Unless you’re worried what your friends will think, in which case—”
“I’m not,” she told him, hugging his arm tight. “I’m not worried about that at all.”
And with that, Ransom went to face the Inquisitioners.
When he entered the great hall, everyone stood. He saw a group of four gray figures, adrift in a sea of gray mist. Brilliant. He couldn’t tell them one from the other. Had no idea who the others might be, once Blaylock and Riggett were accounted for.
These four ominous shadows had come to pass judgment on his life.
But he had Izzy on his arm. The subtle creaking of the knights around him was an unexpected source of reassurance.
And he had a new lawyer. A good one. One he could trust.
He was among friends.
One of the visitors approached him. Ransom could feel the man taking in his appearance, scrutinizing his scars. “Your Grace, it’s a relief to see you in such good health.”