“You have been from the moment you fell into my arms, Phoebe Widmore.”
She grinned, her belly tingling and fluttering madly. “I made a proper mess, didn’t I?”
He cupped her cheek. “You stole my heart. Now I expect payment in full.”
Her lips pursed. “Payment?”
“A lifetime should do.”
She stood on her toes to lay a gentle kiss upon his lips. “You’re in luck, Mr. Shaw,” she whispered. “For, a Widmore girl always keeps her promises.”
~~*
Late that night, Adam cracked the door of his room and eyed the inn’s long corridor. If he was not mistaken, Phoebe’s door should be the seventh. It was dark, with only a faint glow coming from a window at the end. He crept forward, counting.
Upon reaching her door, he turned the knob. It twisted easily. Unlocked. He frowned. Was she mad? Anyone could enter her room without invitation. He would speak to her about taking sensible precautions. Good God, he must marry her quickly. The woman needed to be taken in hand. At the thought, his cock hardened to a painful throb. He breathed through it and slipped past the door. To his surprise, she was awake, sitting at the window, a lantern burning on the table beside her.
Her hair was down, a spill of brandy and port. Her eyes were soft as periwinkle flowers, her skin ivory fine. She was … beautiful.
“I wondered when you would come,” she said wryly, giving him a twinkling look from beneath her lashes. “It has been hours.”
He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it across the foot of the bed. The thing was narrow, but it would do. “You should have locked the door. Who knows what sort of brigand might intrude upon you in the dark of night?”
“Oh, I think I know. That is why I left it unlocked.”
A breath shuddered in his chest. His fingers paused over the buttons of his waistcoat. “Be certain,” he said.
“I am.”
“Come here.” He reached for her. She came, her blue gown swaying in the lamp’s glow. “I need to kiss you.”
“Adam—”
He pulled her in tight. Buried his fingers in her silken hair. Stroked her cheek with his thumb. Then, he brought her mouth to his.
Soft. So soft and sweet she was. He started gentle, but as he felt her response, passionate and eager, he deepened the kiss, pulsing his tongue inside her over and over. Her arms wrapped around his neck. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his body.
Then, he felt it. The small mound of her belly, barely discernible. But there.
He pulled back. His eyes dropped to her abdomen, disguised by the folds of her gown.
“Adam?” Her question was querulous. Uncertain.
He withdrew further. Swallowed hard, his head spinning.
“Are—are you … Do you want …?”
He dropped to his knees. Reached for her. Dragged her toward him. Rested his palm flat upon her belly. Where her child lived. His child. He kissed her there, over the folds of her gown. But he needed more. He needed to be closer. And bare. It took but a moment to raise her skirts. He ignored her indignant yelp and slid the fabric higher.
Then, there it was. The babe. Tiny and growing. His lips loved her skin, soft and white. He shaped his palm against her. Felt the tiniest flutter. Imperceptible, really. He wondered if he’d imagined it.
He looked up, wanting to know.
Tears streaked her face and welled in her beautiful eyes. “I love you,” she whispered, stroking his hair.
He grinned helplessly wide. “He is mine, too, Phoebe.”
“Yes.” She gave a watery laugh. “We both are.”
For the third time in his life, he was seized by the strangest sensations. Tingling swirled in his arms and neck and scalp and the place where his hand rested over his child. He’d felt it only twice before—with Reaver and with Phoebe.
Reverently, he kissed his child one last time. Then he rose to his feet and lifted the woman he loved into his arms. He slowly undressed her, stroking every inch of skin he revealed. He laid her upon the narrow bed, loving the way her eyes glowed, the way her breasts swelled and flushed with desire.
He stripped away the remainder of his clothing. Then, he lay down beside his beautiful Phoebe, climbed between her long, beautiful legs, and held her beautiful blue eyes with his while he slid inside.
She rubbed her hard little nipples against his chest and held him tighter. Stroked his cheek and kissed him. She repeated his name to the rhythm of his thrusts, first whispering then panting then groaning. He held her eyes, forcing her to remain tied to him.
“Do not look away, Phoebe,” he said, feeling the warning ripples of her pleasure tightening. Tightening. Tightening. “Do not.”
Her expression was agonized, but he knew it was not pain that caused it. Quite the opposite. He grinned down at her. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “I want you to see.”
She grunted as he thrust harder, her hips writhing desperately. “See what?”
He cupped her cheek. Ran his thumb over her lips. “How much I love you.”
Her body bowed and her eyes slid closed.
“No, no, my darling. Watch.”
Her eyes opened. Drowned him in a field of blue flowers. Her body twisted and seized, clenching him hard in her body’s sweet grip. Her ecstasy was an explosion that detonated his own. It rushed in upon him like a furious wave, tipping his world sideways.
Only later, as they lay together, their limbs a tapestry of light and dark, could he tell her. “I thought I’d seen everything once,” he said, rubbing one of her port-and-brandy curls between his fingers.
“Mmm. Yes, I have heard you say that,” she murmured sleepily.
“I was wrong.”
“Wrong?”
He kissed her forehead and whispered the truth in her ear. “I have never seen anything as wondrous as you.”
~~*
The following morning, they awakened to cerulean skies and crystalline beauty. The gentle, rolling hills of Hertfordshire glittered white, and the sounds of the inn’s courtyard—snorting horses, clinking harnesses, rolling wheels—were muffled by winter’s thick fur.
“Hired drivers,” Reaver muttered, glaring at the post-chaise as it disappeared down the snowy lane. “Highwaymen’s what they are. Hired thieves.”
Augusta chuckled and soothed him with a kiss. “He accepted the payment you offered. Eventually.”
“Aye. Such measures shouldn’t be necessary.”
“You are most intimidating.”
The way she said it made him hurt—low and appreciative. A little breathless.
He sighed. “We’ve a long ride ahead of us. Half-day at least.”
She was eyeing him like Ash eyed a plate of bacon.
He frowned. “No time for that, woman. We’re leavin’ in—”
She dragged him down into her kiss.
By God, how she tormented him. And how he loved her for it.
Behind him, he heard Shaw speaking with their coachman.
Augusta released him and whispered, “Soon enough, eh, Reaver?”
“No, love. Not nearly soon enough.”