THE CARRIAGE PULLED TO A JERKY STOP and Lillian awoke with a start. Brent’s arm was wrapped about her, holding her close to his side and his warmth and presence reassured her that she was safe. She turned to see him watching her through hooded lids, looking sleepy and ruffled and…delicious.
She pushed herself upright and looked out. ‘Oh, Brent.’ She smiled. Oh how she loved this man, and now she’d have to chance to show him how good it could be between them. His servants had left a light burning in his house, ready for his return. She reached up and kissed him. ‘Thank you for not taking me to my father’s house. Thank you for bringing me to you house instead. Thank you for being my best friend.’
He bent his head and took control, kissing her with a hunger that matched hers. Kissing her as if his life depended on having his lips pressed to hers and their breaths mingling. “Let’s go inside. My staff will be asleep and I’ll take you home before anyone stirs abroad. No one but the two of us will know that I’ve had you in my arms all night. Had you all to myself, as I’ve longed to do for what seems like forever.’
Brent used his key to let them inside and ushered her quickly up the staircase. Though she’d been in his house several times, she’d never before been alone with him and a tremor of anticipation rippled through her body. An entire night to explore his long and lean form, so different to her own, thrilled her and she silently thanked Maggie for pushing her into attending the courtesan’s ball. Otherwise, her relationship with Brent might never have had the jolt it needed to push them out of their comfortable friendship and into something a lot more exotic.
Her fingers tingled where his bare hand gripped hers, another first as normally they both wore either thick riding gloves or thin leather ones suitable for visiting. And the image of Brent’s deliciously male chest and her first glimpse when he’d removed his shirt would stay in her mind forever. Impatient for another moment pressed against him, she slowed, waited until he’d turned and questioned her with his eyes, she drew his head down for another kiss. That he came willingly and met her lips with his as eagerly as she felt, relieved a nagging thought that she might have trapped him into this assignation. While she wanted this intimacy, wanted him desperately, she wouldn’t be able to face him year after year if her doubts and fears lingered.
‘Tell me honestly,’ she whispered, ‘that this is what you truly want. There is still time to change your mind and take me home, before we enter your bedchamber and commit to each other. I couldn’t live with the guilt if we were somehow discovered and our affair revealed. If you were you trapped into…into…’
‘Marriage?’
‘Yes.’
He gently wrapped his long fingers around her face and she felt the callouses that proved him the opposite of an idle peer. His hands displayed his love of the outdoors and his willingness to dive into hard work with his estate laborers as if he’d been born to dig soil and mend walls, rather than ride the estate and survey the work from a distance. Those calloused hands told her that he tended to the things, and people, he loved. She yearned to be one of those he loved because Brent’s style of loving was an encompassing, dedicated, and for life.
No half measures, and though her parents loved her, she’d never been the absolute focus of anyone’s attention. Perhaps she was gluttonous in her need for him, but she’d never be as self centered in her demands as his first wife had been and she’d never drain him, as Marion had, of the innate liveliness that made Brent special. Yes, she’d wallow in joy of having his single-minded attention on her, but she also adored and treasured Brent and longed to shower him with the marital love he’d been denied.
The sweetness of his kiss weakened her knees and she leaned on him as he murmured in her ear, ‘Being married to you, my love, would be a joy, not a burden. And as I intend speaking to the duke tomorrow, or rather today, and asking for your hand in marriage, I wouldn’t care if every newspaper in England featured slashed our story across their front pages.’ His lips touched hers again, sliding back and forth until her legs trembled and only clutching his sleeves stopped her from collapsing in an emotional mess at his feet. Tears ran down her face and she swiped at them.
“You know my father is likely to kick you to the street, no matter your land and titles, if you tell him the entire story.’
‘As any good father should do in protection of his daughter.’ He waggled his brows and the wall lights showed his white-toothed grin. ‘My shotgun is already loaded and ready for any man who keeps my daughter out all night.’