“My sweet, sweet girl.” There were no other words. “This is only the beginning.” He would come home to her. He knew he couldn’t promise that. It would be tempting fate. “You’re mine now, Naomi Augustine.”
Luke grasped behind her calves and drew her to the edge of the bed just before he buried his face to claim the most intimate of kisses.
“Forever,” Naomi gasped, clutching the sides of his head. “You’re coming back to me damn you.”
He could only grin at this, thinking her demand was better than a promise. He’d not allow her to be disappointed again.
“Yes, Ma’am.” He rolled his tongue over delicate flesh, her excitement fueling his own.
“I’ll come back here.” He licked. “And here.” He meant every word. When he slid his fingers inside, she groaned.
“And here.” He focused all his efforts on what she liked, on what she needed, on what she wanted, and when he rubbed his thumb just above her opening, there was no mistaking her completion. She arched her back and nearly strangled him with her knees. He loved it. He loved everything about her.
When the pulsing around his hand and face subsided, he eagerly climbed onto the bed. Now. Now he needed to be inside of her. He needed to touch as much of her as was humanly possible.
He’d been careful each night when joined with her. If she hadn’t been straddling him, he’d take her while they’d faced one another, laying side by side.
He’d rocked into her carefully.
He couldn’t cover her with his weight and the last thing he would ever do was cause her discomfort or pain, but he wanted to feel all of her against him.
This time, when she rolled onto her side, Luke drew her chemise up and over her head and then stretched out behind her. Ah, yes, this had been where he’d been interrupted upon his brother’s untimely appearance. Their time was growing short.
The scent of her filling his senses, he lifted her knee with one arm and guided himself into warm, wet heat from behind.
“Deeper.” Her voice came out both a plea and a command. Luke latched onto her shoulder with his mouth and thrust his hips forward, impaling her to the hilt.
Moving together, their lovemaking was the perfect symphony. He was the harmony to her melody, reaching a crescendo of hope but also fear. And magic. Together, they were magic. Luke held on to her for dear life as he released inside of her. Passion replaced thought. He only knew taste, touch, smell, and the sounds of her crying out his name.
Chapter Sixteen
March 1829, Arthur Gilcrest’s family home, Galewick Manor, Sussex England
“There you go, sweet girl.” Naomi adjusted the tip of her breast for her daughter to latch onto more affectively. Baby Amelia Augustine Gilcrest was the spitting image of her father. Her dark brown eyes matched Arthur’s perfectly, from the coffee-colored shade to the golden flecks that danced around her pupils. Her hair remained blond, but Naomi thought it might eventually turn darker to match her father’s as well.
Initially, Arthur’s mother had been disappointed that Amelia wasn’t a boy, but when her granddaughter had opened her eyes and gazed up at her, the starchy countess had declared herself quite smitten. As had her uncle.
Lord Tempest was nothing at all like Arthur had been. Where Arthur’s hair had been a soft brown color, Tempest’s was black. And whereas her husband had been quick to laugh, his older brother’s mouth twisted into a permanent scowl.
But after insisting she belonged with them, they had welcomed her into their home.
They had been kind to her. More so now that she was the mother of their only grandchild. And they loved little Amelia—even if she wasn’t a boy.
“One hundred percent the little lady, aren’t you? Luke was right all along.”
Not a day went by without Luke coming to mind. Not an hour, and sometimes, hardly a minute.
Lady Tempest had been cool and distant at first, and although she was considerably reserved, she had warmed to her over time.
“Ladies Lucinda and Lydia are downstairs in the west parlor, Madam.” Gabby, one of the more enthusiastic housemaids, hovered just outside the nursery. Amelia’s nurse rose as though to take Amelia, but Naomi held out a hand to halt her.
“Send them up, Gabby. I’m sure they’re here to see the baby as much as to see me.” She laughed. “Perhaps even more so.”
With Crescent Park neighboring Galewick Manor, Lydia and Lucinda had fast become good friends to her. They reminded Naomi of her own sister, Theodosia and their visits eased some of the loneliness she felt from her own family’s refusal to acknowledge her.
Even Blackheart had visited her on one occasion. He was an enigmatic gentleman. Although his demeanor implied indifference, his actions contradicted such. Had Luke asked him to do that?
Of course, he must have.
Luke’s last afternoon at Milton cottage had been achingly bittersweet. They’d held one another until the last possible moment, only climbing out of her bed when the coach bringing Mrs. Cromwell was nearly upon the house.
Once Mrs. Cromwell had settled in, the three of them had traveled into the village again and visited the mercantile, the small church, and then suffered through a polite but poignant dinner with his family. Luke had escorted both Naomi and Mrs. Cromwell back home. And after her companion disappeared into the house, the two of them had bid farewell to one another in the darkness, neither willing to relinquish the other. She’d not cried though. She hadn’t wanted him to worry about her while he was gone. It was more important that he worry for himself.
She’d kept her tears in check until she was alone and could bury her face in the pillow he’d shared with her, inhaling the remnants of his scent.
He’d slept at the inn that night and departed for Portsmouth at sunup. He’d promised her he would speak with Blackheart about his intentions to sell out. And that he would write to her.
The very afternoon following his departure, the orderly quiet of her life had been upended again when Arthur’s brother and mother as well as a handful of servants arrived and insisted she take up residence in their home as Arthur’s widow.
Perhaps if she’d been stronger, she would have resisted them. She might have asserted her independence and insisted on remaining at Milton Cottage with Ester.
But she’d just bid the man she loved goodbye and she’d promised Luke she wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks with the baby or herself. He’d ordered her not to climb any ladders, not to allow herself to become chilled. He’d told her to be sure to eat well and then begged that she not go into the village alone. Any other time and she wouldn’t have allowed him to be so bossy but he’d needed her reassurance.
Neither had addressed the fact that he would be in almost constant danger. If he could trust that she was safe, they both seemed to understand, he could apply his efforts toward keeping himself from harm.
“Is she sleeping?” Lucinda entered first and tiptoed across the brightly lit room decorated with pink ribbons and silk flowers. Naomi had come to recognize the differences between Luke’s twin sisters most of the time. Lucinda was the bolder of the two and tended to draw reprimands from Mrs. Cromwell more often than Lydia did.