Chapter 12
Therese woke to the sensation of a large, warm palm gliding over her naked hip.
She blinked her eyes wide and stared across the room to the window, where daylight seeped between the curtains.
Stunned, she twisted her head and looked over her shoulder, confirming that the large male body stretched behind hers was, in fact, her husband’s. She blinked again. “You’re still here.”
He’d been watching his hand lazily caressing her. He raised his gaze, and his hazel eyes met hers. “I thought…” He looked down for a second, then his hand closed over her hip, and he bent his head and brushed a warm kiss to her bare shoulder. His lips quirked upward as he met her eyes again and murmured, “That perhaps you might like to try this.”
Her body leapt to life. “This what?”
She tensed to turn, but he leaned closer and prevented it. “No. Like this. Let me show you…”
He showed her the joys of waking up together, of meeting the morning as one.
He showered her with sensations—sharp, sweet, and laden with pleasure.
His every touch struck her more acutely, her reactions stronger, more powerful, more intense. Her perceptions expanded, and she drank in every tactile joy he lavished upon her.
When he joined with her, spooning her and pressing deep, she lost her breath, smothered by glory. By the golden depths of what surged between them, so much more—so very much more—than before.
They rocked together, not so much driven as devoted. Assured of who and what they were and where they were going.
Committed, hand in hand, they trod the path to ecstasy. He worshipped her with his body; that was the only way she could think to describe the focus he brought to the act.
This was real—their new reality. With every touch, every surging, rolling thrust, he assured her of that.
In wordless reply, she tightened about him, holding him for a heartbeat before easing her muscles and letting him draw back.
They rode on, steadily, unhurriedly, with passion and desire and need and hunger riding beside them, yet for once, not overwhelming them.
When, finally, the compelling force rose to a level impossible to deny, they surrendered and let the wave of their own making sweep them up and away.
They shattered on the rocks of a glorious passion and lay wrecked and open as, bound up with ecstasy, joy, and delight, satiation and completion rolled into and over them.
As she sank beneath the wave, she knew she was smiling. Devotion, commitment, and worship—a practical definition of love made manifest.
Eventually, Devlin stirred. He drew back, then leaned over her to brush his lips to the corner of hers.
“I love you.” The whispered words fell by her ear.
Eyes still closed, her lids too weighted to lift, she smiled and murmured back, “And I love you.”
Even though she couldn’t see him, she sensed his pleasure, there in his touch as he brushed a last caress over her shoulder.
“I have to go. I’ll see you later.”
“Hmm.”
She felt him leave the bed, then move about the room. She stirred, then languidly stretched and looked, and saw him—gloriously naked—bending to pick up his coat and waistcoat. Appreciatively, she watched lean muscles shift beneath his skin as he collected his clothes, then walked to the door to his rooms.
In the doorway, he paused and directed a knowing glance her way.
She smiled delightedly.
Looking smug, he saluted her, and she waved him on his way.
He turned and left and closed the door behind him.
Therese sighed, then raising her arms over her head, stretched again, then relaxed. She stared up at the canopy as his “I love you” replayed in her brain.
She remembered the self-insight that had surfaced in the immediate aftermath of their nighttime engagement. She examined the thought, the conclusion, anew and couldn’t fault it.
In marrying Devlin, she’d resigned herself to never being loved in return, not in the same, all-consuming way that she loved him. She’d consigned her girlish hopes—or so she’d labeled them—to the unrealistic, never-to-be-realized pile of discarded dreams.
Last night, those girlish dreams had been resurrected and given back to her.
And their interaction that morning had confirmed that.
Her deepest, oldest, most personal dream—the one she hadn’t allowed herself to pursue—was no longer merely a possibility.
Devlin had made it a reality.
Somehow, love had worked its magic and handed her all her heart had, for so very long, secretly desired.
The glory of that welled and washed through her, leaving joy more profound than she’d ever felt—ever dreamed could be—in its wake.
Smiling softly, feeling that joy sink to her bones, a tangible and reassuring presence, she pushed back the covers and rose, ready to face the day. Her first day of true married life.
Later that morning, Devlin sat behind the desk in his study and diligently worked through the reports from his estates. The harvests were largely in, and he needed to get a firm idea of the productivity they’d achieved before starting to work with his estate managers on their plans for next year.
Even while he tallied and collated, again and again, he found himself smiling. Besottedly. That really wasn’t his style—or at least, it hadn’t been. Apparently, it now was, even though he hadn’t set eyes on Therese since he’d left her room an hour after daybreak.
The hand holding his pen paused, hovering over his sheet of calculations as the memories rolled through him. Finally—finally—he’d been able to experience the joy of waking his wife in the most pleasurable of ways.
She’d been most appreciative, which had set the seal on his delight. On his happiness.
The word gave him pause. Was he truly happy? Happy in his marriage?
He hadn’t ever imagined applying the word in that way, but he had to admit it fitted. The quiet delight that coursed through his veins and left him feeling as if he was glowing was, indeed, happiness.
The ink had dried on the nib. He laid the pen aside and, accepting that he was thoroughly distracted, sat back and allowed his mind to roam the re-formed landscape of his and Therese’s marriage. What in their day-to-day lives might change?
Of course, from now on, he would sleep the entire night beside her, but other than that, there was a limit to how much time a couple married for five years could spend in each other’s pockets, no matter their inclination. And he definitely didn’t want to shock the staff, especially because, generally speaking, the smooth running of the household was Therese’s responsibility, not his.
Once they removed to the Priory, expectations of behavior would be rather more relaxed. He should plan on making whatever changes were possible there, before they returned to Alverton House in early spring. Until then…
He’d breakfasted as he usually did, earlier than Therese ever appeared downstairs. Ladies always took ages over their morning toilettes, and he liked to commence his day with a ride in the park, preferably before there were too many others about. That morning, he’d spent half an hour galloping along Rotten Row, then had returned to the house and repaired to his study to deal with estate matters.
He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was only just after eleven o’clock. He scanned the letters before him; he should be finished in time to join Therese for luncheon—perhaps even in time to go up to the nursery and indulge himself by watching her with the children while the imps ate. Luckily, he hadn’t arranged to meet James and Cedric or any of his other friends that day, but as the week rolled on, he’d have to show his face at sufficient gentlemen’s functions to avoid setting tongues wagging.