And then he shifted her so she faced him, and he took her face between his hands, taking her mouth with his and exploring her body with his hands. Her robe fell away and then her nightrail. Somehow his robe was gone as well, and her hands were on his bare shoulders, his chest, sliding down to the waistband of his trousers. He let her free him, but he didn’t lift her hips. Instead, he broke the kiss and took his time tasting her neck, her breasts, touching her everywhere and making her begin to wriggle with impatience. And then his hands slid between them, stroking her in that most sensitive place until she was bucking her hips and crying out.
Only then did he lift her hips and plunge inside her. The pleasure was exquisite, and by now they moved together as one. He knew the rhythm she liked, and she knew just how to slow down to tantalize him into growling her name.
She finally couldn’t restrain herself and fell over the edge of the climax. He followed, and they lay for a while, panting in each other’s arms. Amelia would have stayed like that for longer, but her leg began to cramp, and she was even more sleepy than before. She pulled back, but before she could rise, he took her face in his hands again and kissed her gently. “Good night,” he whispered.
“Good night.” She gathered her things and returned to her chamber, trying not to dwell on the fact that they still slept separately. He needed his space and privacy. That was understandable. She’d always been a restless sleeper and would probably keep him awake if they lay together. On the other hand, she wanted more.
Her mother had told her to be patient, she reminded herself as she washed and pulled on her night clothes then climbed into bed. She’d taken the risk and told him she loved him, and now she just had to give him time to realize he loved her too. Surely, he did. The way he kissed her and made love to her. He must love her. She could feel that he loved her.
But as she lay in bed, alone, it didn’t escape her notice that he hadn’t said it.
COLONEL DRAVEN WAS the first to arrive, of course. He was always punctual. Nicholas and Rafe met him on the drive. They’d decided it would be better for the other Survivors to catch their first glimpse of Rafe and be informed of his false identity away from the servants and all the ears about the house. This meant Nicholas himself opened the door to Draven’s conveyance and was met with the smiling face of a lovely dark-haired woman. “Mrs. Draven?” he asked.
Draven came into view, his red hair sticking up, and pushed out of the coach. “Playing footman now, my lord? I—” His gaze landed on Rafe, who was still dressed as a vicar. But anyone who knew Rafe wouldn’t be fooled by that disguise for long. Draven paused for a moment, staring hard enough that his wife peered out after him, but he recovered quickly. He turned, held out his hand to his wife, and helped her out of the coach. “Lord Nicholas, might I introduce my wife, Mrs. Catarina Draven.” She gave a pretty curtsy.
Nicholas kissed her hand and clapped Draven on the shoulder then gestured to Rafe. “You remember my good friend Mr. Osgood?”
The colonel raised his brows. “Of course. Osgood. A pleasure to see you again. Catarina, might I introduce you to Mr. Osgood.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Rafe said with a flourish of a bow. He glanced at the colonel. “I’m a vicar now. Had you heard?”
The colonel gave him a dark look. “I hadn’t, no, but we should discuss why you are here and not where I put you when we have a moment alone.” He glanced pointedly at the servants standing off to the side.
“The vicar will see you inside,” Nicholas said. “My wife has refreshments ready.”
It was easier for Rafe to bring the guests in and out of the house so that Nicholas had to walk less, but he wished he could have done it himself. He would have liked to see the colonel’s reaction to Amelia. She’d looked so incredibly lovely this morning. She wore a blue-green morning dress he had not seen before, and her hair was piled on her head in a sophisticated style that left a long curl over one shoulder. Every time he caught a glimpse of her, he wanted to wrap that curl around his fingers and pull her close for a kiss.
Of course, then he remembered what she’d said the night before.
I love you.
She’d hinted that she was falling in love with him, and she hadn’t made a secret of her growing feelings for him. He liked that about her. That she was open and honest and didn’t play games like many of the ladies he’d known in London.
Still, when she’d said she loved him, his reaction had been pure terror. No woman had ever said that to him before. He supposed his mother or sisters had said it, but none of the women he’d ever been involved with romantically had professed their love. He hadn’t loved them either. He hadn’t thought something like love mattered to him. Yes, he wanted to be desired and respected and cared for, but he hadn’t known he wanted to be loved.
He hadn’t known he needed to be loved. And that was what was truly terrifying about her declaration. He’d needed to hear those words, and now that he had he feared they’d be taken away. What if she fell out of love with him? What if she saw his legs and realized she could never love a man who had such an injury?
The worst realization was that he was beginning to care for her. Once he cared for her, if she stopped loving him, he didn’t know how he’d recover from the blow. And yet, if he didn’t risk his heart, if he didn’t reciprocate her feelings, would he be hurting her?
As another carriage approached, this one large and so grand he knew it must be either Aidan Sterling or the Duke of Mayne, Nicholas reflected that life had been much simpler when he’d been a bachelor.
He caught sight of the ducal crest and craned his head for a glimpse of Phineas, Duke of Mayne. Phin was known as The Negotiator, and it meant he was easy to talk to and almost as charming as Rafe. Nicholas stepped forward when the coach stopped and opened the door to greet his friend. He looked as he ever had with his straight blondish hair and his light-colored eyes. His wife, who Nicholas had once heard called the Wanton Widow—before her marriage to Phin—was a beautiful, tall redhead. “Your Graces,” Nicholas said as they exited the coach. But Phin didn’t bow back, he pulled Nicholas into an embrace then stepped back and looked him in the eye. “It’s good to see you again, Nickers,” he said. “Annabel, might I introduce Lord Nicholas St. Clare. Lord Nicholas, my wife, the Duchess of Mayne.”
Nicholas didn’t have the chance to say more than a brief greeting before Rafe returned. “And I am Mr. Osgood, the vicar.”
Phineas gave Rafe a long look. “You’re an idiot is what you are,” he said with a shake of his head. His wife gasped and then looked bewildered as the duke embraced the so-called vicar. “I’ll explain later,” the duke told his wife as Rafe escorted them inside.
Very little time passed before Nicholas spotted a third conveyance, this one with a man riding beside it. He knew the rider’s stance immediately, and recognized the man as Neil Wraxall, their commander. He still had an air of command about him as he raised his hand to greet Nicholas before spurring his horse to gallop ahead. He was off his mount and clasping Nicholas in mere moments. Nicholas hadn’t expected so much warmth from his former brothers-in-arms, and now he wondered why he hadn’t made more effort to see them sooner. He’d thought they would pity him for his injury, but they seemed only happy to see him.