“Come back here,” he protested as she moved lower.
“Patience,” she teased, and he watched as she moved down his chest toward his stiff cock. Her mouth skated over his body with sensual slowness, her tongue darting out here and there to taste his skin. As she neared his cock, he gripped the bedclothes, uncertain if she would dare put her mouth on him. That was something they hadn’t done before, though he’d wanted it. But he’d been too damned afraid she’d catch a glimpse of his legs. Even now he wanted to lower the lamps and hide. But then he wouldn’t see the way her lovely body moved or her hair fell over her shoulders or her mouth inched closer to his throbbing member.
And then moved right past it.
Nicholas blew out a breath and Amelia looked up at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Did I miss something?” she asked, voice low and seductive.
“No,” he said through clenched teeth.
She smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll work my way back up.”
Which meant... “No,” he said as he divined her intentions. She didn’t listen. Of course, she didn’t. She moved lower kissing his left thigh and scooting down the bed so she might better reach his legs. “Amelia.”
“I want to show you how beautiful you are to me,” she said, glancing up at him, her look pleading. “How much I love all of you, Nicholas.”
He pressed his lips together and tightened his grip on the bedclothes until his hands were white with the effort. Finally, he nodded, and she lowered her lips to the first of his scars. She kissed it gently, almost reverently, then moved lower to kiss knotted skin, deformed flesh, and all of the ugliest, weakest parts of him. And then she moved to the other leg and repeated it all, moving back up as she did and ending with her lips inches from his cock.
She met his gaze, and he held his breath as her mouth parted and her tongue emerged to lick from the root to the tip. “Amelia,” he gasped as her tongue teased the head of his member then closed over it briefly with a light suck.
“Don’t you dare tell me you love me right now,” she warned, glancing up at him.
“Is there a word stronger than love?” he asked, and she gave him a warning look then closed her mouth over him again. He was all but delirious when she finally inched her way back up his body and positioned him at the entrance to her sex. He could feel the heat of her, and his hips bucked reflexively, wanting to be inside her.
“You’re beautiful to me, Nicholas,” she whispered as she lowered herself, taking him in inch by inch by inch. He groaned.
“You are the one who’s beautiful.” He met her gaze as she moved, thrusting slightly to nudge the place that would give her pleasure.
“You always make me feel so,” she said, taking him deeper. They moved together in a dance they both knew well. And when she found her pleasure and arched back, he came as well, holding nothing back.
SOMETIME IN THE NIGHT, Amelia woke and turned her head to find Nicholas still in bed beside her. The lamplight was weak, but she could see his gaze was on her, his blue eyes dark. She smiled. “You’re still here.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t sleep with you before,” he said.
“You were an idiot before.” She rubbed her eyes and propped herself on her elbow. “Comfortable?”
He hesitated as though he hated to ask for anything and then he said, “Could you adjust the pillows behind me?”
She rose, did as he asked, and when she climbed back in bed, he pulled her close so that her head was on her chest. Two hours ago, Amelia would not have thought anything he said or did could make her decide to stay or heal the pain that lanced her heart. But he’d found a way to bandage her wound—by showing her the scars from his past. She’d understood the risk he’d taken when he’d done that, though she’d always known it would be no risk at all. She’d asked for more of him, and he’d given it. She’d asked for his trust and vulnerability, and he’d given that as well.
She loved him more than she’d ever believed possible. As though he read her mind, his arm tightened about her. “I love you, Amelia.”
She looked up at him. “It took you long enough to realize it.”
“I can be a bit thick sometimes, but I promise to tell you every hour upon the hour when you return from Catmint Cottage.”
“Now you want to be rid of me?”
“Your mother—”
“I’ll help her settle in, but I’ve spent my last night in bed alone. I shouldn’t have decided to leave. I was running away when I should always stand and fight for what I love.”
“I didn’t exactly make it easy for you. And”—she looked up at his sheepish tone—“your threatening to leave made me realize how much I wanted you to stay and that my fear was pushing you away.”
“I love you, Nicholas, scars and all. Nothing will ever change that.”
“Come here,” he said.
“Why?”
“I’ll show you.”
And he did, showing her with his hands and his body and his words how much he loved her.
Epilogue
Five years later
“Papa! Papa! A letter came for you.”
Rafe Beaumont looked up from his face in the mirror and set down his razor, half his jaw still lathered with shaving soap. His son was practically bouncing up and down, holding the letter out like a holy offering. “Thank you, Henri. Put it on the breakfast table.”
“But Papa, Mama says you will want to see it right away. It comes from across the ocean.”
“Really?” He glanced at the bedchamber door as Collette entered, wiping her hands on her apron. She smiled at him, but he saw the trace of worry in her eyes as well.
“All the way from England,” she said, her words accented with the lilt of her native French.
“Not my—”
She shook her head. “Not from your family, no.”
“Then who—”
“Papa!” Henri waved the letter impatiently. “Open it!”
“Yes, yes!” He took the letter and moved to the bed, taking Henri on one knee. Collette came to sit beside them and watched as he broke the seal. He unfolded the paper and smiled as he read it. His gaze met Collette’s, a question in his eyes.
“Monsieur Draven will not be happy,” she said.
“He worries too much. Surely everyone has forgotten all of that hubbub.”
“What’s hubbub?” Henri asked.
“It is about to be the state of the house,” Rafe answered, “because we are packing everything for a long trip.”
“Really?” Henri’s eyes widened. “Where? Philadelphia?”
“Even better.”
“New York?”
“Better!”
“Paris?”
“Even b—”
Collette cleared her throat. “Almost as good. London.”
“Where is London?”
“Across the ocean,” Rafe said. “It will take weeks to sail there on a big ship, but when we arrive, we’ll go to a big party in the countryside with lots of horses and pigs and sheep for you to play with and other children as well.”