Now skin to skin, two joined as one, he entered her gently. It was an exquisite torture to make love to her like this, yet it felt like heaven. She locked her legs around his waist as she pulled his head down to hers.
“I never tire of kissing you,” she breathed. Love and honesty glowed in her eyes, and it humbled him to his core. He shivered above her as he withdrew and sank back into her welcoming heat.
“In all my life,” he whispered, “there has never been anyone like you, nor will there be again.” Then he kissed her, deep, slow, his tongue playing an ancient game with hers.
The turbulence that had ruled his life for the last seven years had suddenly stilled into this most perfect moment of calm. Yet he was full of energy, full of joy, full of love, so strong his heart felt fit to burst. Their gentle rhythm quickened over time as their frantic need to taste each other, to share the pleasure of their love, grew stronger.
He delighted in drawing small gasps of excitement from Harriet as he claimed her. Redmond’s own breath shortened as he came close to the edge. He slid a hand between their bodies, finding her bud of arousal and circling his finger over it until she arched beneath him and her inner walls clamped down around his shaft.
Then he was lost, his heart and soul pouring out of him and into her, and coming back again. A long moment later, he covered their bodies with the coverlet before pulling her to his side. He kissed her forehead and held on to her, closing his eyes.
If love was a heavy tome in his library, every page would have Harriet’s face sketched upon it and poems about her written in a dozen languages. It would contain life’s most powerful secrets, transcendental and far too enlightened for a soul like his. Yet if that book did exist, he would vow to read every page every night for the rest of his life until he was an old man, watching the sun set a final time. That way, he would never lose the memory of her. Harriet would be with him always.
Then he would be able to tell the ghosts that breathed within the walls that he had done one good thing with his time upon this earth. He had loved Harriet more than his own life, and he had been loved in return. There was no greater gift than that, and he would lose it forever come the dawn.
10
Harriet buried her sorrow deep within her heart as she closed the valise Maisie had packed full of beautiful gowns. Gowns fit for a duchess. They didn’t belong to her, but Redmond had insisted they belonged only to the Duchess of Frostmore.
He cupped her face and leaned in to whisper, “In my heart, there will be no other. You are my duchess.”
She hadn’t been able to deny him anything. He stole more kisses, his eyes rimmed with red as he dragged his hands through his hair as if he longed to pull the strands out in frustration.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, not caring that the staff were watching her. They had all come to say their goodbyes.
“Thank you for giving me a place to belong. A home.” The words burned her throat, and she could barely speak. “Thank you for letting me love you.” Whatever fate held for her now, she had been given the most precious gift a person could ever have. The gift of his love.
He wiped at her dry cheeks as she managed a bright smile. “No tears?”
“One cannot cry when one realizes one has been blessed beyond all measure.” She stepped away from him, the action cutting her heart, but she dared not let him see how much. Instead, she knelt by his side to pet Devil, who watched in silence. As always, the dog seemed to sense her moods, and his brown eyes were heavy with reciprocal pain. She threw her arms around the dog’s neck and hugged him tight, then stood and looked at Redmond again.
“You won’t see me to Dover?” she asked again, needing as much time as she could with him before saying goodbye.
He shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “If I went, there is no way I would be able to stand by and let you board a ship.”
She understood, even though it hurt. Better to make a clean break of it here where it still felt less real.
“Write to me once you’re safe.” His quiet request startled her. It would pain them both, but she would do as he asked.
“And you?” she asked. “You’ll not go back into hiding? You promise to do as I asked?”
He nodded. That morning, as they had lain in bed, watching the pale sunlight stretch across the bedchamber, she’d made him vow not to hide from life any longer.
She touched his cheek one last time with a gloved hand, and he caught her wrist, holding it against his face for a long moment, their eyes locked.
Then he whispered hoarsely, “Go now… or I will lose the courage to let you go.”
She turned and rushed out the door and hastened down the steps into the waiting coach. If she looked back, she knew it would break her soul, not just her heart. Redmond’s driver helped her inside, and she leaned back against the seat cushions and drew in a shuddering breath as the coach began to roll away.
It was early evening as they reached the port, and she tried to keep herself busy by thinking about what she would do once she reached Calais.
“We’re here, miss.” The driver offered her his hand as she stepped down. The Port of Dover was quiet; only half a dozen vessels were docked. Their masts looked like an ancient forest, dead and quiet. Somewhere a bell clanged, and a man called out the change of an evening watch aboard one of the vessels.
“I’ll go and see which boat you can book passage on,” the driver said, and he headed into the nearest shipping office.
Harriet waited, her cloak hood pulled up against the chill. She watched the men on the ships in the distance as they saw to their duties.
Suddenly someone grabbed her shoulder, and something hard dug into her back.
