“I—” he said, and wished like the devil he had not brought her out here but had been content simply to dance with her again. He felt gauche and dull and a bit miserable.
“You are unique and wonderful just as you are,” she said. “To me you are far more attractive than they are, fond as I am of them.”
He frowned, astonished, as he gazed into her face.
“You havealwaysbeen more wonderful in my eyes,” she said. “But you never knew I existed until we met at the foot of that hill last year and you were disgusted with me. And today... Oh, goodness, my tongue is running away with me. I am very thankful we are out here in near darkness, because my cheeks are burning and doubtless they are flame red. I will have nightmares about speaking out this way.”
“Never knew you existed?” he said, and his frown deepened. “I went to Cartref often because Idris is my friend and your parents always made me welcome. But I went just as much to see you. You always hid from me indoors, as though you were shy or just did not like me. I believed it to be the latter, because when you were outdoors, as you very often were, and did not see me, you ran free and wild, more often than not with Nick. You played barefoot in your old dresses, your hair always loose about your face and shoulders. Even when Nick was not there, you ran and played and shouted and laughed with the dogs, and climbed trees and sat up in the branches, reading, as though it had never occurred to you that you might fall. I often longed to run free with you, but I was so much older and would have looked ridiculous. Besides, you did not like me. When I saw you last year, I wasnotdisgusted. I thought you were lovely beyond words. But you seemed horrified to see me. I have always been so envious of Nick that... Well.”
“He was never more to me than a friend and a playmate,” she said. “And if I hid from you and was mute, it reallywasshyness. Only with you. Never with anyone else. For I always so desperately wanted you tolikeme.”
“I did,” he said. “Always.”
They gazed at each other, their faces no more than a few inches apart. And Devlin reminded himself that she was only eighteen, that he was only twenty-two, that his father had advised him not to marry too soon in life but to enjoy himself first—as he wished he had done. His father had married his mother when he was twenty-six and she not quite eighteen.
Their marriage, though, had always been a happy one. And why wait when the love of your heart has just admitted thatyouare the love of hers?
He glanced back at the pavilion. There were seats inside, beyond the pillars, and some hope of privacy. In there they would at least not be visible from the terrace outside the ballroom, as they must be now. But it might occur to other people to come up here. The cool air and the moonlight were very inviting, after all, in contrast with the heat and noise and crowds in the ballroom.
The hill was bare of any trees on three sides—deliberately so. The pavilion had been built on its crest so that anyone sitting within could enjoy an unimpeded view over the park and the river and village to the countryside beyond. The fourth side was wooded all the way to the foot of the hill.
“Come.” He released Gwyneth’s arm and took her hand in his. He laced their fingers and led her around the outside of the pavilion and down the wooded slope. The trees were not densely packed. There was darkness among them, but not pitch blackness. He stopped when they were partway down and turned with her, setting her back against the sturdy trunk of a tree.
A narrow band of moonlight slanted across the lower part of her face and the upper part of her body. She looked lovely and delicate in her silk and lace gown of palest yellow. Her pearls gleamed in the dim light. Her lips were slightly parted, revealing her perfect white teeth. He set his hands on either side of her waist and instantly felt the soft warmth and the shapeliness of her. Her own hands came to rest on his shoulders.
He wished he had some experience to bring to the moment. Though perhaps it was as well he did not. He suspected this would be her first kiss—as it would be his. Perhaps it was fitting that they find out together what it would be like. He was not going to feel embarrassed by any gaucherie on his part.You have always been more wonderful in my eyes,she had told him a few minutes ago.
“Gwyneth,” he murmured.
“Devlin.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Kiss me.”
And he did.
Chapter Eight
He kissed her. With warm, closed lips pressed lightly to hers. And Gwyneth thought the world might well have stopped.
He wasDevlin.Devlin Ware.
He drew back his head, but his hands, warm and firm, were still on either side of her waist. Distinctively a man’s hands. Her own were gripping his shoulders as though her life depended upon not letting go. It was not quite dark down here, despite the trees. Moonlight shafted through the spaces between them and filtered between branches overhead. But she could not see his face, inches from her own. Not clearly, anyway. She knew, though, that his eyes were gazing very directly into hers, and she could imagine the blueness of those eyes. She was aware of music coming from the ballroom, but it seemed very distant. Strangely, it accentuated the quietness around them.
“I love you,” he said softly, and Gwyneth thought her heart would surely burst, so filled it was with joy.
“I love you too,” she said. “I have always loved you.”
One of his arms wrapped about her waist to draw her closer while the other came about her shoulders. She slid one hand down over his chest and put her arm about his waist. She wrapped the other about his neck. And he was all solid, warm male. He was Devlin. She could feel his hard-muscled thighs pressed to her own as he kissed her again, his lips slightly parted this time. The heat and the shock of it made her knees feel weak. There was a curious, dull throbbing between her thighs and up inside her. His hand was moving down from her waist to press her firmly against him, and she was not so ignorant that she did not know what she felt there. Her lips parted against the pressure of his and she kissed him back with all the hot ardor of her youth and her love for him.
At last,she thought.At last.
“Gwyneth,” he murmured against her lips after what might have been moments or minutes or hours—she was not keeping count. “What a perfect day this has turned out to be. My love.” He spoke the words with some wonder, as though he were testing them, and she laughed softly at the simplicity and extravagance of them. “You are so beautiful.”
She almost replied by telling him that so was he, but it would be too reminiscent of what she had said as a joke to Nicholas earlier. It would not be a joke if she told Devlin he was beautiful, but he might think it was. He might be hurt. Oh, she did not know him well at all yet, she realized. There was so much to learn about him, so much to know. But the thought exhilarated her, for there would be time for the learning and knowing. A lifetime. She felt no doubt that they would have that together. This was not dalliance, the fleeting passion of a moment.
His forehead touched hers as he fondled her breasts with light fingertips through the lace and silk of her gown. She ran her fingers through his hair—short, thick, smooth, warm.
“May I call on your father tomorrow?” he asked her. “Or am I being ridiculously hasty? There has been one day of courtship. One perfect day. Ought I to wait longer? But it is not as though I have not known you and loved you forever—as you say you have loved me.MayI call?”
“Yes,” she said, and laughed softly. “Oh, yes, Devlin. It has been far longer than one day. It has been forever.”
