As he surrendered to the climax lashing up his spine, the fact that he was not inside her seemed inconsequential.
Wade touched his damp forehead to hers. He was panting, robbed of all breath. She was flushed, and sated…and smiling. Was there a more precious sight in all the world?
She cupped his jaw, lifting her head from the pillow to claim his lips. “I love you,” she whispered. “I am so very grateful for what we’ve just shared. Thank you, Wade. That was beautiful.”
He couldn’t seem to find his words. He gazed down at her—a little drunk off pleasure—and could not think of a single worthwhile thing to say except, “I love you, too.”
“Then it is settled. We are simply going to have to spend the rest of our lives loving one another. I could never imagine loving anyone else.”
“You’ll never have to.” Wade pulled her into his arms and held her tight. Nevermind that he was sweating. Nevermind that she was sticky. They wrapped their overheated limbs around each other’s trembling bodies and nestled into one crowded square of mattress. He did not even bother with the bedsheets.
They lay in naked abandon, stripped bare and bathed in moonlight. Wade’s head was in the clouds. He was not usually fanciful, but since he’d met Cassandra Staunton, he had become unrepentantly romantic. Utterly starry-eyed. Holding her, Wade was over the moon.
Loving her, he felt…worthy. He’d earned a good woman’s love. He had earned the respect of their servants. Soon his neighbors, and tenants, and friends in town would share in his newfound honor.
Wade had never wanted to be a duke, and had allowed the coronet to ruin a large portion of his life. He had never felt deserving of his mother’s sacrifice, and had done his best to distress the Wadebridge trustees who’d stolen him from her.
If he disappointed everyone and lived up to his bad reputation, there was no risk of truly failing at the daunting task he’d been born to. If he never loved another soul—if he never tried to please anyone but himself—there was no chance of being hurt.
He’d been brought into this world vulnerable. Stunted by the desperate hopes that his dying father and a committee of unsympathetic guardians had placed upon his young shoulders.
Wade had spent nearly twenty-seven years fortifying his heart, but he was no longer that bad-mannered, carousing, careless fellow. He must be noble for Cassandra, who expected him to remember his duty toward his tenants and staff.
Like it or not, Wadewasa duke, and he’d be damned if he offered her a broken-down, pitiable excuse for a dukedom. He was going to need her help, and for the first time, he felt worthy of asking for it.
“I was thinking,” he whispered in the quiet, “we ought to walk out to the cliffs tomorrow. What do you think, buttercup?”
She sighed against his shoulder. She must’ve been nearly asleep, and he felt sorry to wake her. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Oh, he had a great deal of asking to do, and was just getting started.
“You may make demands of me, you know. It’s good to know I am useful for something—even if it is only escorting you ‘round the estate.”
“Holding my hems…” she murmured, “teaching croquet…”
“What?”He blinked down at her. Cassandra’s eyes were closed as she teetered on the edge of slumber.
“Discussing art…and picking flowers…”
Wade smiled, for now he understood her sleepy ramblings. She was listing off all the things he was useful for.
“Filling hot water bottles, and gifting pearls…” She nestled deeper into the crook of his arm. “And loving me.”
He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Many people had taken stock of his sins over the years, but only Cassandra cared enough to enumerate his virtues.
“Yes, well,” he said, softly, “you make that last one easy.”
Hours later, he awoke to blinding light streaming through the open windows. Wade blinked, drowsily cursing himself for not lowering the bed hangings. A dark, shuttered bedroom formed a restful cocoon after nights spent in dissipation, yet he did not suffer from a bad head or roiling stomach.
On this morning, he wished to sleep a little while longer with the woman he loved.
Wade eased away from Cassandra, careful not to disturb her. He slid off the mattress and trod softly to the windows. The private wing of Pender Abbey overlooked the river, and on such a bright August morning, the blue waters teemed with fishing boats and red-sailed luggers.
He yawned and stretched, loitering by the window to appreciate the view—and the breeze that fanned his bare flesh.
How often had he missed this view while wasting the day from behind throbbing eyes?
Today, he was awake and alive…and sober…and…
