Mark whispered encouragements, moaned endearments, pleaded with her, and praised her until he felt her core tighten around him. He measured his thrusts, making each desperate pump of his hips deep and methodical, driving and withdrawing until he heard himself gasping and groaning like a man possessed.
Her hands were on his back, palms flattened to his spine. Her nails dug into his backside as he dragged his pelvis against hers. “Yes, Mark,” she cried, “Like that! Just like that!”
He knew that she was close. He prayed that she was closer, for he sensed his orgasm coming hard and fast. Only by sheer determination did he hold it back—for her.
It had been so long, and he wanted her so badly. He yearned to feel her catch and clench against him before he withdrew.
“Eliza, Eliza…” He moaned her name like a prayer, calling for her climax from the heavens. It wouldn’t be enough to finish without her. He needed her with him, and soon, she was there. Her arms strained and her body shivered. She tossed back her head, crying out—“Mark!”—when she came.
Flooded with relief, he shuddered a release as strongly passionate, yet as tender as hers.
He sagged against her, humbled. Mark was not a young man, yet he loved her with everything he had and knew that he’d satisfied her. They quaked with bliss in each other’s arms.
“Bloody hell,” he said, laughing tremulously. He felt damp, sweaty, and spent.
They lay together for a long time. Mark propped his head upon his pillow and admired the woman he loved, this brave and resourceful girl who had taken every chance and somehow beat the odds. He prayed that he would be worthy of her.
“I should like for you to visit me at the Bank,” he told her. He brushed a wisp of brown hair from her flushed face. “Would you mind terribly coming tomorrow?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Why?”
“I want you to see where I work, Eliza. I want you to meet my colleagues. I want you to know what I do every day when I’m away from you.” Mostly, he was proud of his career at the Bank of England, and he wanted to share his success with her. “You’ll be a banker’s wife, after all. You ought to know what that entails.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’ve heard it’s deadly dull.”
“You might think so, but it is the only thing I’ve ever been good at doing—”
“Not theonlything,” she countered saucily.
Mark couldn’t help but blush at her bold praise. “Alright, my pretty, clever bride-to-be. The future Lady van Bergen. Banking might not be the only thing I’m good at, but I should like you to visit me anyway.”
Surely, she knew that his name meant a great deal to him. He was eager to make Eliza part of his family, and the most important person in his life. If she was to sit by his side at Bank dinners and attend social events on his arm, they must present an unbreakable, united front from the very start.
Understanding this, she angled her lips to claim his. “I love you, Mark, and I’d love to come to the Bank tomorrow so that you can show me off to all your cronies.”
They laughed as they kissed.
Mark couldn’t believe his good fortune. “I’ll never know a moment’s peace with you, will I?”
She shook her head, and then buried her mouth against his throat. “I hope not!”
But her answer was muffled against his rising pulse, for her wandering hands were once again as eager as his. They were going to be exhausted by morning.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The City of London was the financial capital of the world, and the Bank of England—situated at the junctions of Threadneedle, Princes, and Lothbury Streets—was the beating heart of it all.
Eliza had never been to the Bank, never had any reason to see it, and certainly had no cause to step through its towering bronze doors. Each blackly menacing panel was guarded by lions’ heads in roundels. They dwarfed the pavements, making passersby feel small and insignificant against this ancient, inflexible institution.
The carriage halted at the busy corner. Eliza tugged on her gloves, straightened her hat, and then disembarked from the landau. There would be no more endless treks on aching feet for her. No more hired hacks, even. For the rest of her life, she would enjoy the luxury of a private conveyance to carry her shopping, calling, or riding in the park.
Her two feet landed firmly on the paving stones. Eliza craned her neck to study the place, intimidated by the stone grandeur of the façade and the elaborate columns and pediments that adorned it. She couldn’t imagine walking into such a place and feeling as though one belonged, yet Mark did it every day.
Eliza could do it, too, for she was to be the future Lady van Bergen, wife of an esteemed member of the Court of Directors. The Bank itself might be dull and decorous, yet the man who worked here—the mansheloved—was as ardent and as adventurous as her wildest dreams.
She passed through the bronze doors with a sweep of her fashionable skirts. With Jenny’s help, she’d chosen a peach tailor-made suit with a straw bonnet trimmed in silk flowers and a wide bow tied beneath her chin. She looked like a sweet-shop confection and felt as proud as any prize.
She was bright, strong, and beautiful, and was determined to be a breath of fresh air in this stogy old place.
