“Precisely. We have both said things we didn’t mean.” She framed his face between her palms once more. “I know ye feel that no one has ever wanted you for yourself. That as Tristan, you are not sufficient alone. But I choose ye just as ye are.”
Tristan shook his head, expression surely as baffled as he felt. “Why? Because you are my wife?”
Isolde laughed, the glorious, effervescent laugh that sang happiness to his soul. “It isn’t out of duty or obligation, if that is your concern. I choose yourself because being with you is akin to champagne bubbles in my blood—intoxicating and heady. Because if I were tae leave now, I would miss ye ferociously. Because you, Tristan Gilbert, bring me such happiness that—”
Tristan captured the remainder of her words with his lips. Euphoria cascaded through him, fireworks exploding in his veins.
“You are truly remaining with me?” he managed to say, though it was a trial,as his lips refused to leave her skin. “I didn’t mishear? This isn’t a dream?”
“Aye,” she murmured on a soft moan, arching her back to grant him greater access to her throat.
Tristan eagerly obliged.
“As I’ve said before, we need tae trust one another, Tristan,” she continued, urging his head upright. “To trust that we both are committed tae this. To us.” She pressed the softest kiss to his mouth. “We need tae believe the best of each other’s actions and behaviors.”
“I’m sorry.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry I doubted you after your father’s arrival. I should have had more faith. I should have—”
“Enough,” she laughed. “No recriminations. Just trust. Trust that I care for ye. Just as I trust your love for myself. Trust that we are two souls endeavoring to become one.”
Shechosehim . . . his Isolde.
Tristan wanted to weep for the sheer joy of it.
Her fingers threaded into his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers.
Bloody hell, how could he ever get enough of her?
They kissed for long intoxicating minutes, until they were both breathless and desperate to be closer.
“Husband,” she gasped, “must we continue tae wait to consummate our marriage? I fear ye shall be the death of me otherwise, I yearn for ye so.”
Any thought of protest fled Tristan’s mind.
She belonged to him.
Just as he belonged to her.
A union of two souls into one, as she had said.
He had wanted to wait . . . to know for a surety that she loved him. To hear her say the words.
But as he drowned in the feel of her body against his, the pull and lift of their deepening kisses, his resolve crumbled to dust.
He could scarcely breathe through another day without making this woman his wife in truth.
“No more waiting, my love,” he whispered into her ear. “Tonight. I promise.”
28
Ah, Jane! Our Izzy lives! I can scarcely comprehend the happiness of it. Alas, she has chosen to remain with Kendall instead of returning home with myself. I cannot say I understand her decision. Kendall appears somewhat altered since their marriage, but I doubt His Haughty Grace can ever change sufficiently to be worthy of our lovely lass.
—private letter from Lord Hadley to Lady Hadley
Tonight.
The word thrummed in Isolde’s brain.
Tonight. Tonight.
