Miss Chester,
I liberated these from my father’s personal library.I thought you might find them particularly interesting.On nights I am not able to attend you, stay inside and read these instead of walking about.
Yours,
Temple Grant
Temple.The name suited a man like him—solid and serious and, she must admit, a little bit worth adoring because—oh!He’d given her books.The first book she pulled out was bound in bloodred cloth and faded gold letters glinted on the spine.
She read the title aloud.“Gods and Goddesses of the Old Days.”A new one she’d not read before.She hugged it to her.“It’s perfect.”
And so were the other books, all of which touched on topics they’d discussed in their short walks over the last week.They’d had little time, two or three laps round the square before the little stone in his pocket glowed, burned.The king had become rather a thorn in Diana’s side, pulling Temple away just when the conversation was getting good.
He’d not tried to kiss her again.
She should be thankful for that.Ha.Thankful?When she’d practiced controlling her magic every morning, every evening, with thoughts of kissing circling her head.If she could control the magic, she could kiss a man without worry.If she could control it, she could kiss Temple and keep her secret, too.
She sat on the bed beside the box, stroking the books.So long since she’d held one in her hands, since she’d smelled that old paper scent.She could continue her research now, continue her search for answers.Pressing her palm into her eye, she mumbled, “I will not cry.”Then she laughed because she had cried much in the last several weeks, but never happy tears.And these welling now—oh, they were so very happy.
Yesterday, the potion mistresses had gathered in the roof garden with soap and water and little wands made of flexible twigs.They’d pulled oil-slicked bubbles from water with the wands and chased them about before they popped or drifted high into the sky.Diana felt like one of those bubbles now—impossibly light, lifted by merriment.
A knock on the door.
She wiped away her tears and rested her hand on the doorknob.“Miss Maple?”
“Not quite.”Temple’s voice.
Temple?Where hadLord Knightlygone?She could see only his name written in firm lines on the paper on her bed.It obliterated his title.He was Temple and nothing else.
She flung the door open and flung herself into his arms.“Thank you.Thank you.”
He’d not even been knocked back a single step by her exuberance, and he kept them both upright in the hallway, his arms held wide, not touching as she melted her cheek into his chest, hugged her arms around his ribs.His back was a vast expanse for her hands to conquer and even flatting them on the tight planes of muscle, she took up very little space.
She’d never touched a man like this, so boldly, as if it were her right.But she felt… brave around him.
He seemed to have stopped breathing, and then he melted, too, between one breath and the next, his arms coming round her tightly, one hand cupping the back of her head and the other settling at the small of her back.
“What’s all this about?”he mumbled into her hair.“Not that I’m complaining.”He walked them into the room, still clutching at one another, and kicked the door closed.
She looked up at him, setting her chin into his chest.“The books.They are wonderful.”
“They’ve arrived, then.”He looked about the room, his gaze stopping on the bed.His throat bobbed with a swallow.“Ah.Excellent.”Putting his hands on her shoulders, he held her out at arm’s length.“Are you ready for our walk?”
“Yes, but first…”Be bold, Diana.And trust your practice.Difficult to trust, but she would have to if she truly wanted what she thought she did.“I simply wish to see…” She bit her lip then jumped.
She kissed him, bouncing up on her toes to meet his lips and shoving away every possible intrusion.Light winked at her.She blocked it out.Air pulsed around her.She calmed it.When his hands slipped off her shoulders and down her back to clasp about her waist and drag her body against his, she wavered.When he tilted his head and slanted his lips with an open-mouth inhalation, she almost lost it.
But then he moaned, and in that sound, she knew the strength of her power.
She would not lose control.She could give in to this man, give in to her body, and not worry he’d look up and see another woman standing before him or a shower of falling stars on the ceiling.Or a garden of thornless roses growing round them.No more worrying that he’d see her entirely naked because she’d imagined herself so, open to his touch on every inch of her skin, and the magic had obliged.
If she could make Temple Grant moan, she could do anything.
So she abandoned fear and let herself exist only in the heated space of the kiss.
His lips were like a love potion, and need for him poured like wine through her where they touched, tightening her throat and warming her belly.This, them, should feel new.But it had been building since the ball where they’d first met, since the confines of the curtain, and every time she’d not touched him in the fortnight since he’d been courting her had been a silent admission: shewantedto touch him.Because he was strength when she felt weak.And he was confidence when she felt lost.And he was steadiness when she was always weeping inside for ground that did not shift.
“God damn, Diana,” he growled against her mouth.“You taste better than I imagined.What has changed?”He scattered kisses down her jaw.“Was it the books?Never mind.I don’t bloody care what changed.Damn glad it did, though.”He backed her toward the bed.
