Then, he had taken her body, made love to her time and again, knowing he was misleading her, withholding truths from her that would perhaps affect the manner in which she regarded him forever. He had done it anyway, because he was a jackanapes.
And what had she done? She had told him she loved him.
He got them tangled in a storm because he was so consumed by his own thoughts, he failed to notice the sky, and what had she done? Attempted to light a fire to bringhimwarmth.
Not a thought for herself. Never a thought for her own needs. She was selfless. For the hundredth time, he realized just how unworthy of her he was. How much he did not deserve her. How much he would never deserve her, and how damn lucky he was to call her his wife.
He tossed aside his dripping hat and coat and went to her, dropping to his knees at her side. “Leonie.”
She paused in striking a tinderbox, the contents of which likely dated back at least five years, perhaps more. “Yes?”
He took the tinderbox from her gently, setting it aside. “You have no need of this. I daresay it will not light, having been abandoned all these years, and is most assuredly damp, having been kept within this closed up cottage. I do not think anyone has been within to air it out since my father.”
“Oh,” she said, biting her lower lip. “I had not realized how long it had been since someone had occupied the space, though I did have my suspicions. Still, I am determined, Morgan. If anyone can manage a spark to form, it shall be me. Are you cold? Surely you must be, drenched to the bone as you are.”
She was still thinking of him, more concerned for his wellbeing than for her own, and it humbled him mightily. “I have not known you long, my dear, but I feel quite certain if anyone could force an old tinderbox to produce a spark, it would be you. Your determination knows no bounds, nor does your willingness to attempt to make a difference for the betterment of all those around you.”
Her head jerked toward his, a smile stealing over her lips. “Thank you, husband. I shall consider that a vote in favor of my capability.”
And thus said, she took up the tinderbox from where he had placed it on the floor, set upon her course.
*
At long last,the spark ignited, and Leonora quickly held it to the stack of dry kindling she had arranged within the fireplace. Fire licked the edges of rough-hewn wood, and gradually, steadily, a fire ignited. Flames flickered to life. Crackles rose in the air, along with the sweet scent of burning wood, as her hard work came to fruition.
She could not deny the joy, nor the sense of accomplishment, warm and pleasant, washing over her. She felt at once as if she was capable of anything. Capable of everything.
“A spark from an old tinderbox, my lord,” she told him triumphantly, unable to suppress the grin wreathing her face. “There you have it.”
“I should never have doubted you, Leonie,” he told her softly with one of his rarer smiles. “Your ability to perform the miraculous never ceases to amaze.”
His words made the warmth inside her blossom and spread. “And what miracles have I performed, my lord? I confess, I cannot think of one.”
He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a kiss that could only be described as reverent. “You have made me feel again.”
Her heart thudded at his admission. She had foolishly confessed her love to him that day by the stream, and he had not remarked upon it since, though they had spent each day in each other’s company, laughing, making love, and getting better acquainted. Part of her had been convinced he had not heard her. Part of her had been terrified he had.
“What have I made you feel, my lord?” she dared to ask, cursing herself for the breathlessness in her voice.
He took her hand—bare since she had shed her gloves to avoid soiling them in her toils—and pressed it flat against his chest, over his heart. His hand was large and cool atop hers as she absorbed the steady thumps through her fingertips. Though his waistcoat was damp, the heat of his body radiated through.
“You made me realize I still have a heart, Leonie.” His gaze seared hers, holding her immobile, sending a fresh surge of tenderness for him straight through her. “Do you feel it?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and though her leg had begun to ache, she would not move from this position, nor would she look away from him. She would fashion herself into a statue if she must, just for the chance to have him look at her with such unguarded warmth.
“It has always been there,” he continued. “But now you give my heart a reason to beat.”
“Oh, Morgan.” She knew how much this revelation cost him. “I feel the same way. I was waiting for you all my life.”
“Jesus, Leonie,” he rasped, his expression changing, turning hungry and fierce. “I do not deserve you.”
“Yes,” she countered, bringing her other hand to his beloved face to cup his jaw, “you do.”
With a sound that was half growl, half groan, he pulled her to his chest, settling his mouth over hers in a voracious kiss. She kissed him back with all the emotions bursting inside her, new and strange and overwhelming. Love, need, admiration, longing. It didn’t matter that her riding habit was sodden or that the air of the cabin was damp and musty. The heat from the fledgling fire and the way Morgan made her feel combined to set her aflame.
On another groan, he pulled away at last, his breathing harsh as it coasted over her lips. He touched his forehead to hers, and their gazes held. She felt as if he could stare into the deepest recesses of her, as if he saw her, all of her, better than anyone else ever had.
“You are soaked from the rain,” he said, then kissed her again, this time nothing more than a slow brush of his mouth over hers. “You need to get out of this wet gown. I have no wish for you to take ill.”
