“The duke is a wonderful man, is he not?” She smiled back at her lady’s maid, her heart happy as she contemplated Roland.
“He is indeed,” Primrose agreed, finishing with Pippa’s hair before tidying up the dressing table in her nightly ritual.
Day by day, hour by hour, through his actions and his words, her new husband had won Pippa’s heart. She was ready to look beyond her fear and give love and marriage the second chance it—and Roland—so rightly deserved.
“Do you have any other need of me this evening?” Primrose asked.
“No, thank you. That will be all.”
Her lady’s maid had scarcely excused herself when there was a knock—not unexpected—at the chamber door.
She took a deep breath and one more look at her reflection before standing and turning to call to him. “Come.”
Her heart gave a pang as the door opened to reveal him, and the place between her thighs gave an accompanying pulse of desire. These feelings were newer, deeper, than what she had ever experienced before. She had to trust her heart, her mind, her body.
To trust Roland.
The grin on his full lips was beautiful as he crossed the room, barefoot and clad in nothing but a loose robe that clung to his chest in the very best way. A slice of his muscled flesh was on display, and his onyx-black hair was swept back from his face. She drank in the sight of his wide shoulders, long legs, muscled calves. Those carved cheekbones and the proud blade of his nose, his high forehead.
“Hullo, wife,” he said softly, stopping before her.
For a moment, all the easy confidence he ordinarily exuded vanished, and he seemed almost nervous.
“Hullo, husband,” she returned.
His dark gaze searched hers. “I was hoping we might begin where we left off earlier in the music room.”
The delicious rasp of his baritone settled over her, along with his masculine scent. “Perhaps you should remind me what we were about in the music room. What were we discussing?”
“I believe we were discussing what I might do to make you come on my tongue.”
Good. Sweet. Heavens.
Her knees almost gave out. She had intended to tease him, but his words sent a bolt of pure, liquid desire to her core.
“We were?” she managed to ask, wondering how such a thing were possible.
Was it? The ache between her thighs told her it did not matter.
“If you are amenable, that is?” His hands settled on her waist, and he drew her against his solid frame.
His cock was rigid and thick, pressing into her. She moved against him, restless and longing for more.
“Do you need to ask?” She was breathless now.
“I need to know for certain, yes. I do not want to pressure you or—”
She stopped his words with her mouth. Kissed them away.
There was no pressure. She did not feel forced or rushed. She felt absolutely content. Since their arrival in Yorkshire, the dynamic between them had been slowly shifting.
Seeing herself in his mother’s sketch earlier had been incredible.
Five years ago, she had met the man in her arms. She had given him her heart, and then they had gone their separate ways. Years and distance and lies between them. Dashed tonight. Obliterated by this kiss, this passion, by the depth of the connection they shared.
She had been meant for Roland.
And he was meant for her.
