His countenance changed, his expression softening, the look he wore laden with such tenderness that it made something inside her melt. “Bess?”
“Yes?”
“I need to kiss you now.”
Her heart thudded. Heat pooled in her belly. Her body’s reaction to his declaration was instant.
Her fingers twisted in the soft, worn muslin. “You do?”
He nodded, moving forward. One step. Two. Until their bodies were nearly flush, her breasts just grazing his hard frame, his scent enveloping her, the heat from him emanating, almost burning her.
“I do. May I?”
Her breath caught. Here was the moment where she ought to remember who she was and who he was. To recall that, regardless of the kindness he was showing her now, he had once been the source of so much pain and shame. She should tell himnoand return to the safety and loneliness of her chamber.
“Yes,” she whispered instead.
* * *
He was goingto kiss away the pain she’d suffered. Kiss her until they both forgot about the man he’d been before, and there was nothing and no one between them. Until they were Torrie and Bess, husband and wife, no complicated past to burden them. He hadn’t known how much her feelings mattered to him, nor how badly he had hurt her before, until he’d heard the humiliation in her voice as she described overhearing him calling her a plain, plump partridge.
Christ, what a bastard his former self had been.
Slowly, he reached for her, drawing her into the circle of his arms, pulling her into him. The heavy fullness of her breasts crushed into him, and her hips were soft and tempting as they molded to his body. His cock was already hard, springing against the fall of his trousers and jutting into her belly.
“What’s about to happen isn’t about him,” he said, before elaborating, “the man I was. It’s about us. Do you believe me?”
Torrie needed to know. Needed her to understand. He had been right when he had thought that someone had made her feel undesirable. But he hadn’t known it had been him. He wished he could plant a facer on his former self. Because there was nothing about the woman in his arms that was plain or unpleasing. How the devil had he ever supposed he was going to send her off to his country seat and never think of her again?
“I…” she began, then faltered, catching her lower lip in her teeth, her expression turning worried.
He was damned glad his mother had told him what she had; though her revelations had decidedly had the opposite of their intended effect. Anyone who could believe Bess capable of scheming to force him into marriage had never taken the opportunity to get to know her.
“Believe me,” he urged her. “I’m not the same man I was. I haven’t his memories. I haven’t his personality, so I’m told. I’m different now, a new man. My mind may be broken, but I would never hurt you that way again. This, I vow to you.”
He wanted her trust. But also, he wanted her to believe in herself. To know the effect she had on him—the effect she’d have on any man if she’d but give them half the chance to show her. And thank heavens she hadn’t, because now she was his.
“I believe you,” she said, her gold-brown gaze burning into his.
He could read the depth of her sincerity in her eyes. With careful deliberation, one of his hands moved to the small of her back, splayed and resting in the hollow there. Anchoring her to him.
“You are nothing short of lovely to me,” he added, because she was, and he wanted her to know that. He wanted her to carry herself with the confidence she deserved.
“My lord,” she protested.
But he was done with her refusal to believe him. He would show her with actions instead of words. The time for speaking was done.
“Torrie,” he reminded her. “I’m your husband now, and you’re my wife.”
Her lips parted. Her pupils went rounder. Her hands, which had been wringing her skirts when he had taken her into his embrace, had found their way to his shoulders.
Bess’s head tipped back. And there was her mouth, the ripe-berry lips he had been yearning to take from the moment they’d spoken their vows.
He bent, inhaling her sweet scent as he did so. Taking his time even as he longed to devour her. A soft sound fled her, surrender or anticipation—he couldn’t be sure. But he held her gaze until the last moment, when their lips touched, and he allowed himself to close his eyes and savor the lushness of her mouth beneath his. This kiss seemed to matter more than any he’d ever given, those he could remember and certainly every one that had been lost to him.
Because he’d never had a wife before.
For the man he had once been and for the man he was now, there was only one woman he could truly call his own. Bess was his. And she was responding, her lips moving against his tentatively at first, and then with greater enthusiasm. Until suddenly, it was as if a dam inside her had burst, and a waterfall of passion broke free. Her arms twined around his neck and she rose on her toes to press herself more fully against him, all her beautiful curves melding into his hardness.
