“I never realized how intense these games are. I understand the thrill now, how easy it is to think just one more turn can change everything, and it did. For us.”
She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. “I should be upset you were playing for my hand, shouldn’t I? But I can’t, because you won.”
Tristan winced. “I wasn’t playing for your hand, Flick. I was playing to win back Lark Hall—or rather, the sum the deed is worth. Now I can repay my brother’s debt to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, and yours. But she did not include you in the bargain.”
Her eyes searched his, her joy leeching away. “What does that mean? For me? For us?”
She tried to step back but he wouldn’t let her. “It means you’re free to marry anyone of your choosing.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. Tristan brushed a loose curl from her cheek that had come undone during their joyful spin. His heart pounded, but he had to do this now. He couldn’t think of a better time, when the world waited outside that door—and the complications that came with it. Like fathers, domineering widows, and violent former fiancés. He took her hand and placed it over his heart and held it there.
“If you would have me, it would be my greatest honor, Miss Felicity Brandon, to be your husband, your lover, and your friend until my last breath and beyond.”
“Oh, Tristan,” her lips trembled as she smiled. “Yes. Please, God,yes. I will marry you and love you for the rest of my life and beyond.”
Tristan grinned, his heart so full of love it may have stopped beating all together. He could only feel her, the rapid pulse of her wrist beating against his fingers. He dipped his head and her mouth welcomed his. Her arms slipped around his neck, and she folded her body into him. He relished every curve against his hard frame, the slide of her dress under his hungry hands.
His blood roared with desire. He lifted her off the floor, her hips settling against his throbbing cock. He moaned into her mouth, thrusting into the inset of her thighs.
“Flick, I need you. Right now, I have to have you.”
She nodded. He set her down just long enough to rapidly pull up her skirts, lifting her with a jerk. She wrapped her legs around his waist and Tristan walked her back to the wall, shifting her so that he was perfectly aligned with her hot core. He teased her folds apart, dipping his fingers into her sweet wet heat. She was already ready, moving with the shallow thrust of his fingers. She angled her head, deepening the kiss while Tristan fumbled with his breeches, jerking the fabric down and palming his erection, he lined himself up with her center and thrust home.
She cried into his mouth, a long shuddering moan as he pumped greedily, his mind disintegrating as the hot grip of her body stole his wits. He was all animal, claiming his mate in a frantic, all-consuming coupling against the wall.
She tore her mouth away, panting as she gyrated against him, her fingers digging into his scalp. Tristan watched her face, her flushed cheeks, the glaze of need in her eyes. She was his. He may not be a titled lord with impressive connections and a name that opened doors, but he loved her, he’d die for her, and now he could provide the kind of life she deserved. Not fancy and filled with parties and operas. But they would have open fields of wildflowers, the crisp Highland breezes, cozy nights around the fire with blankets and whisky. Therewould be work to do, animals to feed, fields to sow and harvest, lambs to birth. But what gave Lark Hall its majesty, for all its mossy stone exterior, creaky shutters, the stone floors, low ceilings, and soot-stained hearths, was the love that had endured over time. The laughter soaked into its walls, the history, the heritage, thepride. It was not a life for a gently bred young lady with soft hands.
But Flick was not that kind of lady. She was made of steel and fire, with a heart of pure gold.
She tipped her head back against the wall as her hips met his hard thrusts and she slammed herself down again. Her breath caught, her thigh muscles tightening around his waist as she gripped his shoulders, nails biting through his coat.
“That’s it, love. Let go.”
She gasped out his name, barely a whisper as she trembled in his arms. Tristan continued his demanding pace as her body clung to his, her slick passage clamping around him in the throes of her climax. He was nearing the horizon, the building inferno in his body roiling to its finish and taking him over the edge. He pulled out, holding her up and watching as he coated her folds and thighs, claiming her, imagining the future when he’d spill inside her. When they were ready to grow a family and put the past behind them once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-Four
They put themselvestogether, and Felicity threw him a glare as Tristan smiled smugly. She was sticky between her thighs, and he wouldn’t let her clean herself yet. He said he wanted to think about her dripping with his—she couldn’t finish the thought, the wicked man.
Herwicked man.
She couldn’t be angry. There was a part of her, a deep, scandalous part, that enjoyed this carnal side of him.
She sat and took a sip of her now cold tea. Tristan left the room briefly, and when he returned, he was accompanied by not only Lady Amelia and her husband, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon and Lord Alston.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon entered the room with her usual gravity and magnetic quality and took a seat in the plush wingback chair across from the sofa. Felicity couldn’t tell if she was pleased by the night’s outcome or angry.
“Congratulations, Mr. Chase, or are you using your full name now?”
Felicity turned to him. He sat beside her, her hand clasped in his.
“Now that my brother’s debt is cleared and the house once againin Cameron hands, I’m ready.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon pulled a pouch and leather folio from her skirts. “The remainder of your winnings and of course, as promised, the deed to Lark Hall.”
He leaned forward and took the folio, opening it to reveal the official document. “How did you get this?”
“My usual ways. Try not to lose it at the tables.”
