“Wicked girl. I’m not sure you’re ready to hear them just yet. You were a virgin ten minutes ago.”
“And now I’m not,” she said simply. “And I don’t regret it one bit. Go on, tell me.”
He gave her neck a playful little bite and she shivered in dark delight. “All right.For example, I want to pour champagne on your beautiful breasts and lick it off. I want to drink champagneout of you. I want to take you in every single room of this house, and in my weather station, and in my house in London. I want you outside in the summer, and inside by the fire. I want you on top of me, and under me, and next to me. I want your hands on me, and I want you to take me in your mouth, and I want to make you scream my name with pleasure as many times as I can.”
Liv’s breath caught in her throat and hope tightened her chest. “That sounds like it might take a while.”
“It will, I’m sure.”
“Longer than just until the end of the month.”
“I think so,” he agreed. “In fact, I have a horrible suspicion it’s going to take the rest of our lives.”
Liv turned over to face him and tried to see him in the darkness. “You said you’d show me the physical benefits of marrying you.”
His brows rose as his mouth curved up. “Haven’t I convinced you? Do you need another demonstration?”
“Oh, you’ve convinced me. But?—”
“But?”
She took a deep breath and decided to be brave. He’d opened himself to her, after all. Allowed her to see him in his darkest,most vulnerable moments. She should at least give him the same amount of honesty.
“I always said I’d only marry a man if I loved him, and he loved me in return.”
His face gave nothing away. “Hmm. And you think that’s a problem here?”
Heat warmed her cheeks, but she forced herself to go on. “Not on my side.” She felt his body stiffen, tense in sudden awareness as he absorbed her confession. “I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen. And while I’m sure you want me physically, I don’t think?—”
His low growl cut her off. “You don’t think I love you?” He sounded half amused, half incredulous. He stroked her jaw, lifted her chin to look deep into her eyes. “Olivia Price, I have loved you foryears. Since before I even went to Belgium.”
She shook her head. “Not true.”
“Very true,” he sighed. “Horribly true. Six years. And I’ve wanted to marry you for just as long.”
“That can’t be?—”
His lips curved up. “I can prove it.”
Her heart was pounding, but she was too afraid to trust the excitement rushing through her veins. The hope. “You can’t prove something like that.”
“I can. You know that piece of paper I showed your uncle the other day? It wasn’t an I.O.U from your father.”
“He didn’t owe you six hundred pounds?”
“Oh, he did. And more. But that wasn’t what was on the paper.”
“What was it then?”
“A special license. Signed by the Archbishop of Canterbury. It’s downstairs, in the desk in my study.”
Livvy frowned. “I don’t understand. When did you get that?”
“Six years ago. The week after Napoleon escaped from Elba. When Lucien and I realized we’d have to join Wellington and see Bonaparte defeated for good.” His thumb stroked her jaw, a devastatingly gentle caress. “I was going to ask you to marry me before I went, but then I realized I might not come back, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave you a widow.”
Liv sucked in a breath. Her chest felt too tight, as if it might burst from so many conflicting emotions.
“But I promised myself that if I survived, and you were still free when I got back, then I’d ask you.”
