There seemed no benefit to pursuing that, so she asked, “The monastery?”
“Once I’d realized I couldn’t bear to get another woman with child, especially one I cared for, a vow of chastity seemed logical. Alas, the poverty and obedience were a challenge.”
“I can imagine.”
He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “As they would be for you.”
“I said I’d never make a nun. How long did you stay there?”
“Nearly a year. Father Prior had to evict me, for though I knew I wasn’t suited to the life, it was so calm and lovely... the singing, the routine, even the work in the gardens. I’d never done such work and I found it very soothing.”
“I enjoy it, too. The cycle of the seasons gives a rhythm to life, and to be surrounded by living greenery... Perhaps there’s a reason paradise was described as a garden. What then?”
“Once thrown out of paradise, I wandered, trying to avoid anyone I knew. Trying to find peace. Until my aunt summoned me.”
“You must have kept in touch with her.”
“Or she kept watch over me. I didn’t hide my identity, so my presence was noted. She had ambassadors all over Europe on alert to report to her. She wrote frequently to remind me of my duties and responsibilities, but I ignored her.”
“You returned in the end,” Ariana reminded him.
“I’d come to long for home. She provided the excuse....”
“But then the princess died.”
“Almost exactly as Seraphina did. Healthy and happy, then cold and dead a few days later. I was glad the child died with her.”
He wasn’t talking about Charlotte. “You think you’d blame him or her?”
“Him. A son. I didn’t care about his death. I wanted my beloved!”
The depth of his anguish hurt, but Ariana crawled across the bed to hold him, merely to offer comfort. To kiss seemed natural and inevitable, as did all that followed. She had no care for her clothing or his, or her feet, but only the ever-closer embrace, the beat of their hearts, their heat, and her own greedy desire.
When he entered her, it seemed perfect, especially his stillness. Until she realized it might come from regret. Could he still retreat?
She wanted the commitment this must mean and held him closer. Moved her hips to bring him deeper. Refused to let him go.
“It’s done,” she murmured against his neck. “Complete. I love you.”
“As, God forgive me, I love you!” With that groan, he moved in her, harder and faster until, with a great shudder, all was done.
Ariana couldn’t say she’d achieved poetic ecstasy, but she’d won her prize. He was hers now. Later, as she dozed in contentment, he kissed her and touched her. And in the end she said, “So it wasn’t poetic invention,” and snuggled against his hot, hard, naked body, smiling.
•••
Morning light woke her, so she knew it must have been late.
“I shouldn’t be found here,” she said.
“I doubt we can hide the facts, love.”
She became aware of smells and a sticky bed. “Are you just saying that—‘love’? Because you feel you must?”
“No. I desired you that day in the library, which shocked me. I’d denied all desire for years, and it hadn’t been hard, but then there was you. Every day you were in my aunt’s house was torment. Every moment together.” He kissed her. “You were assessing other men as husbands and I must help you. Torment.”
She chuckled. “For me, too. No other man could ever be good enough.”
“I’m not good enough. For you.”
