“We rushed getting married,” he said softly. “We don’t have to rush tonight.”
My cheeks flooded with color, and I shifted my feet, thinking hard. There were practical reasons to consider. There could be no room to undo what we had done. If there was a weakness in our plan, my uncle would sniff it out. “When we tell my uncle about what we did,” I said slowly, “the first thing he’ll do is push for an annulment.”
Whit’s expression darkened. “The hell he will.”
“The second,” I continued, “will be to bring a doctor to check if my maidenhead is still intact.”
“That feels extreme.”
“He’ll do it to call my bluff.” I cleared my throat. “I mean, if we pretended we had but actually hadn’t.” Heat stole over my cheeks. “I’m talking about the consummation.”
I’d never been so embarrassed in my life. He could have teased me, but his expression was patient and gentle, his blue eyes soft. Slowly, my embarrassment faded, and instead I felt a bone-deep sense of rightness. Tonight with Whit was my choice. He let go of my hand and tugged a strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing against my cheekbone.
“I’ve always loved your hair.”
“Really?” I said, raising my brows. “But there’s so much of it, and it always knots, and it’s forever falling down from the pins…” He waited patiently while I finished rambling. Dios, I was so nervous. If I were a teakettle, I’d be whistling loudly. If I were a champagne bottle, the cork would have long since popped. I lost track of the words coming out of my mouth, and my voice trailed off. I shrugged helplessly, and somehow he understood what I needed to hear.
“I don’t give a damn about your uncle,” Whit said. “This is about you and me and no one else. I don’t want to rush you into something you’re not ready for.”
“And what about you? Areyouready?”
He gave me a slow smile, tender and rueful. “Since Philae, Inez.”
Warmth pooled in my belly as dozens of memories with Whit flooded my mind. The moment when we had found Cleopatra’s final resting place, and we had laughed so hard tears dripped down our faces. When he dove into the Nile to save me, giving me air when the last of my breath rushed out of me. I still remember his face through the murky blur of the river, bubbles drifting between us before he pressed his mouth to mine. And I could still hear his hushed reply after I had told him how I felt in a moment of bravery. His quiet words had sent a delicious shiver down my spine.
It goes both ways.
The mask he always wore around everyone else had been gone, and in its place was a stark vulnerability that stole my breath like the river had threatened to do.
He wore the same expression now, and it made me feel brave. I’d beenfalling in love with Whit slowly, under the river’s surface, in a lost burial chamber, in a makeshift tent, on a boat.
By the time he held me in the dark of the tomb, it was irrevocable. “I’m ready,” I whispered. “I’ve been ready for a long time. This is what I want. You and me.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Whit moved forward, ducked his head, and kissed me. His lips were soft against mine, moving slow but sure. He slipped his hand inside my purse dangling at my wrist, and he smiled against my mouth. Dimly, I heard the key unlocking the door. Whit tugged me inside and kicked it shut behind us. I barely heard the sound. The only thing I noticed was the way his mouth moved against mine, sweet and deep. Then he pulled me close, his left hand cradling the back of my head and his right arm banded around my waist, the bottle tight against my side.
Whit pressed his forehead against mine, and we shared the same breath for one heartbeat. Two. And then another. He stepped away and bent forward, retrieving the knife tucked inside his boot. With one strong flick of his wrist, he aimed the blade and swiped the cork neatly off. Frothy champagne spilled, and we laughed. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a swallow, and I watched the long line of his tanned throat.
Wordlessly, he offered me the champagne.
I drank deeply, the flavor tart and dry on my tongue. The sparkling liquid reached every corner of my body, and I felt fizzy, luxurious, and impatient for what else the night might bring. Whit led me to the green sofa and turned me around halfway so that when we sat, he was cradling me in his arms, both my legs stretched over his lap. I took another sip and offered him more. He shook his head and took the bottle away, placing it gently on the floor.
“We are going totalkfirst,” he said. “Somehow, you always find out way too much about me, while I don’t even know your middle name.”
“It’s because I ask questions.”
“Too many.”
I smiled. “I don’t know your middle name, either.”
“You first.”
“Emilia. It’s a family name.” I nudged his shoulder. “Your turn.”
“Lord Whitford Simon Hayes.”
“I’m never calling you Lord Somerset.”
Whit shuddered. “If you ever do, I am walking.”
