“Now take me,” he commanded, and thrust into her mouth. Relaxing her throat, she gave herself over to him utterly, and it only took a matter of seconds before his breathing shattered. She looked up at him as he moaned her name and spilled himself down her throat.
#
In the early hours of the morning, George lay on his side, Caroline’s back against his chest, and wondered how he should go about proving to her that he would make a good husband—and that she was the only wife he had any desire for.
Marrying for love had once been a pipe dream, but she could make it a reality, if only he could persuade her to accept she loved him in return.
Seeing her here when he had returned from Bath had proven to him that her feelings ran deeper than she would confess, and it gave him hope that she would accept.
“Where were you?” she asked sleepily.
“Hmm?”
“When you were gone. Where did you disappear to?”
“I went to Bath.”
“Oh?”
“My father lives there.”
She stiffened a little. “I see.”
“I’m sorry for leaving no note, love.” He kissed her hair and inhaled the scent of her. There was nothing so right as the feel of her here in his arms. But much as he enjoyed her in his bed—and he enjoyed that a lot—he wanted her on his arm. For her to bear his name and wander his library as though she owned it, askinghim questions that made him pause to think. He wanted every day of challenge that a life with her would bring.
And in return, he wished to remove any burdens that sat on her shoulders. Perhaps the world was not equal, but he could do that for her, at least. Even without his father’s fortune at his heels.
“You don’t need to apologise,” she said, but instead of settling beside him again, she sat up, drawing the sheets around herself. Her blonde hair was ruffled, her curls tangled and in glorious disarray. He adored every knot he had put there. “I don’t own you or your time.”
He gave her a lazy smile. “On the contrary, my sweet. You have but to crook your finger and I will come.”
“Be serious.”
“I’m perfectly serious. You are the sun to my moon—I would not glow without your light. I adore you.” He said the words lightly, not wanting to scare her too much. “Come back to bed, love.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have stayed.”
“Nonsense. Why must you fight this, Caro?”
“Because I cannot bear to grow accustomed to you only to lose you.” She sat very straight. “And I will lose you, George. That’s the nature of these things.”
“Must it be?”
“Yes.” Her tone was firm. “We both knew the score before we ever embarked on this agreement. I set boundaries—I established rules. When you are married, this ends.” She frowned. “Your father must be very ill if you visited him in Bath.”
George took a long breath. “No more ill than before. Death has come knocking, but I doubt he will answer the door just yet. He has too much spite to die.”
“That changes very little except the timeline.”
“What if there were no timeline?” he asked, looking at her steadily.
“There must be! That’s your duty as heir. It’s—it’s expected. And your father—”
He would rather not think of his father at present. “Let us set aside his expectations for now. Allow me to be honest with you, Caroline. I have no desire for our arrangement to cease. And if you will not consent to being my wife, then—”
“Your wife?” she interrupted, sliding off the bed and taking the blanket with her, still held against her chest although he knew she had no aspirations to modesty. The sight stung. “Why in heaven’s name would you think I would marry you?”
This was not how he had envisaged his first proposal going. At the very least, he had imagined flowers, and a marginally more positive answer. “Is the idea of marrying me so repulsive?”
