“Are you certain you’re up to it?” he asked her. It seemed impossible to still make the vote. And yet, with Lilly in his arms, he was beginning to believe anything was possible.
“Absolutely! We can rest in the carriage.” She snuggled back into him. “Now, tally ho and all that nonsense. Let’s get a move on.”
Michael laughed and spurred his horse forward. After only a few steps, Lilly perked up again and began telling him everything that had happened.
“I didn’t mean to leave for so long!” she explained. “But they wanted me to marry Danbury! Danbury! Can you imagine? But I was planning to return, and then Hawthorne told me Aunt Eleanor had suffered an attack! She did not really, did she?” At Michael’s reassurance, she continued. When she informed him the earl had shot the footman and then pointed the gun at her, Michael tightened his grip around her. “It was horrible, Michael, but I couldn’t dwell upon it. He’s crazy, the earl, but I got him to untie my legs, and then…” She told him of the tree, and the fire, and the horses. “And then I found you, and now we are going to get back to London so you can make your vote!” She’d turned into a bundle of energy, and by the time they arrived in Reading, she seemed, once again, her normal self.
Every time he imagined what the outcome could have been, he had to force the scenario out of his mind. This day could have ended in a very different way!
But it did not.
It had not.
As Lilly slid off the horse into Michael’s waiting arms in Reading, he noticed for the first time her unusual attire. She wore a man’s britches! And they hugged her firm behind in a way no dress ever would.
Being with her, touching her, was almost unreal. She was safe. She was alive. And now he was certain, she would be his.
Adjusting his own trousers, Michael climbed into the rented carriage and closed the door behind him. The cabin lurched a bit as the coach began to move. Reminded of the bags Lady Eleanor had sent along, sitting on the floor, he reached for one and tossed it on the bench next to Lilly.
“Are you hungry, love?”
Lilly returned his gaze with a devious grin. She was a seductress, this mud-covered urchin of his.
He laughed softly. “For food, my love. In the bag.”
And then her stomach chose that moment to make a growling sound.
They both laughed this time. “Don’t make fun.” She blushed as she opened the pack. “I haven’t eaten all day!” When she pulled out some bread and cheese and a flask of wine, Michael realized he too, was famished.
Handing the wine back and forth, together, Lilly and Michael finished off the crusty bread and pungent cheese in a comfortable silence. By some crazy chance of fate, she was given one more night alone with her love. They were both exhausted, however, and filthy.
Michael stuffed the leftover bread back into the bag and then moved across the carriage to sit beside her. Wrapping one arm around her shoulder, he reclined them both against the side of the carriage while keeping one foot on the floor for support.
His hands covered hers, which rested upon her stomach.
If she told him she thought she might be carrying, he would never let her go. She had to force herself to remember the reasons this wasn’t a good idea. What were those reasons? His honor, a duke’s honor, to his people, to his betrothed. She could have him for herself, but in choosing her, he would sacrifice that which he lived to uphold, in the name of his father and all those other dukes before him.
She mustn’t take that from him.
Instead, she moved her own hands to cover his…so his now rested on her still flat tummy.
This was most likely the closest he would come to touching their child—if one existed. She smoothed her palms over his strong, long fingers. Oh, to be like this with him forever. Lillydid her best to stay awake. She didn’t want to miss even a minute wrapped in his arms.
She drifted off moments after he did.
Michael awokewhen the sounds of street vendors and other carriages rumbling along intruded on his dreams. They were pulling into London just as the sun was rising. John and Arty had made incredible time. Michael’s hands were under Lilly’s shirt, and he couldn’t resist tenderly caressing her warm skin. As she stretched like a cat, Michael allowed his fingers to drift downwards until he was threading his fingers through tight curls.
Her breathing hitched. Oh, yes, she was awake now.
She was his. She would always be his.
He teased and massaged her warmth, feeling his own breaths quicken as he did so.
“Good morning,” he whispered, nipping at her tiny ears. She made a soft mewling sound as his fingers moved slowly, in and out of her most tender of openings. He knew exactly what she liked, what she needed. How had they gone so long without one another?
Moving more purposefully with him, she turned her head and searched for his lips with hers. Aroused, but intent upon her satisfaction, he kissed her languidly, thoroughly. Their breath, tasting of the wine they’d drunk the night before, mingled. As he continued his motions with his hand, Lilly wound one arm around his neck. She clung to him but also arched beneath his touch. Her tongue mimicked the motion his fingers made as she thrust it in and explored his mouth.
She held back nothing of herself from him. It had always been this way.
