“No, there is nothing about you to object,mon rayon de soleil.”
“Not ‘love’?”
“Just slipped out the first time. And you didn’t say anything, so…”
“I do not mind it. But you know, I cannot reciprocate it. Not yet.”
“I know, love. Truth be told, I was expecting a bit more panic this morning. Especially after all the warnings last night.”
“I’m too comfortable to panic. Perhaps after breakfast.”
“If you think I’m letting you out of this bed to break your fast if you plan on overthinking this as soon as I let you up, you have another thing coming.”
“Kidnapper! I knew you were a blaggard!” I could not keep the giggle at bay long enough to issue the accusation with the seriousness required for the jest.
In answer, he rolled me to my back and rose to hover above me on his forearms, pinning me loosely to the bed. He was sleep rumpled, adorable, handsome, sensual, seductive… everything.
“Right, you are. I’m a terrible, very bad man. You’re trapped here until I tire of you.”
“Such a horrible fate. When do you suppose you might tire of me?” I ran my free hand through wild curls, carding them between fingers. They were softer than they had any right to be.
“Never, I expect.” He was inexplicably serious for such a playful moment and my heart gave another jolt of something I wasn’t yet ready to name.
“Are you certain? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can be a great deal of trouble.”
The burst of laughter that escaped him startled us both. His head fell to my shoulder where he gave a gentle nip, before soothing it with a kiss.
“Aye, I’ve noticed that you’re nothing but trouble. But you’re the very best kind of trouble.”
“What kind is that?”
He pulled away from where he was doing incredibly terrible, very bad things to my neck. “You’re trouble for all the right reasons, love. You’re brave, and you’re funny—even intentionally on occasion. You’re passionate and determined. Stubborn as hell, really. Every time I think I understand you, you just… you show me something completely new and unexpectedly wonderful. You’re so damn beautiful that it hurts to look at you sometimes; it’s like staring into the sun. I could spend the rest of my life getting into trouble with you, and I wouldn’t regret a single second of it.”
“Will…” There weren’t words to respond to such a speech. Not in English or my rusty French.
“I know last night you were worried about tomorrow. But it’s here, love. It’s the harsh light of day and nothing has changed. I’m every bit as in love with you as I was last night. I know you’re not ready to hear that. And I won’t say it again, not until you are. I just needed you to know that I love you and the world isn’t ending because of it.”
It was entirely overwhelming. He was everything, everywhere. Surrounding me, in the air I breathed. And in that moment I wanted desperately to be able to say the words. The ones making a home at the tip of my tongue. The answer to his.
“Will, I…”
“Not yet, not until you know it. Don’t say it until you mean it.”
“How will you know when I mean it?” I asked, somewhat petulantly.
“Trust me, I will know. Now, I suppose I have to feed you. That’s what a good kidnapper would do, right?”
“I thought the point of kidnapping me was to keep me in this bed forever.”
“It was. Aren’t you fancy folk supposed to have servants with trays of tasty things?”
“We do. The bell is over there. Or are you too much of a plebeian to pull the cord?”
“Minx…” he pressed his lips to mine before rising. “Don’t move.” It was easy to watch him saunter over to the rope and pull. To appreciate his form. And to refrain from thinking and justfeel.
Twenty-Three
CADIEUX HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 15, 1816
