His intensity released a swarm of butterflies in her belly.
“That madwoman held a pistol to your head, Evie. If I had missed—if my shot had been off by even an inch—I would have lost you.”
“You didn’t miss.” Seeing the tension in his shoulders, she gentled her tone. “You never would. Your aim is as flawless as you are.”
“Flawless? Is that how you see me?” There was no humor in his smile. “I killed a woman, and I have no regrets. None. Because she threatened you, and if I lost you, I…I…”
Her breath stuck in her throat. His glittering gaze, topped by fiercely drawn brows and deep slashes around his mouth, set off a wild thumping in her chest. She knew she should run. She should retreat like she always had. But after the months of silence, his declaration, gritty and unfinished, felt like a balm to her soul. While she swayed with indecision, her feet remained planted. Then it was too late. James yanked her into his arms. Enveloped by his strength and the virile scent of sandalwood and male musk that was his alone, she trembled…not with fear but soul-deep longing.
It has been so long. I thought he would never hold me this way again.
“You’re my wife, Evie,” he said roughly. “Mine.”
She tipped her head back as his mouth came crashing down. The impact made her whimper, then moan for more. The scorching kiss burned away her secrets and failures until only a single thought remained.
He needs me and wants me still.
Joy broke the dam in her heart. Desire rushed through her, and there was no way to stem the tide, no way to stop the pent-up need from taking over. She pressed herself against her husband, spearing her fingers into the rough silk of his hair. Parting her lips, she welcomed him in, and the growl that escaped him didn’t sound like James. To be fair, she didn’t feel like Evie. The months of separation fell away like withered petals, and her restraint followed. In her beloved’s arms, she was nothing but sensation. Nothing but endless wanting and heat. The depth of her hunger might have shocked another man, but James…James just kissed her harder.
Wetter. Deeper.
“That’s right, sunflower,” he whispered. “Open to me.”
Sunflower.
The first time he’d called her by this endearment, she’d thought it was silly. Now the whimsy of it dampened her eyes. He hadn’t called her “sunflower” in ages, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it, even if the comparison to Helianthus annuus was illogical. For she was nothing like the dramatically beautiful bloom: it boldly sought out brightness while she hid in the shadows.
Yet James’s desire unfurled her. His possession touched the essence of her yearning until she burned with need. They fought to get closer, tearing at the layers between them. She was desperate and greedy, and his growl conveyed his own urgency. When they were panting and pressed together flesh-to-flesh, she had the giddy, fleeting feeling of being his equal. Even so, in the moment before passion obliterated her, before James shocked her by bending her over the bed and driving into her with a force that pushed a blissful cry from her lips, a thought flitted through her head.
I love you, now and forever. Yet I must keep you safe from the shadows I carry.
Chapter Two
James opened his eyes to an unfamiliar canopy of green silk damask and an equally unfamiliar feeling swelling in his chest.
Hope.
He managed, just barely, to prevent himself from grinning like a fool. Turning his head on the pillow, he saw that Evie was gone. This wasn’t surprising. His wife was an early riser, and if this were a typical day at home, she would be puttering in her greenhouse in the ungodly hours before dawn. Yet they weren’t at Grove Hall, their idyllic Berkshire estate on the Downs above Brightwalton, and there was nothing usual about what had transpired last night.
Have I finally fixed things with Evie? Is our marriage back on course?
Tucking his hands behind his head, James allowed himself to savor the memories of their lovemaking. Prior to their troubles in the last year, he had experienced his wife’s passion…yet even he hadn’t suspected the extent of it. Shy and serious, Evie preferred the company of plants over people, a quality he found charming. In truth, he was proud of her intellectual prowess and accomplishments. How many fellows could claim that his lady had discovered a new subspecies of a flower and had written a scholarly paper based on her studies?
Yet, if he were honest, there were times when he wished that Evie would apply the same vigor and curiosity she had for botany to their marriage. The thought was accompanied by a stab of guilt. For Evie was a good wife: dutiful and considerate, she ran their household with seamless efficiency. His family and the servants adored her.
As a spouse, she was loyal, attentive, and saw to his comforts. If he complimented a dish once, he would find it added to the regular menu. While Evie could be reserved in public, when it was just the two of them, she never lacked for conversation. True, most of it concerned scintillating topics such as pollination…but he liked her quiet yet passionate ambition. He also liked how animated she got when discussing flora and fauna. Flecks of gold would surface and sparkle in her whisky-brown eyes, and her face, framed by soft blonde curls, would flush a charming peony-pink.
Evie was a good listener, too. When they discussed his favorite subject of politics, he found her mind as agile as any of his male cronies. He valued her opinion and their lively debates when they did not agree. He had also confided in her about his family. She alone understood his close and complicated relationships with his siblings.
Evie had held up her side of the marital bargain. She was a proper countess and a comfortable companion. It wasn’t her fault that he wanted…well, he wanted…
More. I want more.
Staring up at the canopy’s swirling and inscrutable pattern, he wondered when he’d begun feeling this way. Truth be told, discontent had been niggling at him for months and perhaps longer, yet he’d buried it. If there was anything a Harrington valued, it was loyalty. Ad finem fidelis—faithful to the end—was the family motto. His dissatisfaction with his marriage felt like a betrayal of his vows, especially since Evie had been candid about the kind of wife she would be. Indeed, she’d turned down his first proposal.
“You do me a great honor, my lord,” she had said with quiet dignity. “But I fear I am not suited to marriage.”
“To me, specifically, or in general?” he’d asked.
