Lucas smiled and followed her.
“This is where I spend a lot of my time,” she began. “It’s nice to be able to work here and be cool in the summer, but quite cosy in the winter...” She sighed. “I’m rambling.”
“Why?” Lucas walked to the window and looked out into the garden.
“Because I’m nervous.”
“Of me?” He shot her an amused glance.
“No, of course not. Well, not really. Ohcoggles. I don’t know...”
“Verity. Come here.” He held out his hand.
Obediently she walked to his side and laid her palm against his, letting him intertwine their fingers.
“Your garden is delightful,” he murmured, pulling her close to his side, close enough that she could feel his warmth seeping through their clothing.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I like it.”
“Did you design it?”
She shook her head. “Not really. It’s been like this for several generations. I merely added a few flowers here and there. Roses, of course...”
“And lily of the valley?”
His voice slithered up her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and she sucked in a breath of air at the look on his face. “Lucas...” she whispered.
“Oh Verity,” he muttered. “You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”
She opened her mouth to answer—and realised there was no answer that mattered. Then she was in his arms, and willingly responding to every touch, every caress, sinking into his kiss with breathless enthusiasm.
He pulled back a little and gazed at her, his eyes half closed, his hands hot against her spine. “Tell Sprocket to hold off on lunch...” he whispered.
Her heart tripped, staggered, and fell. “All right.”
*~~*~~*
She was heat and fire and silk in his arms and had led him to her room without any pretence of modesty, or shock. No, she had made it clear without words that this was what she wanted.
And God, he wanted it too. If he was honest with himself, he’d wanted this since the first moment he’d seen her. Perhaps that was why he’d never settled on a wife in Sectorvale.
The memory of that innocent gaze, from those soft misty grey eyes...he’d dreamed of her a time or two, but the years passed and he never did anything about it.
Now? He could doeverything.
Her room was shaded from the sun by a willow that dripped branches across one side of her bow window, and the windows were open just a little, letting in the sun warmed air that smelled of new-mown grass.
“Verity,” he whispered. “Are you sure?” He hoped the answer was yes, because he already had her corset half-unlaced.
She unfastened his cravat and tossed it aside, then slid her hands around his neck, pulling his face to hers. “Does that answer your question?”
He wanted to smile, to laugh aloud, but he’d reached the last hook of her corset, and it fell away, revealing a thin lace shirt. Shrugging his jacket off, he tossed it aside. “Now we’re even.”
She laughed softly. Then untied the tapes of her skirt and petticoats, letting them fall to the ground. “Not quite...”
He smiled back, removed his jacket, and unfastened his breeches.
“My boots...” he muttered. “Damn boots...”
