"Then stop talking and make your dreams reality." But she softened it with a smile, with the brush of her fingers along his jaw.
He laughed, the sound vibrating through both their bodies. "Impatient, Duchess?"
"Desperately." She tugged at his cravat, loosening it with fumbling fingers. "And if you call me Duchess right now, I might have to hurt you."
"What should I call you then?" His hands had freed her from her dress, and he was sliding it down her shoulders with reverent slowness. "My love? My heart? My darling wild cat?"
"Isobel." She pushed his coat off, working at the buttons of his waistcoat. "Just Isobel."
"Just Isobel," he repeated, catching her hands and bringing them to his lips. "There's nothing 'just' about you. You're extraordinary. You're everything."
Her breath caught as he resumed undressing her, his hands gentle but sure. The dress pooled at her feet, followed by her stays, her chemise. She stood before him in nothing but thegolden afternoon light, and instead of feeling vulnerable, she felt powerful.
Because of the way he looked at her. Like she was art. Like she was precious. Like she was his whole world.
"Beautiful," he breathed, his fingers trailing from her shoulder down her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "So incredibly beautiful."
"Your turn." She reached for his shirt, and this time he didn't stop her, letting her strip away the layers until he stood before her just as bare.
She'd seen glimpses before, his chest when she'd tended his burns, his arms when he'd rolled up his sleeves. But this was different. This was intimate. This was choosing to be vulnerable together.
The burns were healing, pink scars marking his skin. She traced one gently, the one that curved across his ribs.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore." He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. "Not when you touch me."
He guided her backward toward the bed, his movements unhurried despite the tension she could feel thrumming throughhis body. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she sat, looking up at him.
"I love you," she said, needing him to hear it again. "Whatever happens, whatever challenges we face, I love you. Just you. Andrew."
His eyes blazed. "Say it again."
"I love you, Andrew." She reached for him, pulling him down to her. "I love you."
He captured her mouth in a kiss that stole her breath, his weight pressing her back into the soft linens. His hands mapped her body with patient thoroughness—the curve of her waist, the swell of her breast, the line of her thigh. Each touch felt like a question, and she answered with sighs and arching into him.
"Tell me what you want," he murmured against her throat, his lips trailing hot kisses along her pulse. "Tell me how to love you."
"Like this." She threaded her fingers through his hair. "Slowly. Like we have all the time in the world."
"We do." His hand slid between her thighs, fingers exploring with exquisite gentleness. "We have the rest of our lives."
She felt his gaze on her, hungry yet tender.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a low, velvety rumble that sent shivers cascading down her spine.
Isobel nodded, her throat too tight to speak, her body already surrendering to his command.
Andrew’s fingers paused, his eyes darkening at her breasts, the light catching the flush of her skin. He groaned, a sound that was almost a growl, and cupped them in his hands. His thumbs brushed her nipples until they pebbled beneath his touch.
Isobel arched into him, her breath hitching, her body alive with sensation. His touch was both gentle and demanding, a contradiction that left her trembling, yearning for more.
“Andrew,” she whispered, her voice a breathy plea, but he silenced her with a kiss. His lips were firm against hers, his tongue teasing, tasting, claiming.
"Let me taste you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "Please, Isobel. Let me worship you properly."
She nodded, beyond words, and he kissed his way down her body—her collarbone, the valley between her breasts, her stomach. When his mouth found her center, she cried out, her hands fisting in the sheets.
