“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, pressing kisses to her throat, where the scar was beginning to fade, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. “So beautiful. And I was such a fool to think I could live without this. Without you.”
Eliza no longer had conscious control of her body’s movements, and so her hands worked at his clothes with equal urgency. Soon, they were skin to skin, nothing left between them.
“I cannot wait,” he rasped against her throat. “I need you. Now.”
When Morgan entered her, it felt like coming home. He moved slowly, tenderly, his forehead pressed to hers. She watched every expression that crossed his face as they made urgent love.
“I love you,” he said, timing the words to his movements as she felt herself nearing the edge. “I choose you. I want you. I’m yours.”
“Morgan,” she gasped, her nails digging into his back. “I choose you. I want you. I’m yours.”
“We’ll be brave together,” he said, kissing away the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes.
When they came apart, it was together. With her name on his lips, his on hers, their bodies and hearts and souls aligned in a way that felt like a promise. Like a vow more binding than anything they’d said in that chapel. Afterward, Morgan held her close, his face buried in her hair.
“Don’t leave,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave me, Eliza.”
“I won’t.” Her voice was thick with emotion.
“I promise. No more running. No more hiding.” He pulled back to look at her, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “And if you still want to travel, if you still want to see Europe, then we’ll go together. I’ll take you to Paris and Rome and Vienna and anywhere else you want to go. We’ll see the world together.”
Eliza smiled through her tears. “I’d like that.”
“And if I start to pull away again, I need you to call me on it. To remind me that loving you is worth the risk.”
“I can do that.” She pressed her palm to his chest, over his heart. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
“Together,” Morgan agreed, covering her hand with his. “I like the sound of that.”
They lay tangled together among the half-packed trunks and traveling clothes. For the first time in weeks, Eliza felt the terrible weight in her soul begin to lift in his soft gaze.
“I love you,” he whispered into the growing darkness as the sun began to set.
“I love you too,” Eliza whispered back. “Even when you’re being an idiot.”
Morgan laughed, a real laugh, the first in weeks. “Especially when I’m being an idiot, I hope. Because Ambrose assures me it’s a recurring condition.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m patient.”
“And far too good for me.”
“Yes, well.” Eliza snuggled closer. “You’re lucky I have terrible taste in men.”
“Man. One man.”
“Yes, one man. The worst.”
Morgan agreed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “The absolute worst.”
And there, in the wreckage of her attempted departure, surrounded by pieces of the life she’d been ready to build without him, they began again. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly before finding its mark. He traced his fingertips along the delicate ridge of her collarbone, his touch as light as a whisper but as searing as a brand. He moved with agonizing slowness, mapping her as if for the first time, trailing upward until he reached her earlobe.
“I adore you,” he whispered as he wrapped his lips around her earlobe.
His touch drifted down to the curve of her shoulders, then swept along the sensitive underside of her arms, tracing up and down in a rhythmic, hypnotic motion. She was hopelessly entranced. The tiny hairs on her body stood on end at the sensation, electricity humming between them. She gasped softly, the sound catching in her throat, and arched her back to meet him.
“And I need you,” Eliza replied sweetly, kissing him softly.
“Your wish is my command, Duchess.”
