He’d been that man once, moving through dim corridors, voicing declarations meant to dissolve by morning. Truthfully, the women held him in lower regard than he held himself. There were no broken hearts.
He was blessedly ready for more. Forher.
Ever glanced across the way through a narrow gap in the ballroom’s velvet drapes, though he’d already seen enough. With a curse, he shoved his watch into his fob pocket. Unless she said no, this would be Isabella’s last night lingering on the fringes, hovering, only to step into another man’s arms, her ivory gown shimmering in candlelight as the lad led her onto the dance floor. The first waltz—her smile bestowed on some young coxcomb—had been torment enough for one lifetime.
It was time he and Isabella got what they wanted.
Each other.
“You’re hiding from me,” she whispered, slipping up behind him from the garden stairs.
Ever closed his eyes, relief loosening something tight beneath his ribs as his breath left him. He turned, and she was there. Candlelight clung to the pale silk at her shoulders, tothe curve of her throat. Her amber gaze was steady, but the pulse beneath her ear fluttered wildly, betraying her.
He gripped her wrist and pulled her into a shadowed recess where no one would see them. “No, and I never will, sprite,” he whispered, tipping her face into the hushed moonlight and claiming her mouth before she could debate it.
She accepted his dominance, the kiss swelling until it rolled over them like a wave. Her arms circled his neck as he walked her back, fingers curving around her hip as they met the balustrade. For two souls who had shared everything, intimacy and secrets, the chase was brief. Her moan broke against his mouth, his answering hunger unmistakable as the rhythm between them found its pace—heat building, breath tangling, restraint slipping until they moved as one.
“My,” she breathed, and reached for him. Her fingers cupped his cock, searing him through layers of superfine and cotton. “You have missed me.” Then she made it worse, describing the taste of him as she explored his shape. The image of her on her knees before him in his bedchamber, her gaze finding his in candlelight, roared through him. It had been the most erotic moment of his life.
Stunned into silence, he let her undo him on a thankfully deserted Mayfair terrace, her touch inquisitive, her words damning, halting her only when his excitement moved him past the ability to sustain a simple kiss.
Dropping his brow to hers, he exhaled against her cheek. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to?—”
“Come,” she murmured, interrupting him when he’d planned to use a more tender term. Spend, perhaps. Spill, even, crude but precise.
Laughing softly at his bewilderment, confidence in place, Isabella continued to stroke him, thumb circling his crown through the cloth, lips nipping the tender nook above his collar, hips rocking into his. Dropping hishead back, he gripped her waist and closed his eyes, losing reason. Any argument misplaced, his inclination to deny her dissolved.
He’d rarely let anyone render him powerless—let himselfbepowerless. Maybe he never had, Ever realized, as the power of love ratcheted through him.
Isabella unfastened two buttons on his trousers, her fingers grazing his length through the fall of his drawers. It was hurried, slightly graceless, and devastating. She seduced him in single-minded increments, and ended it by whispering about touching herself in her darkened bedchamber, wishing his fingers were there instead of hers.
He groaned, his mouth taking hers in a savage kiss. She couldn’t have known it was his fantasy, one he’d never experienced with anyone. The image of watching her bring herself to release was enough to drag his own from him.
Isabella held steady as he shook and trembled, governing his world for those scant moments. The aftershock lingered as the night closed around them, sensation overtaking him, pleasure cresting hard, without mercy.
Vision blurred, breath torn from his lungs, Ever sagged against the balustrade. “You can’t marry a dead man, Isa,” he whispered, his fingers shaking as he fumbled to fasten his trousers. “And my bloody heart feels near to bursting. Did you forget those fourteen years I have on you?”
The only reply was the rustle of silk as she casually wiped her hand on her skirt, and beneath it, riding the humid air, a faint, triumphant chuckle.
As composed as he could be with her touch imprinted on his skin, Ever dragged a hand through his hair and forced himself to meet her gaze. Petal-thin streaks of moonlight outlined her, offering meager illumination—enough cover if anyone stumbled into this deserted recess, but not when a man wanted every detail. She’d stepped back to give him room to lean against the balustrade, his legs bracketing her. Hersmile was wide, her cheeks flushed, as if she’d climaxed with him.
Instead of asking what he should, he whispered, “Did you mean what you said about pleasuring yourself? If so, I won’t ever forget it.”
Isabella dipped her head, a muted sound of delight spilling from her lips.
He stared, fascinated to his bones. Success looked bloody marvelous on her.
It was staggering, the instant Ever comprehended what he’d given her: rare knowledge of him, and the power to use it.
Enough to ruin him, should she wish.
Her smile deepened as she stepped in, and he could only draw her into his arms, his knees closing around her hips to keep her there. “You can trust me, Everard Trentham. With your heart, your hopes, your future. I’ll be your family if you let me, your partner in every way possible. There will be no need to run.”
“I love you, Isa,” he whispered, the words unfamiliar on his tongue. “More than I know how to manage, though I’m ready to learn.”
Isabella’s hand rose to tangle in his hair. “Took you long enough.”
“That’s not?—”
