"It's terrifying to admit that I might never wield my power again."
Ianthe stroked his hand. "Perhaps... we can both work on our weaknesses. Together."
"Together," he whispered. "Marry me, Ianthe. Not for Louisa. Not for me. For yourself. Trust me."
Ianthe closed her eyes. She would do it for Louisa and for herself–for that trembling, well-guarded scrap of her heart that barely dared. She would make herself vulnerable to him. If he wanted to cut out her heart, then she was serving it up to him on a platter. I love you. For a moment, she was frightened that she'd said it aloud, but Lucien gave no sign of hearing it. His hands stroked the silk that covered her hips as his hungry gaze roved over her. Patiently, he waited for her answer.
"Very well."
"Very well," he grumbled, but his hands tightened on her hips, as if he'd feared that she'd say no. "I offer her an earldom, and she says 'very well'."
"What would you have me say?" Her heart felt curiously light, unfettered for the first time in years.
"I would have you overwrought with pleasure, my dear." A faint smile touched his mouth, a teasing light in his eyes. "But perhaps I know just how to take you there."
"Or perhaps," she responded, sliding her hands up over his bare shoulders, "I will take you there."
His eyes lit with curiosity. "You're going to dump me in the bath if you're not careful."
"Well, we can't be having that." She slid her hands down the chiseled muscle of his torso and abdominals, tugging a finger into the knot of his towel. "It would be a shame to get you all wet."
Slowly, she pushed him back toward the bath. He went down, one hand gripping the bath rim, his legs still hanging over the edge. The towel was sopping wet, unraveling to reveal the hard length of his cock. Water slopped everywhere as his long body folded into the bath.
"I can see that you like getting your own way," he said, with an interested gleam in his eye.
Ianthe bit her lip, trying to suppress her laughter. "I'm so terribly sorry. But look... Now you're all wet. Whatever shall we do?"
Those amber eyes narrowed. "Well, you can start by getting rid of this." He tossed the drenched towel at her, and it splatted against her chest. "Then you can climb in here yourself, madam."
Ianthe dropped the towel. "So impatient," she admonished, grabbing a fistful of her skirts and stepping into the bath.
He dragged her down into his lap. Hot water wet her thighs and waist. The crepe of her skirts floated around them.
One hand cupped her nape, dragging her down for his kiss.
Here she was confident. He wanted her. The truth of that could not be more apparent. At least, no matter what happened, they would always have this. A way to communicate without words... A means to bridge the gap between them. And she trusted this, if nothing else.
Afterward, they lay in the still darkness of his room, limbs entwined, and naked flesh pressed against each other. Lucien stroked her back with trailing fingertips, as though lost deep in thought.
"Having regrets?" Ianthe teased, tiptoeing her fingers up the hard plane of his stomach.
Lucien shifted, turning so that they were face-to-face, their palms linked. "About?"
"The thought of being leg-shackled?"
Heat darkened his eyes, and his palm curled over her hip, sliding down to cup her bare bottom. "There are other compensations, I'm finding." He leaned forward to tongue her breast. "Like having you at my beck and call, day and night."
Ianthe moaned, submitting to his skilled mouth. They weren't the words she'd hoped for, but then, she was the one who'd begun in a teasing manner. Cupping his cheek, she forced his mouth from her skin. If he started this again, she'd never get any sleep. "Lucien."
"I like that." A rumble sounded from deep within his chest, like a cat's purr. Lucien tucked his head beneath her jaw, nibbling at her throat. "My name on your lips."
"I like it too." Unbidden, she tilted her face up, allowing him access to her exposed throat. Soft lips traced her collarbone. It was a slower seduction than any he'd undertaken before.
But then, it had never meant anything before beyond sex.
Ianthe bit her lip. She could feel the change between them, tenuous and delicate. He touched her with reverent hands, curious and explorative, as though he had all the time in the world to learn her. Or as though he was intricately interested in each inch of skin beneath his touch. She didn't know what to make of it. All she knew was that she liked it. Immensely. It felt like she was a precious, precious thing, held in his protective hands.
It felt like he cared, like she was the only woman he wanted. Ever.
