Her legs locked around his, pushing her bare feet into his calves and rocked back against him with such force that he went momentarily blind, just keeping her beneath him, just holding her to him and trying to contain the way it felt.
She sank her hands into his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers as she reached her apex, crying out against his tongue as she trembled and shook, inviting him to continue taking, to continue indulging in what he had wanted for so very, very long.
And that was all he could bear. It was the final blow against what remained between Elias the man and the animal beneath it all.
He held her by the hips and pumped himself into her, losing himself completely. He clashed with her, much as he always had, though this time, there was satisfaction in it. This time, it was right. And he did not stop until he broke, filling her with the proof of his desire and returning the taste of climax to her mouth the way she had done to his. He coiled, he tensed, and, miraculously, somehow, and at long last, he found release.
He released and he fell.
And Harriet French, the eternal thorn in his side, caught him in her arms when he landed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hattie dozed fora time, long enough that the sun had begun to sink down below the crest of the hill that held the house up and change the color of the room around them. She woke still wrapped around Elias, their legs tangled and his weight still eased onto the side of her body, his head resting on her shoulder.
She felt him holding her hand, the one that now had a beautiful ring upon it, turning and examining her fingers and knuckles and palm and heel, unaware that her eyes were blinking open again, until she gave a little chuckle, a smile spreading over her lips.
He glanced up at her, those eyes so very blue in the low light, and sheepishly smiled back. “There’s no scar,” he said, running his thumb along the line of her hand, where she had burned herself in the moment before they’d first met. “It’s strange; I could’ve sworn there was one.”
“There was, for many years,” she said sleepily, stifling a little yawn. “It faded eventually.”
“‘Faded,’” he repeated thoughtfully. “Then it was never a scar in the first place. Just a very slow-healing wound.”
“I suppose not,” she said, her hand curling up to tangle in his hair. “You are right. A scar would have stayed forever.”
“Not a scar,” he said with a soft smile. “Not a scald.”
“Well, it wasn’t a scald,” she said, laughing again, this time enough that her chest shook and shook him with it. “I thought the cook was going to strangle me.”
“So did I,” he said, marveling and bringing the hand up to kiss the place where the burn had once been. “I was amazed that you didn’t look more afraid. Resentful, even. How dare a girl be braver than I? A new baron.”
“How dare, indeed,” she said, stroking those dark, silky locks, her fingernails trailing along the back of his neck until his eyes fluttered shut with a sigh. “I was afraid. I’m just often bad at showing it.”
“There’s power in that deficiency,” he told her without opening his eyes. “I assure you.”
“Yes, well…” she said with a snort. “It seemed to always infuriate you that I couldn’t emote properly. Perhaps Iamsimple.”
Thatgot his eyes open again, his hand coming up to stop her ministrations and a frown tugging at his lips. “You are not simple,” he said, pushing himself up onto his elbow to loom over her. “You are remarkable.”
“One can be both,” she said teasingly.
“And yet you are not,” he replied, a little firmer than Hattie thought strictly necessary, but that had always been his way, hadn’t it?
“Hm,” she said, reaching up to trace the line of his face with her fingernails. “I sent your pig away for the night, by the by. I couldn’t reckon with the idea of traumatizing that sweet creature with a forced audience to our consummation, but now I realize it was unnecessary. She would have remained innocent, sequestered in the master suite while we were depraved here, a floor below.”
He watched her for a moment, those dark-blue eyes flicking back and forth over her face. “Who said we aren’t going to defilethe master suite as well?” he asked, raising his brows. “It is still early.”
“Itisstill early,” she agreed, glancing at the setting sun. “Isn’t it?”
He sighed, leaning into the palm of her hand and nodding. “Yes. And I would wager our absence has been noted. And commented upon. And perhaps rendered in pantomime.”
“The posh one and the pantomime,” Hattie echoed, giggling, though in doing so, she remembered the context in which those words were spoken. “How… erm…”
“How did I fare against my parents?” he asked, his lips twisting in dry amusement as he sighed and pushed himself back to sitting. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. They shan’t be incarcerating Mr. Harcourt tonight, in any event.”
“Well,” she said, scooting backward and pulling herself up as well. “That is something.”
He shot her a look and she flattened her mouth in response, which did, at least, have the effect of making them both laugh.
