“Yes, my lord,” Yarrow answered, the hint of a smile turning into a wide grin. He knew where Roman was taking her. He knew what they were going to be doing.
As Roman reached the stairs’ landing and started up the second set, Leonie looked down at this man who had been more than a servant, and he winked at her.
She blushed but it was not with embarrassment. No, she was happy. All was very, very good.
Roman kicked open the door of their room. He still had not replaced Duncan Barr and she had yet to hire a suitable lady’s maid, so they were alone.
He carried her to the huge four-poster and sat her down upon the mattress. “Now, I’m going to celebrate the wedding night I should have had in London.”
“Weshould have had,” she corrected, and he laughed, his gladness matching her own.
And celebrate they did. They made quick business of shedding clothing. They were comfortable with each other now so there was no hesitancy.
Better, she knew what he liked and he had always known what she wanted.
Their “play” over the past weeks had been agreeable, but nothing made Leonie happier than once again accepting her husband into her body.
He held her as if he, too, relished the moment.
His gray eyes sought hers. “I love you, wife,” he whispered.
She reached up to brush the hair from his brow. “Not as much as I love you, husband.”
Roman laughed as if nothing could please him more. He began moving in her. Leonie wrapped her body around his, whispering his name and her love for him. His pace quickened. She found herself losing control. Her words were no longer intelligible. Only Roman could give her such pleasure. He had taught her the meaning of giving freely and freely receiving in return.
Nor was this just any act of coupling. Their union was the fulfillment of their vows. What God had joined could never be “put asunder.”
She was his—heart, body, and soul.
Roman found his release first. He was buried deep within and she suddenly understood what it meant for two to become one.
Leonie met him in his satisfaction, losing herself in the rippling waves of gratification.
When they were done, neither of them could move.
“So precious,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her temple.
She caressed his back, his buttock, his hip. He was hers. This was everything their wedding night should be.
Later, curled up under the covers, his arms around her, they talked about their plans for Bonhomie, for themselves, for her roses.
Oh, yes, they had big dreams.
And now, together, they would live them to the fullest.
