He looked into her eyes and then said the words she had longed to hear, speaking as a man who could hold back no longer. “I’llnevertell you to go away. I love you, Gwendolyn Lanscarr. I’ve loved you since that night in Dublin.”
Shewas loved. Shelovedin return.
Beckett started to turn. She tightened her hold, fearful he was going to leave. Instead, he closed the bedroom door.
She smiled against his neck. He brushed a kissagainst her hair and lifted her as if she weighed less than a feather. He carried her to the mattress.
The bed ropes gave under her weight. She expected him to join her. Instead, he pulled his shirt over his head. She kicked her shoes off, letting them hit the wood floor.
Candlelight turned the hard planes of his torso to gold. He had a long, lean waist. His arms and chest were well muscled. Desire, sharp and needy, spun deep inside her.
And then she noticed the scar along one shoulder. Another was on his right side, an incision no longer than an inch, the skin around it puckered.
He started to lean down to her, but she came up on her knees in alarm. She placed her fingers on that scar on his side. “So close to death,” she whispered. “And here.” She brushed his shoulder with her fingertips.
He caught her hand, raised it to his lips. His breath was warm against her skin. She kissed the scar on his shoulder, letting her lips linger. He was so precious to her.
Beckett drew her arms around his neck. She pressed herself against his bare skin. Her dress was still slightly damp. He kissed the sensitive place right where her collarbone met her shoulder. She felt his fingers unlacing the back of her dress.
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Gwendolyn?” he whispered, alarmed.
She looked up at him, her hair a dark curtain over her shoulders and down her back. “I love you,” she said fiercely. She laid a hand againsthis jaw and felt the gentle scratch of his day-old whiskers. “Never doubt that.”
“I love you, Gwendolyn,” he answered, his gaze intent and solemn. “And we shouldn’t do this—”
“No.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, lest his conscience forced him to pull away. “You are the man I want. And besides, the damage to my reputation is done, even if we were kidnapped. No one would believe I didn’t seduce you. You are stuck with me, Mr. Steele. I’m yours whether you want me or not.”
She spoke the last with defiance and a hint of humor, although all of it was the truth.
He responded solemnly. “I want you, Gwendolyn. You are mine. I shall love you all the days of my life.”
These were vows, she realized. Vows more holy than could be said before a cleric because they came from his heart.
And she could have wept from the beauty of it. Instead, she kissed him, breathing him in and thinking how blessed she was. Then she shifted so that her gown fell to the bed around her knees, leaving her in the thinnest of chemises over tight breasts. She slid her arms out of the thin lace ties and let that fall over her petticoats still tied at her waist.
“Gwendolyn.” She’d never tire of hearing him speak her name, especially when he said it with such hushed, reverent delight.
“I warn you, Beckett. A Lanscarr will keep you busy.”
“I’m up for the challenge,” he assured her, andthen he found her mouth and kissed her deeply. Their tongues met as Gwendolyn wrapped her arms around his ribs and his back before her hands drifted lower. She stroked the curve of his buttocks before her fingers slipped under the material of his breeches. She followed his waist until she discovered the first button, the back of her hand against the hard flatness of his abdomen.
She twisted the button free.
As she reached for another, Beckett sat on the edge of the bed and swung her into his lap, where he kissed her neck, her shoulders. Her dress and chemise fell to the floor. He began untying the tapes of her petticoats and sliding them down her legs until she was gloriously naked in his lap. The heat of his mouth covered her breast. She gasped his name. She buried her fingers in his thick hair.
When his lips found hers again, she kissed him with all the growing passion in her being. She held nothing back. She drank in all she could of him, his taste, his scent, his warmth... his strength.
He eased her back onto the mattress and then started to stand.
“No,” Gwendolyn said. They couldn’t stop now. She had no desire to ever let him go.
“Let me undress.” He hooked his hands in his waistband and pushed his breeches down.
Men didn’t wear smallclothes.
And his body was beautiful in its strength.
