Sophia looked at his outstretched palm, then up at his face. Whatever she saw there made her breath catch. She placed her hand in his.
Her fingers were cool against his skin. He drew her to her feet, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and led her from the dining room. The servants melted away as they passed, well-trained enough to disappear when discretion was required.
They climbed the stairs in silence. The house settled around them, quiet and dim, the corridors lit by flickering sconces. Edward’s heart beat a steady rhythm in his chest, anticipation and something deeper intertwining until he could not tell them apart.
He stopped outside her chamber door. Sophia turned to face him, her back against the wood, and her eyes searching his.
“Edward.” His name was a whisper on her lips.
He stepped closer, eliminating the space between them. His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed.
“I have thought about this.” His voice emerged rough. “About you. Every night since we married. Every moment we have spent dancing around each other, pretending we did not want this.”
Her eyes opened. “I wasn’t pretending.”
“Neither was I.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “But I was afraid. Of wanting too much. Of losing control. Of what might happen if I let myself feel everything I have been fighting.”
“And now?”
He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “Now I am done fighting.”
He kissed her.
Not gentle, not tentative, not the careful kiss of a man holding himself in check. This kiss was hunger and surrender, weeks of longing distilled into the press of lips and the slide of tongues. Sophia’s hands fisted in the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer, and Edward groaned against her mouth.
He reached behind her and opened the door. They stumbled into her chamber, mouths still joined, hands grasping at fabric and skin. The door swung shut behind them. The fire had been lit, casting warm light across the bed, the rugs, the woman in his arms.
His wife. Finally, truly, his wife.
Edward pulled back just enough to look at her. Her lips were swollen, her hair coming loose from its pins, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. She had never looked more beautiful.
“Are you certain?” He forced the question out, though every part of him ached to continue. “We can wait. If you need more time?—”
“I do not want to wait.” She reached up and began unfastening his cravat, her fingers steady despite the tremor in her voice. “I have waited long enough.”
The cravat fell away. She moved to the buttons of his waistcoat, her knuckles brushing against his chest through the thin fabricof his shirt. Edward stood motionless, letting her undress him, watching her face as she worked.
When his waistcoat joined the cravat on the floor, she looked up at him. “Will you help me with my laces?”
He turned her gently, his hands finding the ribbons at her back. The gown was intricate, designed to require a lady’s maid, but Edward worked the laces free with patient determination. Each inch of skin revealed made his pulse quicken. The curve of her spine. The delicate wings of her shoulder blades. The soft warmth of her beneath his fingertips.
The gown loosened and slipped from her shoulders. Sophia caught it at her waist, holding it against her body. She turned to face him, vulnerability and want at war in her expression.
Edward took her hands and lifted them away. The gown pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her shift, the thin fabric hiding nothing from his gaze.
“You are…” Words failed him. He shook his head. “There are no words. None that are adequate.”
Sophia reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it free from his trousers. He helped her drag it over his head, tossing it aside. Her hands settled on his bare chest, her palms flat against his skin, and he shuddered at the contact.
“You are shaking.” Her voice was soft with wonder.
“I know.” He caught her hands and pressed them harder against his heart. “Do you feel that? That is what you do to me. What you have always done to me.”
He lifted her into his arms. She gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders, but he held her secure against his chest. Three strides carried them to the bed. He laid her down on the coverlet as though she were made of glass, as though she might shatter if he moved too quickly.
She pulled him down with her.
Edward slid a knee between her thighs. His hand palmed her breast, and he moved his thumb in slow circles over her nipple. Sophia gave a small whimper and reached down and grasped the length of him. A groan echoed hers as his hands slid from her breast to the cleft between her legs.
