Damn, Cecilia thought as she rocked against his thrusting body.I love him.
His heart was going to break. Ned knew it, but could do nothing about it. His longing for her blistered him, even though he was inside her body. He wanted to see her naked. He wanted to kiss her breasts and navel and every other inch of her. He wanted to pour her tea in the morning while she read him amusing stories from the newspaper.
All his life he was going to ache for this woman, no matter how close they got.
The desperate need might have robbed him of his gentleness, but he loved her, and so he was as careful as he’d promised her, never mindwhat she’d said. She was far too naive to appreciate what would happen if he abandoned caution. One of these days he’d set his passion free—and the last of her inhibitions along with it. But today was—was—
He gave up thinking about it. He yielded to the wordless, rhythmic pulse of his body. It felt like gliding in sunlight.
And then Cecilia slipped a soft, gentle hand under his shirt. She stroked his back in wonder, trailing sparks behind her fingers. “I can’t believe I’m getting to touch you,” she whispered, and the words stroked his heart in a way he’d never felt before. Control fraying, he moved in her harder, and she rocked against him faster, and the world began to burn.
Suddenly, her breathing fell apart. Ned held her close, wanting to have it all in that moment—her breath, heartbeat, soul. She clung to him just as urgently, fingernails digging into skin, and as her most intimate muscles clenched around him he, too, climaxed, finding his heaven with her.
“Cecilia,” he whispered in the scorched darkness.
“Ned,” she breathed.
It was the simplest truth of them. It felt like everything.
Afterward, they sat together on the side of the bed, holding hands. “Well, I never,” Ned murmured, looking at Cecilia’s delicate fingers entwined in his.
“We should get back,” she said.
Neither of them moved.
“Are you all right?” he asked, tipping his head sideways toward her.
“Yes.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “A little concerned my aunt will take one look at me and know what I’ve been doing, lock me in my bedroom, and have me marry Cousin Frederick as a precaution against willfulness. Otherwise, fine, thank you.”
“You’re an adult, my darling. You could always lock your aunt in her bedroom and steal her house.”
“Ha ha.”
“Or steal a house of your own.”
She sighed. “That’s the dream. A pretty cottage, too many books, and—”
You.She did not say it. After all, he’d given her his body for the moment; she could not take his heart as well. Not even years of pirate training had made her so ruthless.
Ned sighed. “I guess we do have to get back.”
“Yes. But at least—at least now I know.”
He did not ask, assuming no doubt she meant her physical experience and not the bittersweet recognition of love she could never share with him. He turned, lifted her chin, kissed her soft and slow with love and sorrow.
It felt to her like good-bye, and her heart cried and shredded its damp handkerchief. To Ned, though, it was a promise—a way of saying he’d marry her as soon as he could, except first there were queens and aunts to manage. But they were pirates, used to shaping the world however they decided. They were motherless children. Neither thought for a moment to stop and actually properly talk.
“Ready?” Ned asked, smiling into her eyes.
Cecilia shrugged. “Tally ho.”
21
post-traumatic housework disorder—her majesty’s special service—a royal handshake—ned’s trousers—a roadblock—the ghost of miss darlington—degeneration (metaphorical and literal)—more of her majesty’s special service—a bloodless victory
Nothing is easier than to admit the truth of the universal struggle to find a good parking space. After some hovering and maneuvering, Ned was finally able to set Darlington House down not far from where Queen Victoria sat picnicking in grand state with Tom Eames and Constantinopla Brown. Oply’s presence explained why the Queen was there, but Ned could not imagine either her or Tom having the skill to raise a castle and fly it all the way from Windsor. Curious, worried, he muttered the anchoring stanza, then hurried downstairs.
Cecilia looked up from sweeping the foyer floor. She looked as implacable as a stick of dynamite. Ned eyed the broom warily as he approached, not altogether sure she wouldn’t hit him with it just to relieve her nervous tension.
