He turned then, and the sight of her seemed to unravel something inside him. “Of course they’re concerned. You disappeared into marriage and now London is in a frenzy over us.”
“Over the way we behaved,” she corrected softly.
He exhaled—a slow, barely steadying breath—and reached for her hand. His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, a touch light enough to be innocent and yet charged with the memory of the night before.
“We need to show them unity,” he murmured. “Calm. Composure. Something resembling ordinary married life.”
Her breath caught when his fingers traced higher, the gentlest inquiry.
“Ordinary,” she echoed, almost laughing. “We have never once managed ordinary.”
He stepped closer.
“No,” he said, his voice dipping, “we never have.”
The distance between them vanished.
He touched her waist—only that—yet heat coiled deep inside her. His gaze lowered to her mouth, then lower still, as though he remembered the shape of her in his hands.
“Elias…”
A warning, or a plea—she wasn’t certain.
He lifted her hand and brushed his lips against her palm. A shock of sensation went straight through her, soft but shattering.
“We must be sensible,” she whispered, though her fingers curled against his cheek.
“We must,” he agreed, but he didn’t step back. His hand glided—slowly, reverently—along her hip, gathering the fabric of her morning dress as if it were the most natural movement in the world.
“My family will be here shortly,” she managed.
“Yes.”
His breath warmed her throat. “Which gives us very little time.”
She let her forehead rest against his. “Elias…”
“Celine, tell me to stop.”
A thin thread of control, just enough for her to cut.
But she didn’t.
She tightened her hand at his neck instead.
That was all it took.
He pulled her to him—not with the wild hunger of last night, but with a reverence that felt even more dangerous. His lips found hers, slow, deep, coaxing rather than claiming, and somehow that gentleness undid her entirely.
Her knees weakened.
He caught her, holding her firmly against him, and the kiss grew—still slow, still careful, but threaded with a promise that made her pulse stutter.
Her fingers slid into his hair.
He made a low sound—half restraint, half surrender—and eased her backwards until the edge of the chaise met the back of her legs. She sank onto it, breath unsteady, heart unguarded.
He followed her down only far enough to keep their lips connected, his hands cradling her waist with a tenderness that belied the heat beneath it.
