Anyone could have glanced out the window or walked out the door and seen them, but Evie didn’t care. Neither, it seemed, did Weston. Their only concern was each other…their only care was how fast they could sate the restless yearning building inside of them.
He backed her up against the side of the manor where ivy climbed a wooden trellis. Glossy green leaves tangled in her hair as Weston captured both of her wrists and raised her arms above her head, leaving her helplessly exposed to his ravenous, carnal appetite.
“Evelyn. Evelyn. Sweet Evelyn.” He repeated her name as if it were a prayer as his mouth skimmed down her throat. She writhed against him, instinctively arching her hips so that all the pulsing heat centered between her thighs rubbed against his hard, throbbing arousal.
He kissed his way to her breasts, impatiently shoving the folds of her cloak aside so that he could suckle her nipples through the sheer layers of fabric that comprised her bodice. When he dropped to his knees and released her arms, she helped him yank up her skirts and quivered like a bowstring drawn taut at that first electric touch of his tongue against the most intimate, sensitive part of her entire body.
Her head thrashed against the ivy as he pleasured her, first with his mouth, and then with his fingers, and then both at the same time in an undulating rhythm that sent her spiraling into oblivion with such savage speed she hardly had time to catch her breath before he drove her off the edge again…andagain.
When he rose to his feet and sought his own release with his hand, she clung to him, burrowing her face into the valley beneath the slant of his collarbone. And when it was over, when their desires were finally sated, they clung to each other as their harsh breathing stained the air and their heartbeats gradually slowed.
Without a word, Weston helped her straighten her dress and fix the lay of her cloak so that it concealed her breasts and the wet circles his wicked tongue had left behind before he shoved his shirttails back into his trousers and adjusted his jacket.
“Thank you,” he said, tenderly brushing a curl off her cheek.
“For what?” she asked, tilting her head back.
“For being there when I needed you most. Evelyn, I–”
But much to Evie’s annoyance, whatever he was about to say would have to wait, for with a spill of light and a shout of laughter a trio of drunken guests spilled out of the servants’ entrance.
“I say,” said the man in the middle, peering out into the darkness. “Is that a wolf?”
“Don’t be silly,” said the woman beside him. “It’s clearly a cat.”
“A cat wolf?” the third, another woman, slurred. “Never ’eard of it.”
“Actually,” Evie chimed in as she left Weston standing in the shadows, “it is a lamb. Her name is Posy.”
“Posy,” the man repeated.
“Told you it wasn’t a wolf,” said his companion, nudging him in the ribs.
“I knew that,” he said defensively.
“Come along now, Posy. It’s time for bed.” Evie patted her thigh, and the lamb obediently bounced over. Casting a discreet glance over her shoulder, she met Weston’s gray, possessive gaze…and with the curving hint of a smile, she scooped Posy into her arms and went inside.
Evie woke atdawn the next day. She knew that Weston took an early ride each morning, and she wanted to try to meet him upon his return before everyone gathered for breakfast in the solarium.
She dressed with great care, mulling over her wardrobe for the better part of an hour before she settled on a frothy pink gown with satin stripes on the skirt and silk flower trim along the bodice.
The dress was far more suitable for a ball than a breakfast, but it wasn’t every day a woman became engaged to the man she loved! And after their encounter by the trellis, she knew, she just knew, that Weston was going to ask her to marry him. Or, if not an outright proposal, surely he would confess his feelings. Hisrealfeelings. Because surely he never could have displayed such wrenching vulnerability to someone he only cared about.
He loved her.
She was convinced that he did.
And after this morning, she’d have the words she needed to validate giving him her heart to have and to hold.
“You’re up early, Miss Thorncroft,” Mrs. Grimsby, the housekeeper, noted as Evie all but floated down the main staircase. “And don’t you look nice! Pretty as a painting, dear.”
“Thank you,” Evie beamed. “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“It is nice to see the sun after all that rain,” Mrs. Grimsby agreed. “The birds are happy as well. I’ve rarely heard them chirping this loud. Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Thorncroft?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Has Lord Hawkridge returned from his ride yet?”
“Oh, he didn’t go on his ride this morning.”
