She smiled. "I believe that is rather a long courtship."
His lips curved into a smile. "I have every intention of courting my own wife."
"I should hope so."
His hand rose slowly, brushing an escaped curl away from her face with remarkable gentleness. Then his hand slid gently to the curve of her waist.
Possessive. Certain. Certain that she belonged beside him. She rested one hand against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips.
It matched her own. She breathed in the familiar manly scent, and she wondered how she had ever mistaken his quietness for coldness.
There had always been warmth beneath it. She simply had not known where to look.
His lips met hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It was unhurried. Gentle.
For so long, she had searched for someone who would make her feel safe.
She had never imagined that safety would feel like this, warm hands, whispered promises, and a kiss that told her, without a single word, that she had finally come home.
Damien's lips rested lightly upon her shoulders, careful and passionate. His hands began to move down the sides of her body, lingering against the sides of her breasts with slow, gentle movements. Hours of fear and strain seemed to melt away beneath the simple comfort of his touch. Seraphine had not realized how tightly she had held herself until now.
She released a quiet sigh. "That is better."
He whispered. "I want to please you."
Before she could think of another teasing reply, he reached for her breast. His fingers brushed so lightly against her peak. It sent a flutter racing through her chest. Slowly, almost granting permission without words, she threw her head back. The simple gesture made him moan.
It amazed her that something so small could make her heart feel impossibly full.
He brushed his thumb across her rosy peak. She gasped. Warmth spread through her as though every heartbeat had become brighter.
She closed her eyes for just a moment, leaning ever so slightly into his hand before she realized what she was doing.
When she opened them again, Damien was watching her with an expression so hungry it almost undid her.
"You are beautiful," he said.
She found herself studying him with quiet admiration.
His broad shoulders filled the firelit room with reassuring strength, yet there was nothing intimidating in the way he looked at her now. The guarded chill that had once lingered in his green eyes had softened into something gentler, something vulnerable. His dark hair had become slightly disordered from the long day's ride, and for the first time since she had met him, he looked less like the formidable Duke of Wexford and more like simply... Damien. The man she loved.
He noticed her gaze lingering.
"What is it?"
She smiled. "I was merely thinking how extraordinarily handsome my husband is."
One dark eyebrow lifted. "Is that so?"
"It is."
After a moment he moved behind her, his fingers finding the ribbons fastening the back of her gown.
"May I?" he asked softly.
She nodded. "I should like that."
His movements remained slow and unhurried as he carefully loosened each ribbon, taking care not to rush or tug at the delicate fabric. The tension in her shoulders eased further with every patient gesture.
