Page 55 of The Marriage Wager

Constance wrapped her arms around him, their bodies clamped together, melded into one in the mindless storm of passion.

Dominic relaxed against her, his face against her neck. Constance could hear his breathing gradually slow, feel his body lose its former tension. She hadn’t the energy or the will to act or speak; indeed, she could scarcely bring enough thoughts together to form a coherent sentence, much less say it.

He pressed a kiss where her neck joined her shoulder, then rolled his weight from her, his arm going beneath her neck and around her shoulders, cuddling her to him. Constance found that her head fit quite perfectly in the curve of his shoulder. She stretched her arm across him, her fingers idly stroking his skin, threading through the hairs on his chest. She felt filled and used and slightly sore…and utterly content.

This, she thought, was what it was to love a man. She had never really known before—and how could she? She had never before felt the full extent of love—the way the heart and soul and body wrapped around another person, threaded through him, touched him in every way. It was raw, and it was beautiful. It was not nearly so sweet or ideal as everyone made it out to be. Yet it was a thousand times more wonderful—shocking, sweaty, intense and achingly real.

She knew that everything had become infinitely more complicated, but she would not think about that now. Right now, she wanted only to revel in this moment, to soak up every last bit of contentment and joy.

Dominic turned his head and kissed her forehead. He stroked his hand down her arm and twined his fingers through hers, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing each finger.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She giggled, knowing he was foolish to think so and extremely glad that he was. He went on to enumerate each detail of her loveliness, until she had to kiss him, laughing, to stop him. And then some minutes passed before either even thought about saying anything else.

“Constance,” he said at last, and she heard the hint of finality in his voice, the tone of thought and reason. She was quite certain that she did not want to hear what he was about to say.

“No,” she told him quickly, rising up on her elbow and putting a silencing finger across his lips. She bent and kissed his cheek, then laid her face against his and whispered, “Let’s not talk about it now. Later will be time enough.”

“We have to go back.”

“I know.”

It took enormous effort to pull away from him, but she did, careful not to look at him, knowing that to do so would weaken her. She stood and gathered her undergarments, which had wound up perilously close to the fire. At least they were close to dry now, and she quickly put them on. The riding habit, spread across the chair, was, unfortunately, still quite d& for the thick material had absorbed a great deal of water. Still, there was nothing for it but to don the skirt and bodice again.

The fire had died, but after he dressed, Dominic stirred and poked through it to make sure no errant sparks were left. Constance watched him as she combed through her hair and did her best to twist it up into a simple knot and re-pin it. There was too much hair and too few pins left, and the lack of a mirror made it even more difficult. She finally managed to get all her hair pinned, though she could only hope it would stay that way.

She still looked a mess, she supposed—her clothes damp and wrinkled and streaked with mud where she had fallen, her hair loosely pinned and, for all she knew, askew. But she could not bring herself to care. She was too filled with the rosy afterglow of their lovemaking.

Dominic turned from the fire at last, and their eyes met. His mouth softened, his eyes darkening, and he took a step forward, saying huskily, “Constance.”

He reached for her, and she went to him without hesitation, raising her face to his. He kissed her, pulling her tightly against him, and her arms closed around his neck. He lifted his head from hers at last and drew a long breath, resting his forehead against her head.

“We must go,” he said without conviction.

“I know.”

“I can think of nothing I want to do less.”

Constance smiled, her heart filling with pleasure at his reluctance to leave. “But we must.” She stepped back from him, taking his hand. “They will be waiting.”

He sighed. “You are right.” He bent and kissed her, hard and brief, then walked with her out of the house.

Dominic got their horses from the shed, and they started down the hill, leading the horses by their reins. It was quiet and peaceful, the air smelling sweetly of rain. The clouds had lifted, and the sun was setting, casting a muted golden glow across the landscape.

They held hands as they walked, turning now and then to look at one another. It felt, Constance thought, as if they were the only people in the world. Everything would change when they rejoined the others, she knew, but she refused to think about it, holding on fast to this sweet moment.

When they reached the place where they had left Margaret, Calandra and the others, they found no one there. It was not surprising, given the downpour in which they had been caught. Doubtless they had ridden back to the summer house to take shelter.

Frankly, Constance was happy to find them gone. It would give her a few more minutes alone with Dominic, she thought as they mounted their horses for the rest of the return journey. When they rounded the curve a few minutes later and saw the white summer house in the distance, she was aware of a distinct sense of disappointment.

The brief interlude was over. She and Dominic would have to return to their normal lives. Unconsciously, she let out a sigh.

“I know,” he said, glancing over at her. “I don’t want to return.”

Constance smiled, pleased to hear him say it, but her spirits were sinking rapidly. She was remembering all the reasons why Dominic would never marry her. Could never marry her. Soon they would return to London and this would all be over. Even before that, when they rejoined the other guests, they would have to watch how they looked and acted. He could not take her hand or pull her into his arms. She could not look at him with her heart in her eyes. Even an engaged couple’s movements were restricted, and as to a man and woman who were not betrothed…well, they simply could not show a decided partiality for each other, let alone do something so scandalous as to touch in any but the most formal way.

As they drew nearer to the summer house, Constance saw that everyone else in their party was standing on the steps, watching them approach. Her stomach fell to her feet. She cast an anxious glance at Dominic. He was watching the group on the steps, and his face was stony.