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“Sophronie, ye are a shinin’ light in a gray and gloomy world. That can never bring disgrace upon the dukedom.” Love for her deepened his voice to a gravelly tenor. “In fact, I can say with sincerity and awe that there will never be a Duchess of Waycross who compares to ye.”
Her mouth softened into a delighted “O,” and a blush tinted her smooth cheeks, accenting the faint constellation of gingerish freckles there. “Go on with you. I never took you for the sort to wax poetic.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
Her hair glowed with sunset hues in the muted stable light. A memory of those long tresses hanging to her waist that night he’d encountered her in the library flashed to mind. His fingers itched to comb through that silky mass. To lay her on the carpet before the fireplace and worship her with his mouth and body.
Evan stepped nearer until his thigh touched hers. He cupped her shoulders and rotated her so that she faced him. “Darlin’, I want ye to be happy. If that means ridin’ astride, or stark naked, then I willna object.”
His groin swelled at the sensual image of her naked atop her horse, a gentle breeze playing with her hair, and her pert breasts, high and full, jiggling as she rode.
Ye gods, man. Control yerself.
Slanting her head, Sophronie studied him, reminding him of the curious sparrows that ventured into the barn from time to time to steal a bit of corn or oat. A husky chuckle slipped past her lips. “Not even I am brave enough to ride across the moors without a stitch when the ominous skies portend snow.”
Cupping her cheek, he lowered his head.
“I wish to kiss ye, wife.”
Her lips parted, and her eyes went round before her attention dipped to his mouth.
“You may.”
“Ye may?” Laughing, he scooped her into his arms and nuzzled her creamy neck.
She gave a starchy huff and angled away from him. “Well, a proper lady wouldn’t declare she wanted a man to kiss her. Would she?”
“First, I am no’ just any man but yer husband.” He kissed her nose. “Secondly, ye are nae a proper lady—”
She went rigid in his arms and glared up at him. “Why, of all of the impolite things—”
“Shh.” Evan pressed his mouth to hers. “Dinna fash yerself.”
He replaced his lips with a finger to her petal-soft lips to keep her silent.
Her blue eyes flashed, but she didn’t struggle or curse him to Hades.
“I was goin’ to say, I dinna want a proper lady if that means someone who doesna tell me what is on her mind, who is afraid to be herself around me and be wholly honest with me at all times. I much prefer ye, lass. Ye make me laugh, and every day, ye surprise me. Life with ye will never be borin’.”
Frowning, she fingered his lapel. “I’m not certain those are compliments.”
“Trust me, Roni, they are. I’m no’ eloquent with my words, but I am sincere in what I say.” He tipped her chin up. “Now hush and let me kiss ye properly.”
Cinnamon whickered as if in approval.
Sophronie gave the horse a penetrating look. “She likes you.”
“Of course she does. She kens how much I adore her mistress.”
“Do you truly, Evan?”
He traced her eyebrow with his fingertip. “I ken ye have reason to doubt me, darlin’, but I vow before God and may He strike me dead if I do no’ speak the truth. My heart is yers whether ye want it or no’.”
