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“Better,” he asked again.

“It’s only fair,” she replied.

He moved between her thighs and slid his hands over her creamy skin and down her stockings. “I like these,” he said. Then kissed up her thighs until he reached her center. He slid a finger over her damp curls and then slowly pushed one inside her wet heat. She moaned louder. He had to taste her. Julian brushed his lips over her stomach and then moved down and sucked on her sensitive flesh. She bucked beneath him. He held her down gently and licked her until she moaned louder. He slid his finger inside her as he stroked his tongue over her until climax overtook her. Only then did he lift his head and cover her body with his own.

Even then he did not rush. He wanted to savor every moment with her. He wanted this to be a night neither of them forgot. “You’re beautiful,” he told her. “So perfect.”

She shook her head. “This is perfect.”

He kissed her as he pushed himself inside her. His mind nearly went blank as pleasure overtook him. She was right. This was perfect. He rocked into her slowly at first, until he couldn’t stop himself. Then he pumped into her fast and hard. Their breaths mingled as their pleasure became so intense it bordered on too much. He was close to his own release, but he wanted her to find hers first. He slid his hand between them and stroked her as he slid inside her. Her moans came louder as he continued to push into her until she said his name breathlessly. She squeezed him, and he lost complete control. His release hit him harder than ever before. No one but her… He couldn’t get enough of her.

Later, he drew the blanket around them and settled beside her, tucking the soft wool over her shoulders. Elizabeth rested her head upon his shoulder. One hand lay over his heart, and he covered it with his own, feeling the slow thud beneath their joined fingers. For a little while, Julian could only hold her, his eyes closed, his throat full.

He had expected desire. He had imagined the pleasure of having her near, of being welcomed beyond those careful silences she sometimes needed. He had not expected how much it would matter to hear her sigh contentedly against him afterward, a small, drowsy sound of utter peace.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his lips against her hair.

She nodded, her hair brushing his jaw. “Very.”

He kissed her forehead, soft and lingering. Beyond the summerhouse, the garden was quiet, hushed under the moon. Their plates remained beside the basket, and the flowers leaned toward the last steady candle upon the table, their petals gleaming.

Elizabeth shifted enough to look at him, her face glowing and soft. “You have gone quiet again.”

“I am happy.” More than he had ever imagined possible.

Her expression softened. “So am I.”

He traced his thumb gently over her hand. There were things he wanted to say, things that had become clearer while she lay beside him. He would tell her when they were dressed, when she could hear them without wondering whether tenderness had made him careless with promises. He held the words close, patient and certain.

For a while, Julian said nothing. He lay beside her with one hand resting in the loose silk of her hair, watching the last candle throw its small gold light across her face. She had closed her eyes, and her lashes cast faint shadows against her cheek.

“You are staring,” Elizabeth murmured, without opening them.

“I am memorizing this moment.”

Her lips curved. “What, precisely, do you hope to remember later?”

“The way you look just now.” He traced the edge of her jaw with one finger, so lightly that she shivered. “How beautiful you are and the contented smile on your face.”

Her eyes opened. They were wide and gray and very bright, and for a moment she did not speak. Then she turned her face into his palm and kissed it, slowly, with her eyes still on his. “I have never been looked at like this,” she whispered.

“Then I shall have to keep doing it until you grow used to it.”

A soft laugh escaped her. She shifted closer, her hand sliding over his heart, and he felt her warmth all the way through him. “I do not think I shall,” she said.

He drew the blanket higher over her shoulders and held her, and outside the summerhouse the night went on being quiet, as though the whole garden had decided to keep their secret. Julian rested his cheek against her hair and held her until the last candle became low. Soon he would tell her what was in his heart. But for now, this was enough

Eight

Elizabeth had put the flowers in three different places before deciding they had looked best beside the window all along. She set the vase on the table and stepped back, tilting her head to study how the afternoon light fell through the petals. The drawing room was ready. Tea would be brought when she rang. Her housekeeper knew she expected a caller, and there was nothing left to arrange. She had plumped the cushions, straightened the books, and wiped the little clock on the mantel free of dust.

London sounded quite as it always had beyond her windows. Wheels rattled down the street, and a carriage stopped outside a neighboring house. It made her heart thump until it rolled on. Her own rooms were familiar. The same pale walls, comfortably worn chairs, and the faint smell of beeswax and lavender.

She had returned yesterday expecting to feel relieved. She stood in the hall, removed her gloves, and waited for the old sense of ease to settle over her. Instead, she stood in the doorway and thought how much she wished Julian was beside her. The thought was so sudden and so sweet that she pressed a hand to her chest.

He should arrive soon. At least she hoped so... Elizabeth sat upon the sofa, smoothing her skirts, then rose almost immediately. A book rested on the cushion beside her. She had finished it that morning, curled in her chair by the window with her feet tucked beneath her. She meant to tell him about it. In a strange way, the book reminded her of him and his tales about his sister.

She remembered nearly everything. The scent of roses, the weight of his hand at her waist. The low, steady sound of his laugh. Their last evening at Lady Wetherby’s had passed in company, in a blur of candlelit conversation and polite smiles. He had sat beside her when he could. When she left with Charlotte the following morning, he had helped her into the carriage, his hand warm and steady around hers.