Chapter Ten
The candle sputtered in the breeze coming through the window but didn’t extinguish.
She should get up and blow the flame out, Diana thought idly, but she couldn’t seem to move. Instead, she stared up at the ceiling, her eyes tracing the same crack in the plaster in the way she’d been doing for the last three hours. The crack started at the very edge of the west wall, fine and delicate, but by the time it got to the center, the edges were rough and wide.
Not so different than how her heart had cracked. Cracked and then shattered beyond repair. Perhaps she would leave Brighton tomorrow. Maybe travel north, back to her family’s country house. At least until she knew that Oliver had left for Hertfordshire. Leaving was cowardly, she knew, but the idea of staying here where she might run into him over and over was unbearable. It was different between them now. They couldn’t pretend anymore. She couldn’t pretend anymore. She loved him too much.
A soft tap at the door had her sitting up. Worried, she slipped from the bed and went to the door, her hand on the latch.
“Genie? Belinda?”
“Dee.” Her name was muffled and barely audible.
Diana froze for a heartbeat before her fingers fumbled with the latch, and she yanked the door open. “What—”
It was all she managed to say before his mouth was on hers, his hands tangled in her hair.
“Oliver,” she gasped, and he released her just long enough to close the door behind him with exquisite care, sliding the latch back into place.
“What are you doing here?” Every part of her instantly, inescapably ached for him.
His eyes were hungry, devouring her where she stood, and she realized that she wore only her chemise. Though, that seemed unimportant in the face of the precipice that they were standing on.
“I’m here to tell you that I’m not letting you go. That I refuse. No matter what.”
She was fevered and chilled all at once.
“I belong to you, Dee. I’ve belonged to you since we hunted dragons in the dales. Since I couldn’t wait to come home from school at Christmastide, knowing that I would get to see you. Since the night I drank myself into oblivion when you’d written to tell me that you’d married Laurence. Since I saw you in that ballroom, talking to a fern.”
“It wasn’t a fern I was talking to.” Her thoughts and emotions churned wildly.
“I know. You were speaking to Hannah Fitzroy, who was trying to avoid having to tell me—and you, for that matter—that she up and married the man of her dreams.”
Diana put a hand out against the wall to steady herself. “What?”
“I went to see Hannah tonight. To tell her that I couldn’t marry her because I am already in love with someone else. As it turns out, she’s already beaten me to it.”
“Hannah’s married?”
“Happily. Secretly also, in the event that wasn’t obvious.”
A sound Diana didn’t recognize emerged from her throat, something between a sob and a laugh.
“I should have waited until morning to see you, I know,” he said. “But I couldn’t. I’m so tired of waiting, Dee.”
“So you broke in?” She was terrified that this was a dream. That any second now, she would wake up and find herself alone.
“I didn’t break in,” he said, moving toward her. “The kitchen door was open. Hannah told me which room was yours.”
She stared up at him in the soft light, his beautiful brown eyes holding hers captive.
“Marry me,” he said, and his voice was ragged.
“Yes,” she whispered.
She wasn’t sure who moved first, but in the next second, she was in his arms, his mouth on hers, this kiss just as desperate as the one on the beach. She lost track of time, lost track of how long they kissed, aware only that she couldn’t seem to get enough. She was pressed against him, his heat bleeding through the layers of his clothes as his hands stroked her back, her hips, her shoulders. She groaned, needing, wanting more. Wanting everything.
“Tell me to stop,” he gasped. “Tell me you want to wait until after we’re married. No matter what I said, I can wait.”
Diana nipped at his lower lip, her hand sliding beneath the lapels of his coat. “I can’t.”
Beneath her hands, Oliver shuddered, and she shoved his coat from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. He bent his head and kissed her again, this time slowly and deliberately, as she unknotted his cravat and then worked the buttons of his waistcoat. Those too fell to the floor, and she made a noise of frustration because he was still wearing too many damn clothes.
She yanked the bottom of his shirt from his trousers, and he ducked his head long enough for her to pull it off. And then he stood in front of her wearing nothing but his trousers, his chest rising and falling, every ridge of hard muscle beneath all that glorious skin displayed to perfection. A scattering of dark hair across his chest narrowed and trailed off into the waistband of his trousers. She would get there soon enough.
But right now, she would savor what was in front of her. Explore his magnificent body the way she had fantasized about doing too many times. Her hands went to his shoulders, her fingertips running along the edges of his collarbones and then down over the slopes of muscle. She circled his dark nipples, feeling him shudder again, and bent her head to let her lips trace where her fingers had already gone.
Her hands roamed lower, her fingers splayed over the sides of his rib cage and around to his lower back. His own hands were still at his sides, allowing her this freedom, but she could feel him nearly vibrating under her touch. She lifted her head, pressing kisses along the underside of his jaw as her fingers moved to the fall of his trousers. He made a tortured sound, his hips arching into her touch, his erection straining at the fabric.
She fumbled with the buttons, the overwhelming desire that was spiraling through her robbing her of dexterity. Her legs were shaking, and a throbbing ache was building at her core, demanding release. Without warning, he bent and lifted her, holding her hard against him and tumbling her back onto the bed.
He covered her mouth again, this kiss deep and slow as he swept into her mouth. He braced himself above her, teasing and torturing with his lips and tongue. Without pausing, he reached for the bodice of her chemise, yanking at the ribbon that secured it. The thin fabric released with a faint tearing sound, and he reared back, using both hands to strip it down her body and away. He knelt above her, his eyes hot and his face a mask of desire.
He slid back to the end of the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he discarded his trousers, leaving him gloriously, magnificently naked. Diana watched him from where she lay on her back, every fiber in her body screaming with anticipation, the heat between her legs becoming slick with need.
He climbed back onto the bed and crawled forward. His warm fingers slid up the inside of her thighs. Her eyes closed, and her legs fell apart. His hand caressed the mound of curls between, his thumb trailing behind to stroke through the folds of her sex. She whimpered, pleasure coursing through her. He shifted, and now his mouth was on her abdomen, his tongue flicking over her navel before sliding upward. He grazed the edges of her breasts before taking one of her nipples into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the peak. She gasped and arched, and as she did, he slipped a finger deep inside her.
“Oliver,” she managed. “That’s too… I can’t…”
“Stay still.” His fingers were doing unholy things, and she writhed beneath him.
“I can’t.”
“You can.” He bent his head, kissing her neck. “Wait for me.”
Her eyes were still tightly shut, and little white lights danced behind her lids. He explored and worshipped every inch of her body with his mouth, tasting, teasing, leaving her breathless and bowed tight. Need built, twisting and coiling.
“Oliver. Please.” She was begging, and she didn’t care.
His fingers slipped from her, and he caught her hands in his and brought them up over her head. “Wait for me.”
The head of his erection pressed against her, and her hips strained up off the bed. She opened her eyes, drowning in the heat of his.
“You belong to me,” he whispered and thrust into her.
The throbbing, pulsing need he’d built within her detonated into waves of pleasure. She might have cried out, but he caught the sound with his mouth, his tongue stroking hers as he moved deeply inside of her. She arched into him mindlessly, artlessly, desperately. He groaned, thrusting hard, his hands tightening around hers, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
She felt the moment he lost control, felt his body contract and shudder, and he came with a hoarse cry, his face buried in the side of her neck. Felt him pulse deep inside her, the eddies of her own orgasm still swirling and sending showers of sparks through her boneless limbs.
He collapsed against her, breathing as hard as she. The world slowly reasserted itself, and her surroundings came back into focus. After what might have been a minute or an hour, he rolled to the side, pulling her with him, cradling her against his chest. The night air pushed in past the curtains and over their damp bodies, and Oliver pulled the coverlet over both of them.
Diana reached up, running a hand over the stubble of his jaw, her fingers tracing the outline of his mouth. Tracing the planes of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the ridge of his brow, committing the feel of them to memory. She had known this man forever, this man she had loved for so long, but never like this.
“Oliver?”
He caught her hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. “Dee?”
“You were worth the wait.”