Dawn was barely teasing the horizon above the old stone Gothic church when Ivy pressed a gloved hand on the waist-high wooden gate to the church’s cemetery. It creaked in the morning silence. Somewhere in the distance a thrush called out a warning, but Ivy knew she was alone. She’d left Hampton before dawn to come here unseen. Not even her father knew she was here.
Lifting her skirts with one hand, she navigated a path along the graves. The grass whispered beneath her boots as she passed by each weathered stone. Finally she found the one she’d been looking for. Her mother’s name was carved deep into the tombstone beneath the cherubic face of a baby angel with tiny wings peeping out from above its shoulders. She clutched the bouquet of white dahlias to her chest. A deep ache welled up inside her.
“Sixteen years,” she breathed. The words so often thought but never spoken trembled on the tip of her tongue. She closed her eyes, but tears still seeped out beneath her lashes.
“I’m so sorry I haven’t come back until now. I miss you, Mama. So much.” Her throat constricted as the memories she’d locked away broke free. How many nights had she sat on Lady Hampton’s bed while her mother dressed the countess for the evening? The three of them would laugh and smile. She could still recall the faint lemony scent that clung to her mother, clean and fresh as she leaned over Ivy, tucking her into bed. Her mother had always taken care of her, loved her. And Ivy had left her here in this cold bit of earth. Alone. For sixteen years.
Ivy sucked in a ragged breath as her chest tightened.
“I wanted to come back, but it hurt too much. Please forgive me.” Ivy wiped the back of one hand across her cheeks to brush away tears as she touched the gravestone with the other. Her father would come soon and pay his respects to the woman he had once loved, but Ivy had needed to come by herself to grieve. Her mother had inspired her to be the woman she was today. Watching a bright woman live as a servant in an age that was dying out had driven Ivy to become passionate about women’s rights. If she didn’t fight for change, then who would? Women had to work together. If that meant sacrificing a husband and children, she would do that. She owed it to her mother and to the generations of women who would come after her.
We deserve better. You deserved better, Mama.
“Not a day passes by that I don’t miss you, Mama.” She bowed her head. “I love you. Always will.” She let go of the cool stone and stepped back. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled her fur-lined cloak tight about her body and turned to leave the cemetery.
Coming back to Hampton was something she had been dreading and longing to do for years. She only wished Leo could have been there to share it with her. She shook her head at the foolish thought. What would he think when she told him who she was? Would he be furious at her deception? Or would he withdraw and turn cold? She supposed it didn’t matter; her childhood hopes had vanished. He was going to marry another woman. They were destined for separate lives, but it didn’t keep her from wanting him…from loving him.
* * *
Leo silently counted the seconds as he waited for Ivy to exit the graveyard. When she was out of sight, he slipped through the gate and searched the scattered tombs for a glimpse of the dahlias she must have left behind. Guilt at following her was a distant emotion. His curiosity outweighed his violation of her privacy. It wasn’t his fault that he’d dressed early for the shooting party and had seen her slip outside. Concern for her had soon turned to fascination as he trailed behind her and realized she was headed to the cemetery by the old Gothic church. From his hidden spot behind the stone wall near the gate, he’d watched as she touched a gravestone and spoke, her words carried away by a faint breeze.
Why would she come here? Why visit a grave in a place she’d claimed she’d never been? Something wasn’t right. There was deception somewhere in all of this, but he couldn’t fathom how all the pieces of the puzzle fit together.
Leo tugged his hat down a little more snugly and crossed the graveyard, dodging tombs until he found the one where a bouquet of dahlias rested at the base of the stone. He read the name, then stumbled back a step.
Here lies Elizabeth Jameson. Beloved mother and dearest friend.
That name. One he would never forget. She had been his mother’s lady’s maid so long ago. His mother’s friend and confidante. Cancer had claimed her life sixteen years before…
The blinding truth hit hard enough to make him stagger.
A little girl with large brown eyes and a trembling smile. He rubbed his palm at the memory of how her small hand fit in his when he’d held it. Her clear, joyous laugh and the pert button nose he’d tapped so often with a finger as he’d teased her.
Button. Ivy Leighton was Button all grown up. She had been his one friend at home, the only friend he’d ever had when he wasn’t away at school. She’d been his constant shadow, with a wide-eyed innocence and a sweet little voice. It hadn’t been about romance then, not for either of them. They had been bound together as friends, a trust and love that ran deeper. When he’d come from Eton during the holidays and learned that Elizabeth Jameson had died and her child had been sent away to live with her father…it had broken him. His father had scoffed at his soft heart and informed him he was better off without the little half-breed running underfoot. Leo had stood stoically, listened to his father’s cruel words, and then he’d gone upstairs to his rooms and cried, not caring that he felt like a child and not a young man. Button was gone. His only friend at Hampton gone forever…
He’d buried that love and affection for his missing friend over the years, but to have her back now? Like this? As the beautiful woman who both drove him mad with lust and fascinated him with her rebellious nature and brilliant mind?
My darling little Button…His chest ached fiercely and he swallowed hard as he tried to still the fluttering rush of hope inside him. Ivy was Button. For as long as he’d known her, she’d always been his Button. The name Ivy had never entered into his mind and therefore he hadn’t known who she was, especially since she’d taken her father’s surname. Surely she remembered him, but why then hadn’t she told him who she really was? Had she meant to deceive him and if she had, to what end?
Leo raked a hand through his hair, trying to puzzle out whatever purpose Ivy had for hiding her identity from him, but he could not think of any reason. Was she ashamed of her past? Did she think he would judge her? It was possible; he’d been an arrogant arse from the moment he’d quarreled with her at tea. He’d dashed her hopes and dreams with his foolish opinions. She wasn’t just some chit who wanted to be wild and play the rebel; she was Button, and he wouldn’t have said those things about women’s rights if he had known who she really was.
I shall have to find a way to coax the truth out of her by hook or by crook…or perhaps by kisses. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. He’d half seduced her already. The mere memory of it heated his blood anew until he recalled how she’d come here at his mother’s insistence.
“Mother,” he growled.
She had to have known all along who Ivy was and had played him like a hand of faro. Was this part of her plan to distract him from marrying Mildred? By presenting him with a delicious mystery like Ivy? Did she think him discovering her true identity would make him change his mind about proposing? Or did his mother simply want to create trouble? He could easily credit her with either scheme.
He clenched his fists, then unclenched them as he pondered his next move. He wanted Ivy. That hadn’t changed, but it was clear, now more than ever, that having her would come at a price. He could not marry Mildred and have Ivy at the same time. He would not be his father. Yet taking a half Gypsy for his wife wouldn’t stop the whispers and the gossip. That she was also a suffragette was something else he would have to deal with.
It would mean more doors slammed in his face. He would lose all his hope of connections with former friends of his father’s who might have helped him with smart investment opportunities. Leo weighed the options and consequences. He couldn’t let Ivy go. She was his childhood friend, a person who had seen him at his worst moments, someone who had always had the strength to keep his spirits up. As a child, she hadn’t been afraid of his father. Would she be afraid of society if they married? Or would she be brave enough to show him that they could live happily together despite the rumors that would spread? He knew in his heart that she was brave. He would do anything to win her love. His Button wouldn’t vanish again and leave his heart shattered. It didn’t matter how much he would lose, so long as he could have her in his life. His choice was clear.
* * *
Dressed warmly for a day of pheasant hunting, Ivy joined her father at the edge of the field. His dark eyes roved over her speculatively, missing nothing.
“You’ve been crying,” he noted softly.
She offered him a smile, aware that her eyes were likely red from her tears.
“What is it, my heart?” he asked.
My heart. He always called her that. In the last several years he had proved again and again to be a wonderful father, and she never got tired of his innate desire to protect and care for her. She glanced around, noticing the footmen who dodged about, seeing to the needs of the shooters before they left for the day. No one was close enough to hear her.
“I visited Mother’s grave this morning. It was difficult.” When he moved to her, she placed a gloved hand on his arm. “I needed to go alone.”
Her father shook his head, a sad smile curving his lips. “You are always so brave. You don’t have to be.” He curled a finger under her chin and gazed down at her. Warmth and love glimmered in his eyes.
“I want to be.” She found herself grinning as she stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Just like my father.”
“Miss Leighton!” Owen walked over to them, a ready smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Would you like to be my partner for the shoot?” She noticed his coat, a fine hunting coat, was a bit frayed at the ends and the sleeves a bit threadbare as he brushed some dust off his trousers. When he realized her eyes fixed on his clothes, he brushed his arms down his jacket and his smile became even more cheerful. Ivy couldn’t help but wonder if Leo knew his friend was suffering money troubles. It was the way most titled gentlemen were these days. Many were hunting desperately overseas for rich heiresses to sustain their estates. It was a relief her father’s own business was taking off and didn’t need land to sustain it the way the old estates did by relying on tenant farms.
“So, will you partner with me? I believe I’d catch more birds with a beautiful woman at my side.” Owen drew closer, his eyes sharply focused on her. Ivy didn’t miss the sudden feeling of being hunted. She shouldn’t have been surprised, though. If Owen was hungry for funds, she would undoubtedly be a woman of interest to him. Unluckily for him she had no desire to marry and therefore wouldn’t fall prey to any attempts of flattery or seduction.
Her father took a menacing step forward, like an alpha wolf, ready to defend his territory. Owen gave him the barest nod of acknowledgment before focusing hopefully on Ivy. Her lips parted, but she had no idea what she ought to say.
“She’s already assigned to me.” Leo’s voice cut through her rapid train of thought. He was suddenly there, next to her, gun ready and hanging loose in the crook of his arm. “Isn’t that right?” His eyes were full of an emotion she couldn’t read, and yet she sensed she should agree and pretend she was to be paired with him. It would keep Owen from entertaining any ideas that he might have a chance with her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hadley, but it is the truth. He asked me to accompany him this morning at breakfast.” Guilt slithered through her for an instant, but she shoved it aside to allow eagerness to overtake her instead. Last night had left her uncertain as to how Leo felt about her, yet she regretted her harsh reaction to his offer. He had been a gentleman, a seductive one, but still a gentleman. And she did so long to spend the day with him. It might very well be her last chance. Once the house party was over, she and the countess would attend the WSPU meeting and she’d be on her way back to London, likely never to have a chance to be with Leo like this again. He would marry Mildred and be busy with his estate, while she would be following Emmeline Pankhurst in the noble pursuit of suffrage.
“He must have asked you before breakfast, given that neither of you dined with us this morning.” Owen’s eyes narrowed on Leo, one brow arching up in silent challenge. The threat of retaliation was clear, only Ivy didn’t know exactly in what manner Leo’s friend would avenge himself. Men were such odd creatures, completely insensible when it came to fighting for possession of something.
Her father clapped Owen on the shoulder and dragged him back a step. “You and I will hunt together, Mr. Hadley.”
“Good,” Leo answered. “We’re all settled. I believe the gamekeepers are ready.” Leo placed a hand on the lower part of Ivy’s back, just above her bottom. Warmth spread outward from his touch, even though she couldn’t feel the heat of his hand through the thick layers of her clothes. Lord, she would miss feeling this intimacy and heat. He made her want to forget her promise to stay unwed, but she had to hold fast to her dreams lest she fail the next generation of women.
They trudged off toward the woods, the rest of the hunting party behind them. Mr. Atherton and Mr. Pevenly had teamed up, while Lord Pepperwirth had gallantly stayed behind to keep the ladies company. Of the ladies, only Ivy had chosen to brave the cold forest. It had been that or face Mildred’s glowering countenance over the rim of a teacup all morning.
No thank you. I will most certainly pass on that unpleasant event.
The grass ahead of them turned from a greenish-brown mess to thick, knee-high wheat-colored strands as the shooting party left the manicured lawns behind them. The pairs began to spread out as the gamekeepers moved ahead of them, flushing pheasants out.
Ivy remained at Leo’s side, watching him raise his rifle, take careful aim, and bring a bird down. It spiraled toward the earth, and she felt a pang of sadness. She clenched a fist and raised it to her chest over her heart. Her father had often teased her for having too soft a spot for creatures great and small. In truth, though, she knew he liked that she cared so much about the animals. Romani valued nature. The beasts and birds was a part of her soul, bone-deep.
Leo was a cautious hunter. He didn’t take every shot, even when it was an easy one. There were times when the pheasants flew overhead, and he simply leaned forward on one leg and watched in silent admiration as they passed by.
“You are not shooting much, my lord,” she commented. It puzzled her that a man who clung to tradition was not frantically killing birds in order to compete with the others, who no doubt wished to kill several hundred before the day was through.
He lowered his gun and studied the skies, then swept his gaze over the field, as though noting the other shooters’ locations.
“I have a feeling you were attempting to judge me, Miss Leighton.” He finally turned to study her. The intensity of his eyes on her was so strong that she felt the touch of invisible hands sliding over her body.
“I don’t intend to,” she replied, her tone barely above a whisper. “Only to understand.”
He sighed and gestured for her to walk deeper into the woods, away from the rest of the shooting party. She obeyed without a question, and he joined her, keeping pace.
“I have no need to kill beyond that which the cooks require for the feast. Unlike many of my peers, I see no reason to fluff my pride through shooting unnecessarily. Why should I strike a creature down and end its life solely to prove I’m a crack shot? I hope no species ever outdevelops man and takes such a callous and shallow view of our lives.”
His words were thought-provoking and made perfect sense. He respected life, all life. Like a Romani. Like her. That was more in tune with the young man she had known as a child. The young man who had stolen her heart…
“And what of you, Ivy?” He had abandoned calling her Miss Leighton, and she was glad of it.
Despite their quarrel the night before, she still desired a level of intimacy with him. They could not come together as she wished, not while he planned to marry Mildred and she was determined never to marry, but at least she could have this, whatever this was.
“I agree with you. Life should be valued. Each creature should have the right to exist and live the way it was meant to, arguments for necessary food aside, of course.” She paused, wondering if she could explain further. “It is why I care about women’s suffrage.”
“Pheasant hunting and the issue of women voting have something in common?” He chuckled, the sound filled with genuine warmth rather than biting arrogance.
Despite his amusement, he wasn’t mocking her.
“I meant what I said.” She joined him next to a fallen log and they both took a moment to sit down side by side. She met his gaze earnestly, wanting so desperately for him to understand her point of view. “Put aside everything you know and imagine a world where boys and girls attend school together, have the same education and instruction, and must meet the same expectations. Women are already intelligent without the benefit of education, but now they would be informed and would care about politics and economics just as much as men are. There is no science to support any findings that women are in any way inferior. If given the chance to fly and not be stopped, what might we accomplish? Humanity could reach heights of achievement unhindered if we remove the shackles of low expectations.”
She brushed a hand over the tall, brown grass, feeling the thickness of it scrape her gloved palms. The weight of his gaze wasn’t oppressive, but rather encouraging. She glanced away for a moment, drawing in a breath and summoning her courage to speak to Leo about all that weighed so heavily on her heart. This wasn’t just about being rebellious and wild; being a suffragette was about gaining freedom, obtaining a right to a full life.
“Half-lived lives are not worth anything. I know that men focus on tradition and custom; it gives you comfort without fear of change. But you have to ask yourself. What is gained if there is never any change? Women have never voted before, so why should we change it? If you had a daughter, one you loved fiercely, who was brilliant in her mind and her heart, would you condemn her to live a life with a man who would see her as a means to an end? Just property? Would you want your darling daughter to have no rights at all? What if she was smarter than your sons? Would you want her to have no equality simply because of her gender?” She turned to face him, liking the way he was solely focused on her, eyes intense and mouth slightly parted as though thinking of what she’d said.
“But wouldn’t my daughter have me or her husband to protect her and see to her needs?”
Ivy frowned deeply. Lord, getting him or any man to see light was an uphill battle she knew she would always face. “Imagine for a moment that your father was alive again and the restrictions he put on your life. Did you enjoy it?”
Leo shuddered. “Of course not. The man stopped me at every turn. I had no ability to do anything that I…” His words died away as he seemed to see her point clearly for the first time.
“Now you understand. It’s the same for women. We feel no less caged than men in such situations, yet it is our daily lot. Look at it from a slavery perspective. A hundred years ago, slavery was legal. Now it is not. Would you argue that we should never have ended slavery? Or say that it was not in man’s universal best interests to set him free? A woman without a say in her culture, her politics, her life, or her property is no better than a slave. The chains are invisible, but still they are there.”
Leo stared at her, a strange look of dawning comprehension on his face. A flicker of hope stirred in her chest. Did he finally understand?
“By God, you are quite brilliant,” he muttered, seemingly shocked at his own response. “I still think too many women are far too frivolous with nothing but petticoats on their minds. I wouldn’t know if I could trust them to think logically enough to vote.” He spoke carefully to her, not in the condescending way he had at tea when they’d first quarreled over the issue.
Ivy laughed. “Our sex will always prefer fashion—it is in our nature to look desirable—but men are just as frivolous with your obsessions over your clothes as well as hunting and gambling. Simply because a woman might not know everything to make an informed decision doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have the right. I have met plenty of men in London who know little of politics yet they still vote. A person shouldn’t be deprived of their rights simply because you don’t believe they are informed on the issues.” A chill breeze made her shiver but she was glad he was listening to her at last.
“Touché.” With a rueful shake of his head, he rose from the log and held out his hand. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“A hunting lodge. It’s not far,” he assured her. “I’ve been watching you shiver for the last half hour and can’t abide the sight of it any longer. You could use a warm fire.”
Ivy blushed. She was cold but didn’t want him to see her as weak.
“I’m fine, Leo.” His name slipped out again, and she hastily turned her face away, but not before she saw him grin as though he were privy to some secret and would not share it with her.
The wooded glen they entered a few moments later revealed a small brown stone lodge. It appeared well kept and inviting. Leo opened the door and gestured for her to enter first. A cozy bed was in the corner of the room and a brick fireplace stood ready for lighting, with logs and tinder already placed in the hearth. A small kitchen area provided an array of foodstuffs tucked in the cupboards. Ivy’s lips pursed as she realized someone had brought food as though the visit to the lodge had been planned.
Leo set his gun down by the door, shrugged out of his Norfolk shooting jacket, and removed his hat. He tossed it onto one of the comfortable-looking armchairs facing the fire. Then he knelt in front of the hearth and started to work on lighting the tinder. Ivy loved to watch him move as he rose and stepped back from the hearth, the fire now devouring logs. He glanced about the room, eyes taking in everything as though to assure himself it was adequately prepared for their stay. He was comfortable in their surroundings. It was obvious he came here often.
“Come over here,” he urged, pointing to the empty chair. She obeyed, biting her lip to hide a smile as he retrieved a thick woolen blanket from the bed and wrapped her in it like a child before he turned his attention back to the fireplace, stoking it with a poker. Sparks shot out and the crackling and snapping increased, as did the warmth that kissed her face and hands where they peeped out from the blanket.
“Will the others miss us?” Ivy suddenly realized the precariousness of the situation. It wouldn’t take much for the rest of the shooting party to notice their absence. She would be compromised, and Leo would be forced to marry her. It would ruin both their lives.
“They won’t miss us. Mr. Bramble, my head gamekeeper, will know to avoid the cottage. He will have the rest of the party chasing pheasants in the opposite direction.”
Had Leo intended for this to happen? To get her to a secluded location and compromise her without having anyone witness it? Surely he wasn’t so cold and calculating…Anger surged through her, sharpening her senses and heightening her awareness of the quiet solitude of their location.
“You planned this?”
He glanced at her, brushing dust off his hands with a small cloth before tossing it to the ground. The look on his face was an angry one, his brows bunched above his eyes as he glowered at her.
“Bramble knows I come here often and have no real taste for shooting. The lodge is always ready for me, and he keeps the other guests away so I might have a brief respite from the crack of gunfire.”
Deflated and embarrassed, Ivy looked away. It was then she noticed several framed sketches on the wall. Sketches by an artist she knew only too well…her mother.
“Where did you get those?” She rose, wrapping the blanket about her like a long shawl as she approached the nearest sketch. It showed a young girl, Ivy, playing in the shallows of a stream, caught up in wild abandon as only a child could be when tossing pebbles. Ivy closed her eyes as the vivid memory of that day took over. The warmth of the afternoon sun, just hot enough to turn her cheeks rosy but not to burn. The water, cold and crisp, nipping at her ankles like exuberant puppies. The way the light flashed and sparkled on the surface as the water broke over the rocks. Her mother had laughed and settled down on the grass close by the edge, sketching. Ivy had never known her mother had drawn her that day. She had been too lost in the delight of the moment.
Leo’s body heat warmed her from behind, and his hands fell onto her shoulders.
“One of my mother’s dear friends drew them. She passed away years ago, but my mother kept the sketches. They reminded her of a time when…” His voice roughened. “When there was happiness here at Hampton. I asked my mother if I might take a few of them and put them in the lodge. It was a place of refuge for me and the art seemed to fit.”
Ivy’s tongue felt thick and no words escaped her as she stared wordlessly at the art. The cruel loss of her mother seemed to resurrect itself at the worst possible moments. She desperately wanted to tell Leo who she was, to confess to the charade his mother had created, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned to face him, their breath shared in the small space between their faces. Last night she had convinced herself she wouldn’t go this far, wouldn’t betray her heart. Yet, denying it what it wanted was somehow crueler. To never know his love would be a worse fate than to know it and lose it. She had one chance to be with him before she forced herself to let him go.
“W-would you kiss me? Like you did before?”
He curled one finger under her chin, lifting her face as he studied her.
“I would do anything you asked.” The words were a promise of something more, something she could not fully understand, but it did devastating things to her heart.
The organ trembled in her chest, beat madly, and then stuttered to a stop again before racing wildly. She could scarcely breathe as Leo kissed her. His lips were featherlight, but not chaste as he tasted her. His hands slid down her arms, lightly clutching her, his fingers barely digging into her skin as though he wanted to drag her closer but feared she would protest.
The hesitant eagerness in his kiss said everything she wanted to know. He hadn’t planned this, hadn’t expected her to want him after they had quarreled. She adored his confidence, but there was something wonderful in this particular moment to discover that he, too, was unsure and yet as eager to be with her as she was to be with him. Ivy curled her arms around his neck and traced his lips with her tongue. He opened his mouth to her and moaned when she pressed her body against his.
When she nipped his lips, he growled against her mouth. That seemed to change everything. The desperation, the hunger for connection seemed to overtake him as he deepened the kiss. She was starving for him, for his touch, for the emotions that were evident in his passion. This was so much more than she could have imagined.
His hands swept down her back, over her bottom, clenching it hard and lifting her into him. She was dimly aware that they were moving toward the bed. She didn’t protest when he turned her to face the sleeping cot and began unlacing her gown and peeling it off her. She almost laughed at how quickly and determinedly he stripped her of her clothes. The chilly draft hit her skin and her nipples peaked in response to his gaze and the air.
In order to distract herself from the cold, she assisted him in undressing. His shirt was warm and she lifted the garment to her face, burying her nose in it, inhaling his scent. It made her giddy and light-headed. She wanted this, wanted him. Tomorrow she would let him go, let him move on and propose to Miss Pepperwirth, but right now he belonged to her.
Leo took his shirt from her and let it drop to the floor. He was still wearing his trousers, but everything else was blissfully bare to her gaze. Hesitantly, she placed her hands on his chest. He drew her closer, smiling as she smoothed her hands over his ribs, his abdomen, marveling at the way his muscles clenched and flexed beneath her touch.
“You are beautiful,” she whispered, then gave a shaky laugh.
“Me? No, you are the beautiful one.” He stroked his fingers down the column of her throat and then traced her collarbone before trailing hands down to her breasts. He cupped one, then the other, testing their weight and kneading softly. His touch made her flush with heat and she arched toward him.
“You like that?” He tweaked one sensitive nipple, and then she responded with a frantic nod. It was too embarrassing to admit aloud.
He seemed to sense her reaction and hear her thoughts because he tipped her head up and met her gaze. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. Do you understand? We are free to explore each other and to enjoy each other. Please trust me, Ivy.”
“I do.” She meant it. Who she didn’t trust was herself. It would be so easy to whisper the words on her tongue. Three words that would change everything. She bit her lip and kept silent.
“Come here.” He ushered her to the bed and pulled the thick blankets back. “You first.”
She slid in between the sheets, her face still heated with awareness and shyness. Leo unbuttoned his trousers and tugged them down. He was erect and the sight of his innate maleness made her freeze. It looked nothing like the statues and paintings. He was so much larger.
“Ivy, look at me.” His low growl drew her stare up to his face. “There will be a little pain, at the beginning. I promise after that, only pleasure.”
He joined her in the bed. She expected him to shove her onto her back and take her. But this was Leo and not some callous stranger. Instead, he kissed her, his only focus and purpose on her mouth. He cupped her face in his hands, letting her feel every burning place their bodies touched.
“We will go as slow as you need to, sweetheart.” Bending his head, he kissed her.
Like sparks to dry tinder, she sizzled and burned to life. One of his hands stroked her back, caressed her hip, tickled her knee. Her legs fell apart instinctively, and he slid between her thighs. As though aware of how crucial kissing her was, he never broke his lips from hers. For a brief instant, fear seized her as she worried about his weight suffocating her, but he braced himself on one of his forearms. With his other hand, he touched her face, her shoulders, moving his hand farther and farther down her body, gentling her the way he would a horse. When his fingers swept over her heated folds, her body flinched and she gripped his shoulders hard. Every instinct now screamed for her to close herself off, protect herself.
“Easy, sweetheart, easy,” he cooed against her ear.
Then he licked the shell of it and a sharp tingle shot from her head clear down her spine. He lifted his hips, guided the head of his shaft to her entrance, and began a slow gentle push into her. Ivy started to tense immediately, but he didn’t let her. His kiss hardened, a deep distraction, as he thrust into her.
Ivy cried out against his mouth at the sudden burst of pain, then sank her teeth into his shoulder as she waited, clinging to him.
“Shh…love, you are breaking my heart,” Leo murmured, stroking her hip until her teeth let go of his skin and she looked at him. His eyes were bright, yet they shimmered with a myriad of emotions, making her heart skip wildly. Her body hurt, that tender place aching and stinging to the point where she was having trouble breathing.
“Is there more pain?” Her voice shook as hard as her body.
“No, not if you relax and focus on kissing me. You mustn’t tense up.”
She gave a little nod and curled her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her mouth. One brush of his lips, one sweet dance of tongues, and the tension poured out of her like a vast torrential rain. She gasped in shock and wonder at the sensation of being full. There was no part of her not filled by him, no space left empty in either her body or soul.
“How do you feel now?” he asked between drugging kisses and slow, gliding thrusts.
“Free.” It was the first word that came to her mind. A delightful mix of giddiness and a sense of being weightless. “What about you?” she whispered. In that moment she was enveloped in a secret reverence, like slipping into the back of a cathedral during Mass. Shadows and rainbows of light spinning around her. Something beautiful and awe-inspiring was building between them and she dared not ruin it.
“You feel perfect. I can’t even begin to put words to it. Only that it makes me weak, I suppose.” His dark gold eyelashes dropped to half-mast as he studied her lips. “A man ought not to admit to that.” A bashful redness tinged his cheeks.
“I make you weak?” She couldn’t resist the giggle that slipped out.
“Ivy, you have no idea what you do to me.” He slowly pulled his hips toward him and surged inside her again.
She threw her head back with a moan. After that, she wasn’t able to form words, or even thoughts. There were only sensations. The pressure of lips to skin, the sting of teeth on flesh, the aching and the burning, mixing, melding, the wild need for something primal, something too old to be named. When it hit her, her lips parted on a silent scream, and she bucked beneath Leo. He cursed softly, then between panting breaths, he worked himself even deeper, harder. Three sharp thrusts, and he cried out and followed her into the vast bliss.
Exhaustion captured her like a gentle thief, and she burrowed deeper into Leo’s body for warmth. Still fused together, he shifted so that they lay on their sides, legs and arms entwined, blankets tucked around them. They were as close as two people could get, and knowing that was a little frightening. Every part of her was laid bare to him and it would be so easy for him to destroy her, break her. The smooth smile on his lips was warm, comforting.
“Sleep, we’ve time.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and traced the bridge of her nose.
Time. Did they really have time? Even if they did not, she would pretend they had years ahead of them.