Twenty-Eight
Everything had changed between them. The sex wasn’t the reason; it was the symptom of a deeper metamorphosis that had been happening from the moment Devonworth had made her his wife. Never would he have believed that an illegitimate, redheaded American would be his perfect match. He believed it now.
They lay in the aftermath of what had transpired in his bed. He had disposed of the condom and promptly slid back under the blanket and pulled her against him. The very idea of being away from her for any length of time was so abhorrent that he planned to entice her to stay the night if she tried to return to her room. He had five other condoms on hand, and he’d swallow his pride and send Edgecomb for more if need be. But he didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger of losing her.
She had snuggled into his arms and lay with her cheek against his shoulder. Her fingers absently curled through the hair at the back of his neck. He kissed the inside of her arm, wanting to taste her as the full gravity of what they had done washed over them.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head and burrowed deeper into him. He put both arms around her and tugged her closer. He loved the naked feel of her skin against him. She was silk and softness. “I think you were right, though.” She glanced up at him, a worried wrinkle creasing her forehead. “I don’t want to go back to being friends after this.”
He could hardly speak past the ache that had opened in his chest. It had been like this with Sofia. Once they had crossed that physical threshold, there had been no going back for him. “I don’t think that’s possible for us.”
“Then what does that mean?” She shifted to hold herself up on her elbow and look down at him.
A long, red curl flopped onto his chest. He wrapped it around his finger already knowing that it would smell like lavender when he brought it to his nose. Deep down he could feel anxiety trying to take hold of him at the intensity of his feelings for her, but it wasn’t as strong as he assumed it would be. He was content to lie here with her all night. His mind conjured thoughts of them further into the future. He imagined her at his side at Timberscombe Park. They would spend their winters there. Eventually, they would have children.
“It means that I want you for my wife, Cora. In all ways.” The panic threatened to rise to the surface, but he kept it at bay.
Her eyes widened. The light of the single lamp made them appear fathomless. “But you don’t know very much about me.”
He laughed. He knew everything he needed to know. “I know that you are kind and intelligent and strong in your convictions.” He knew enough, and he intended to send a note to Vining to call him off the search for more information about her. Whatever he found wouldn’t matter.
“Is that enough?”
“I don’t know, but it’s a start.” He couldn’t stop touching her. His fingertips traced over the line of her shoulder and down to the curve of her breast. She was small there, but perfectly formed. “Do you know enough about me?”
She nodded. “I know that you are an honorable man. I know that I admire your heart.”
His breath caught, and it was a moment before he could speak. “Well, then . . . perhaps that’s enough to start.”
She smiled and pressed a kiss to his hand. He cupped her face, unable to stop looking at her. He loved the freckles on her nose and the way her eyes turned up subtly at the corners. The look she gave him when she had something mischievous to say. He loved her. He couldn’t say it yet, not when he hardly dared to think it, but she had become extremely important to him in a frighteningly short amount of time.
“There is one thing I’d like to know.” She paused, and he could tell whatever it was, it was difficult for her to say. She swallowed and her gaze fell to his chest. “Who is Lady Sofia?”
The pain that came along with that name was unexpected. It seared through him like a brand. He’d worked hard to get over that pain, but there it was. “How do you know that name?”
“Bolingrave and the women he was with at that ball. Someone linked her with you.”
He wasn’t surprised at Bolingrave’s gossiping about him. He wasn’t ready to reveal the depth of his feeling for Sofia, but he needed to tell her. She had a right to know about his past. “I was in love with her, and I thought she loved me, too. I even asked her to marry me. She married someone else instead. One of the wealthiest men in England. It turns out she preferred wealth to love. Or her parents did. I never had the chance to ask her. Their betrothal was announced in the Times and I never spoke to her again.”
“Leo . . .” She cuddled close to him and put her arms around him. “I’m sorry.” And then she asked very quietly, “Do you still love her?”
There was a part of him that would always think of her fondly, but the wound she had inflicted had only just begun to heal. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forgive her for hurting him, but the imprint of her would always be a part of the shape of his heart. “No.”
His breath eased out of him as he lay there with the truth of that single word putting him at peace. He had never admitted that to himself before. The days and months had passed without her, and he’d wallowed in his bitterness over the choice she had made. He’d come to realize that he hadn’t really known her. The person he had known wouldn’t have done that to him with such cold brutality.
Cora pressed a kiss to his chest. The slide of her lips against his skin had his cock coming to life again. She sensed the change between them, and her tongue came out to taste him. He wanted to spend the night inside her, but he had to make certain that she understood where this would lead them.
“Cora . . .” She looked up at him, and he pulled her over him. She settled above him, and he held her hips to keep her in place against his stomach, to keep the temptation of her luscious cunt away from him. “I don’t want a divorce or a separation. If we move forward, I need to know that you want the same things I do.”
“I want to see where this leads us, Leo.” That name. It was like a balm spilling from her lips. “If it means that I’ll want to spend the rest of my life with you, then so be it.”
He rolled her over so fast that he surprised even himself. He wanted her with a ferocity that he had never experienced before. It was as though if he didn’t possess her in that moment then he would die. Fortunately, she seemed to be suffering under a similar fate. She grabbed at him, and before he knew it, he was buried to the hilt inside her. Condomless. Again. His erection was already weeping for her.
“Bloody hell!” He withdrew and she giggled as he hurried for the little tins hidden away in the armoire drawer. This time he brought them all back to the bedside table.
“We’ll get better at remembering,” she teased him as she welcomed him back to bed.
He wasn’t as certain. He’d never been so careless before, and he was afraid it was a testament to how far gone he was for her. That was a question for tomorrow. Tonight, they would lose themselves in each other.
Devonworth left Cora asleep in his bed. He liked the sight of her there. Her auburn hair spread out across the white sheets like spilled wine. It had been all he could do to walk away from her. He wanted to spend the day with her, but he had to get to Parliament. He’d dressed quietly in the bathing chamber and then headed out. Today was the vote for the Married Women’s Property Act. Hereford appeared intent on stalling the effort by using his power to influence enough votes to draw its passage into question. It was all in an effort to keep himself from having to answer for his actions during the February demonstration.
The day ahead might have seemed tedious and tiresome, but because of last night, Devonworth walked through the halls toward his office with a light step. He could still hardly believe how the night had ended. He had thrown his heart into danger, but it was too late to waste time on fear. No, he was too far gone for that. Cora was everything, and with her in his arms, he possessed all he ever wanted.
Beckham’s desk was in an antechamber off the corridor. The man was usually writing away at his desk at this time of day, but it was empty. That should have been his first clue that something was awry. It wasn’t until he had passed through and stepped into his own office that he realized he had a guest.
The pungent scent of pipe smoke filled the air. Beckham looked at him when he walked in, an expression of pure apprehension on his face. He stood adjacent to the round table where they usually took their luncheon. Sitting in one of the chairs and smoking the pipe was Bolingrave.
“Good morning, Devonworth. I trust you slept well.”
“What do you want, Bolingrave?”
He smiled, calculated and bold. Devonworth knew he was in trouble, a feeling that was confirmed when Bolingrave said, “I’ve recently made a new acquaintance. I believe you know him . . . a Mr. Vining.” When Devonworth only swallowed, he continued, “He has some interesting information about your wife . . .”
Bloody fucking hell . . .