Clara stayed quiet as long as she was able, to give Quincy the time he needed to process what he’d just read. So much heartbreak, so many things conspiring against the duke and Willa. The tears that she’d fought during the reading of those letters threatened again, making her throat ache. And still he remained silent, merely staring at his father’s last letter to him.
Hoping to bring him a modicum of comfort, she rubbed her hand over his broad back, soothing the bands of tense muscle. She felt him shift and relax under her palm. She laid her cheek on his shoulder, wishing she could mend whatever hurt he was feeling.
Not just in that moment. She wished she could be there for every hurt in the future, to help him heal, to bring him happiness.
To love him.
Hope bloomed that perhaps things between them could work. The duke’s last sentence called to her: And when you find love, don’t let it go.
Quincy was willing to marry her even with the tragedy in her past, even though it could rear up and ruin them at any time. And she saw so clearly that the heartbreak of trying to remain safe and secure wasn’t worth losing his love.
As if she’d spoken aloud, he turned to her. And smiled.
The pain in his gaze was gone, and she could see clear to his soul. Her heart swelled at the sight.
“You’re all right,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He smiled. “He loved me. And so did my mother.”
She drank in the sight of his joy. “Of course they did. How could they not?”
He cupped her cheek, leaned in to kiss her.
There was nothing she wanted more in that moment than to melt in his arms, but there was still something that needed to be addressed. She planted her hands on his chest to keep him at bay.
He frowned, pulling back, hurt replacing his happiness. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. At least”—she smiled tenderly—“not until you’ve finished proposing to me.”
The joy that filled him transformed him, the hopeful light that filled his features erasing any lingering lines of grief. It was as if the last piece of a puzzle had been snapped in place.
He dropped to his knees, taking her hands in his. She gripped his fingers tight, memorizing this moment, with this powerful man before her about to declare himself.
“Clara,” he said, his voice thick, just as moved as she was if the shine in his dark eyes was proof, “will you marry me?”
“Yes.” The one word spilled from her lips without hesitation, joy laced through it.
He rose to his feet and took her face between his hands, his gaze suffused with wonder. “You’ll marry me?”
She grinned. “Yes, you wonderful man, I’ll marry you. I love you, Quincy, so very much.” She gave a small laugh. “I think I’ve loved you since that first time I saw you in Lady Tesh’s drawing room.”
“As have I,” he murmured. He stroked a stray curl from her cheek, his gaze achingly tender. “Clara, you’re my very heart and soul.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. And then he was kissing her. Or she was kissing him. It didn’t matter, really, she thought as she lost herself completely in his embrace. What mattered was they loved one another, and always would.
When last they’d come together her heart had been breaking, so certain had she been that they would soon part. She had made sure that every kiss, every caress, held an echo of her goodbye to him. To rise from his bed before dawn and leave him slumbering amid the rumpled sheets had nearly destroyed her.
This time, however, was a beginning. They went slowly, drawing their pleasure out, every kiss, every caress holding an echo of their declarations to one another, every sigh and whisper like a prayer in the dim room. He undressed her, worshipping each inch with infinite tenderness, hands and lips and tongue bringing her to heights she hadn’t imagined possible. She did the same for him, taking her time, marveling at each bunch of muscle, the dusting of hair across his chest and flat stomach, the incredible beauty of him. She trailed her lips across his skin and tasted warm nights and dark skies and fresh winds blowing off the churning sea.
When their need for one another became too great to delay, he slid inside her with a hiss of satisfaction and began to move.
The pleasure built slowly, until she didn’t know where one of them ended and the other began, until the frantic beat of his heart against her own could not be denied.
He paused, looking down on her. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, his eyes feverish with need. His manhood pulsed inside her, yet he held himself back.
She knew immediately why he did it, and her heart fairly burst with love for this man, who had shown her nothing but respect from the first and who would protect her even now if she needed it. Placing a hand on his cheek, she smiled into his eyes.
“You’re my future now, Quincy,” she whispered. “I want to feel you inside me.”
He let loose a shuddering breath. “I love you,” he rasped before taking her lips in a kiss. And then he was moving inside her again, and she moved with him, each stroke bringing them higher and higher until they came in a burst of stars. Together.
* * *
Quincy woke when the sky was still dark, only the faintest lighting of the pitch black outside the window to the deepest indigo proving that dawn would soon be here.
The dawn of his and Clara’s future together.
She shifted in her sleep, her lithe body, warm and naked, settling more fully against his own. Joy filled him as he tightened his arm about her and kissed the mussed crown of her sable curls. His heart felt freer than it had ever been. There was no uncertainty, no fear, no anger. Only a deep, abiding conviction that he was where he was supposed to be.
He could feel the moment she woke; her body, which had been relaxed, stirred, her legs rubbing against his, her unbound hair rasping against his shoulder. She raised her head and smiled at him.
He pulled her down for a tender kiss. “Good morning,” he murmured.
“Is it morning then?” she asked, her fingers stroking his hair back from his forehead.
“Not quite.” He gathered her back into his arms.
She sighed, snuggling further into his embrace. “I wish I could stay here forever.”
He felt the exact same. He would never grow tired of this, waking with the woman he loved. The idea of her leaving his bed to return to her room, all for propriety’s sake, made him hold her all the tighter. He rather thought that a quick visit to London after Phoebe’s wedding might not be remiss; a special license sounded like a wise course of action. He smiled into her hair, reveling in the way the delicate strands tickled his lips. And from the way she was rubbing her leg against his and trailing her fingers over his stomach, he had a feeling she would not argue.
He was looking out the window at a sky just beginning to show the faintest blush of sunrise, contemplating if he had time to make love to her once more before she left, when she raised her head again to look at him. Her eyes were sober in the predawn light. “Are you well?”
He knew what she was asking: was he still all right after the revelations of the night before, after learning the truth of his parentage. And he hadn’t thought he could love her more. He smiled. “More than well, my love.”
Relief blossomed in her gaze. “You’re an amazing man.”
He chuckled. “Just as well, as I’m marrying an amazing woman,” he murmured, pulling her down for another kiss.
Some minutes later—happy, deliciously distracted minutes—she pulled back. “I’d best return to my room,” she murmured.
He groaned, his arms tightening about her. “No.”
“Yes,” she said with a small laugh. “Besides, Phoebe’s wedding is in just a few days. Once it’s done I’ve a mind to start planning our own. After all, the quicker we marry the quicker we can head off to those places you’ve dreamed of sailing to.”
He stilled, his stomach dropping. “But I thought you understood. Swallowhill will remain ours; we cannot sell it, doubly so now that I know what it was to my mother. I have enough funds to save the dukedom, but not enough to travel.”
He expected sadness. What he did not expect, however, was laughter. She grinned, her eyes dancing, and laid a hand on his cheek.
“Do you think I come to you without a dowry?”
“Dowry,” he repeated blankly.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, dowry. My father was a generous man and made sure to provide for both my sister and me.” The smile she gave him was full of love. “And so, do you think you could be content traveling the world with me by your side?”
His heart nearly burst with love for her. And yet he knew this was just the beginning; his love would grow each day, stretching to the horizon and beyond into forever.
“With you, my love, I’ll go anywhere,” he murmured before taking her lips in a kiss.