Chapter Twenty-Five

Friday evening. A week later.

When the carriage pulled up at the back of Aaron’s house, she saw him run out onto the road to greet her like a man possessed. He wrenched the carriage door open and lifted her so that her feet didn’t touch the ground. “I cannae believe you’re finally in my arms. I’ve thought of nothing else all week.”

“Quietly, my lord,” she whispered in his ear, and he put her down, aware of the driver.

He paid the driver and sent him on his way.

“I cannae bear not seeing you. Eleven days was too long,” he complained, ushering her inside. “Never do that to me again.”

“I fended off accusations about you all last week, but I think, thanks to the apology in the broadsheet and the most wonderful article on my father, who is to have his statue erected in Wilding Place tomorrow afternoon, we are safe for now.”

“I cannae bear it that we have to live like this. Come.” He took her hand and led her upstairs to his bedroom, where a small fire burned in the grate and a bottle of Madeira and another of port stood open beside two glasses on a tray. Aaron filled one glass with the Madeira and passed it to her, pouring the port for himself. He gulped it down and poured another.

She sat on a dainty bedroom chair by the fire, smiling at him. She should have been nervous, given she’d promised herself to him, and she was, a little, but she knew him now—understood what drove him, his likes and dislikes, his beliefs and his tastes. “To us, Aaron. To our happiness. May it not be fleeting.”

“You have happiness, Crystal. I’ve watched you bloom since you’ve come to Edinburgh, even though you defy everything and everyone.”

“That’s not true. I am very cautious about being here. I hardly call that defiance. Now come toast this special moment. It will be so new to me.” She held up her glass to him.

He clinked hers but didn’t utter a word. There was a sadness about him, heavy and weighty as he stared into the fire, so she stood and put her glass aside.

She started to undo his cravat, and he let her. “I hope the enthusiasm for this is not just one-sided?”

The look he gave her seared her heart. “One-sided? Of course not. I want you. I appreciate the gift you are giving me.”

He bent and kissed her then, and a growl emanated from him, relieving her concern that he had lost interest. It wasn’t long before he’d removed her clothing, leaving on her stockings and her new drawers, which had no crotch, so that she felt daring and wanton.

His lips, his tongue, and his hands explored her like she was the gift he spoke of. “This mannish underwear disturbs me,” he said.

“I rather like them. Princess Charlotte is wearing them.”

He pulled them down her legs. “I’m in bed with you, and that’s the only woman I want to think about. The stockings can stay on, but I prefer you naked. I’ve been teased enough with not being able to have you as often as I would like.”

“Oh, poor spoilt Marquis,” she crooned.

He moved between her legs, bent over her, and laved her nipples, the effect of his tongue making her arch her back in need. “Mock me, will you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Not while that sword of yours is pointing in my direction.”

“Soon you will feel its length.” He reached over to the table beside the bed, took a condom out of an envelope, and fitted it, tying the end so that it would stay on. “Are you not afraid?”

“Terrified!” She laughed in his face.

“Cheeky minx.” He moved between her legs and licked along her seam until she groaned and rocked with pleasure. The magic of his tongue brought back images of what she’d seen. She was right. The wonderous sensation was caused by a man’s touch, but for her, it could never be any man—it had to be Aaron. His tongue moved over her swollen cunny, and she writhed under him, clutching the bedclothes as the tension built until it exploded and she cried out, moaning underneath him.

Just as the pleasure eased, he drew himself up along the length of her and plunged inside. She tensed, the sensation strange and painful.

He looked down at her, his eyes alight, his mouth and chin wet. “The pain will go.”

She lay there gasping with both pleasure and pain and gripped his shoulders. “Keep going. I’m learning how you feel.”

He did as she asked, and once she had adjusted to his size, she was able to meet his thrusts with her own.

It wasn’t long before he, too, groaned, his whole body becoming rigid over hers before collapsing on top of her.

Rolling onto his side, he carefully untied the condom and slid it off. “Would that I could take you without this impediment.”

“Does it feel strange?” she asked.

“It dulls the sensation, but I couldn’t bear for you to have a child unless it has my name.”

She moved close and ran her hand over his body, enjoying the relaxing aftermath and the closeness. “We know that can’t happen.” Weariness flooded her body, and her eyes began to shutter. She been teaching four days a week, along with doing speaking engagements, and she was exhausted.

“But I want you to be mine. I cannae face having bairns with a woman I’ve no love for.”

“We must enjoy the little time we have before you marry. I can never be yours.”