“French,” she said dully.
“As you say. French. There is a resemblance in height and coloring, and across the distance of a square as busy and as large as Covent Garden, she could pass for you. I’m right?”
She frowned. Yes, she’d sometimes asked French to attend her dress fittings when she had no time for them. Ladies found it useful to have a maid who resembled her in height, build and coloring. “Yes. But it’s only a passing resemblance.”
“When she was in your gown with your favorite hat, it was more than that. She had her hair done the way you prefer, too. I saw her mainly from the back.”
She gave him a wondering stare. “You noticed all that?”
“I notice everything about you.” He grazed her cheek with his knuckle. “I knew that wasn’t you. I knew you wouldn’t meet John Hayes on your own, much less take him as a lover. That was when I realized French was in league with them, and it was she who’d taken your clothes and met Hayes. Because I’d sworn I’d never doubt you again. And I did not. But you were ill, and I couldn’t speak to you about it.” He gave her a soft smile. “It was nothing to do with oyster patties, was it?”
She shook her head. “It was the vile lies Northwich said to get me to come to his house alone. And he was trying to isolate me, wasn’t he? I did that all by myself.”
“He failed. You were never alone.”
Her mind started working once again. Once she’d gained Northwich’s assurance that she hadn’t married her half-brother, her brain had clicked back into action, making her wonder what on earth she was doing at his house. She’d been in the process of excusing herself when Max had arrived. “No, I don’t think so. John did it because he wanted to. Perhaps the duke had decided he’d grown too close to me and was in danger of winning me over. The duke wouldn’t want that for me, would he?”
“No.” Of course not.
“A princess should marry a prince. Perhaps Northwich’s own son. John Hayes introduced me to Alconbury. Was he also planning for his marriage to a princess, illegitimate perhaps, but also possibly the start of a dynasty?”
He said nothing for a moment. She knew that expression. When he was working out a complicated deal or weaving something into his plans, he looked like that.
“You’re right. Hayes wouldn’t feature in Northwich’s plans for you and his attempt at winning you wouldn’t have met with his approval. A creature, a tool, wouldn’t be allowed so much power.” He smiled. “We spoiled his plans, did we not? With the able help of your father. I don’t think he suspected the half of this.”
“You thought—”
He took her hands gently in his. “I drove myself mad with speculation, but in the end, one thing remained. One thing is true through all of this. You’re mine, Sophia. Your parentage is immaterial now, because you’re my wife. A Wallace.”
That statement affected deeper than anything else since they’d left Northwich’s house. Tears threatened to fall, but she forced them down. He was right. “Yes. I am the daughter of Thomas Russell and his wife Lady Mary, and now I’m the wife of Maximilian Wallace, Marquess of Devereaux.”
She’d found where she belonged. She was home.
Max took her hand. “I want to touch you properly, Sophia. Show you how I feel about you and how sorry I am that I doubted you for a single moment.”
“But you said that yesterday—”
He interrupted her. “That was when I knew. I didn’t doubt you, not for a minute.”
He glanced down at her and shook his head. “Too many clothes,” he said as if that were the most important thing in the world. He stood and held his hand out to help her up. Her heart beating double-time, she got to her feet.
He pulled out the pins that secured her fichu to her gown. He tossed them on his dressing table, before drawing the piece of gauzy linen away and dropping it on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Undressing you.” He paused to remove his own coat, letting it fall disregarded to land in a heavy thump on the floor.
“Why? I’m fine, Max. I don’t need to rest.”
“You may not. I need this. I need to touch you, to claim you.”
“Oh.” That answer took her aback somewhat.
“Not surprised at discovering you’re a princess, but surprised I want to take you to bed?” His mouth quirked in a half-smile.
“A little surprised, but this news… I’ll let it sink in. Even if it’s true, it doesn’t alter the person I am. Not to me, nor to the rest of the world. I’m still the daughter of a Cit, and I’m still married to you.”
He paused and gazed at her face. “Exactly. And you’re still the loveliest woman in London.”
“I was never that.”
“You are to me.”
The way he looked at her, eyes sparkling, she believed him. Her body heated when he gazed at her, desire naked in his eyes.
“And you’re right about that, too. It doesn’t alter who you are. The woman I love.”
What Northwich’s news had failed to evoke, Max managed now. Her mind reeled, and she’d have fallen if he weren’t holding her steady. “You can’t.”
“I’ve found it surprisingly easy,” he said, his smile returning. “It happened all on its own. Of course I love you, Sophia. I could give you myriad reasons, but in the end it means nothing next to the way I feel when you’re by, the man you make me. I’m a better man for knowing you.”
While she was still stunned immobile by his words, he went to work on her hair, removing the frivolous scrap of lace fashionable women called a cap and tossing it away. It floated to the carpet, and he tossed the pins on his dressing table.
“The first time I saw you, really saw you, I thought you brought light to the room.”
While he spoke, he was busy about her, divesting her of gown, petticoats, and unhooking her stays. He dumped pins and bows on the dressing table as he worked as efficiently, if not as neatly, as any lady’s maid. She’d worn the type of stays that fastened down the front today, an old pair from when she used to dress herself most days.
Someone must have stuffed her head with flock. “You love me?” she repeated stupidly.
He smiled. “Of course I do. Yes, Sophia, my wife, my true sweetheart, I love you.”
He asked nothing of her, but lifted her and laid her on the bed, as he had that other time, stripped quickly, and joined her, snuggling close.
She shivered.
“Cold?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Only then did he kiss her. Small sipping kisses at first, slowly lengthening, so they became luscious. Then he gave her his tongue, licking deep into her mouth and persuading her to do the same to him in return. They played, danced, kissed until she found difficulty remembering what life was like without it, without him in her and her in him.
His cock pressed hard into her stomach, dampness marking her where he had released some of the nectar of his body. She wanted it, ached to feel him inside her, but she wanted something else first. To learn him. To show him without words what he meant to her. And what he’d just told her meant. Her heart, her mind filling with warm wonder, she slowly drew away from him, smiling. She swept her hands over his chest, glorying in the hard-packed muscle and the tiny nail heads of his nipples, hard against her palms.
“I do love you, Max,” she said, her heart in her throat, because she’d never said that to anyone else, not even her father. “I couldn’t imagine living without you.”
“Nor I you.”
Tenderly, he cherished her, making her feel like the most precious porcelain figure, the most delicate silk. He stroked her body, cupped her breasts so the nipples stood proud. He bathed each tip with his tongue and sucked gently, first one, and then the other, until she cried for him for more. He obeyed her, licking a line around the rosy tip before drawing it into the heat of his mouth. Curling his tongue underneath, he pulled, sending arrows of sensation straigh
t to her heart.
Crying his name, she curved her hand around his head and dug her fingers into his hair. He released her nipple and paid attention to the other, murmuring “So sweet,” against her skin. He dropped countless kisses around her breasts. Then he kissed a trail up to her throat where he played and lingered around her pulse points, turning her into a totally sensual being.
He gazed into her face. “You are essential to me, Sophia. My wife, my love—everything.”
Smiling, she drew him close and kissed him. His words, his caresses all said the same thing. He loved her truly. “I don’t know how long I’ve loved you either. When I saw you at my father’s house, when you came on business, it was as if you brought your own atmosphere with you. You seemed separate. I always knew when you were in the house, because I could feel it. Is that love?”
“I don’t think so, but it might be a start.” He touched his lips to hers. “For me, it’s not being able to imagine my life without you in it.”
So simple. She nodded. “It is that. After a while, I couldn’t bear the thought of you moving on. It was only business, I thought. You didn’t notice me.”
“Every time.” He murmured the words against her lips. “I always noticed you. But how could I say anything? Foolishly, I thought of other people’s expectations, not what I needed. And it is need, Sophia. I was so afraid today that I’d lose you. If you’d gone with Northwich, I couldn’t go with you. But I didn’t want to alter your decision. It had to be yours.”
“It was. It still doesn’t seem real. But I don’t care. It doesn’t alter what I am, does it?”
“It makes you more precious to some people. I swear I’ll protect you with the last breath I take, but for your own sweet self, for no other reason.”
“Oh, don’t say that!”
She touched her finger to his lips and he sucked it in, caressed it with his tongue.
“Don’t think about it. Or even believe it. We’re here, and I’m going nowhere. Not without you. You really thought I could do that? Become a political pawn?”
He released her finger slowly, his green eyes bright. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do. It’s tempting, the chance to wield power. But even if I wanted it for beneficial ends, it would be distorted.”
“I’ll just have to try to influence people as a marchioness instead of a princess,” she said, smiling. “I’ll deny everything else.”
“Rumors will still spread.”
“Damn them,” she said, cinching him close.
His laugh vibrated through her body. “Damn them all,” he said. “We should stay here. Forever, if need be.”
“Why not?”
Once more he took her mouth in a long, leisurely kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth and letting her explore him. They indulged in some play, kissing and stroking. But when she wriggled her breasts against his hard chest to bring herself a little ease, he laughed, and for the first time, his voice held no shadows.
He was happy, and she was making him that way. That knowledge gave her a huge amount of satisfaction, warming her all the way through.
As he did when he moved lower, toying with her navel and the skin inside her hips, making her flinch and cry out.
“Take it,” he said, his voice rough. “Take everything, and then I’ll give you more.”
Shuddering, she sifted her hands through his hair, seeking out the hard male strength beneath the silky locks.
He gave a throaty chuckle and moved farther down her body. “Dark hair, and that luscious pink center. You are so beautiful, my love.”
She’d never considered that part of her beautiful, but since she thought his cock not just arousing but a perfect design of power and tenderness, she could understand.
He sipped at her, gentle at first, and he ran his tongue over his lips, gathering her taste. “Delicious too,” he said.
Then, with a growl, he broke. Diving in, he sucked her clitoris hard, making her cry out, her body jerking up into the heat of his mouth. He opened wider, sucked more lavishly, licking and sucking, driving her impossibly hard impossibly fast.
Shoving his hands under her rear, he drew her up, held her steady while he ate at her. He was a man starved, ravenously devouring her and sending her higher with every suck, every lick.
Opening his mouth wide, he sucked, and to her shock she realized he had all of her in the compass of his jaws. Pleasuring every part of her, his hands holding her up so he could reach the heart of her.
Fluttering shocks radiated up her spine, to the top of her head and out, encompassing the ends of her fingers and the tips of her toes. He owned all of her, and she gave herself gladly, completely.
“I’m yours,” she gasped as he drove her to a fiery peak. One that drove thoughts of anything except him from her mind. It washed her clean, left her limp and stunned.
As he lifted away from her, cool air swept over her, leaving her refreshed, born anew. She gazed into his beloved face, so open now, no secrets between them.
“Ready, my love?”
“Yes.”
She knew what he meant. To make love without stint or hindrance. For the first time they’d be making love openly, both acknowledging what the other meant to them. Everything.
Although she wanted to explore him too, smooth her hands down his body, take his cock in hand and taste it, lavish her attention on it as he’d just done to her, she held fast. For now they needed to join their bodies and their hearts. Needed it.
“Max, I love you.”
“I love you too, Sophia. My heart.”
Taking his cock in one hand, he guided it to her, and slowly, so that she felt every tiny invasion, he thrust inside her.
Sophia let out her breath in a long sigh. “I want you here all the time.”
“Impossible. But you know I’m there in spirit. In the middle of a ball, at the theater or even at court I’m here, inside you. Where I belong.”
She cupped his cheek. “It feels like that?”
“It does. I was created for this, Sophia, my love.”
His movement appeared an organic development of their joining, a sway and dance only they shared. He took her mouth in a deep kiss, and she responded eagerly. Tasting her most intimate juices on his lips sent her higher. The dance grew more frenzied but it was all a part of what they were and what they meant to each other.
Everything, always.
He lifted up, never taking his attention from her face, and pressed her palms against his chest, made free with his body. And when she looked down, she saw where they joined, his cock pistoning in and out of her slick depths. Every movement brought her new and higher sensations, the touch to her interior channel shocking now, delivering more with every stroke. Bracing herself against the mattress, she came up to meet him, completing her part of the dance. His eyes grew brighter, wilder, and again he laughed in simple joy.
“That’s it, love. Give yourself to me. Nothing else matters.”
It didn’t. She came with a completeness that enveloped her in heat, swept through her with a new understanding of what ownership meant. He owned her because she allowed it, and in return she had him. “I’m yours, always,” she told him at the height of her passion, before words left her completely.
“And I belong to you.” His cock jerked inside her and he came in short, hard spurts that rocked him. His muscles tensed, each in high relief, unconsciously displaying his superb physique as he came.
He half closed his eyes, sweat gleamed on his forehead and over his body, and she wanted to claim it for herself. Take all of him and absorb it.
His breath shortened into gasps and then he collapsed on to her. Still, in the throes of passion, he had a care for her.
With a growl, he circled her with his arms and rolled so she was nestled against him. “I can’t let you go.”
“I don’t want you to.” She pressed a kiss against his chest, the sparse hairs nudging her
lips. “I won’t let you go, either.”
A thought that had nagged at her since their marriage jolted her mind again. Fully relaxed, no block between her mind and her mouth she said, “Will you always feel this way? Can this last?”
He stopped her questions by the simple expedient of pulling her down for a kiss. “Yes. There is nobody in the world like you, sweetheart. No others that I love. None as clever, or as graceful. Let yourself be beautiful, sweetheart, and others will see it, too. We won’t always see eye to eye, I know that, but never concern yourself with that. I won’t stray, I swear it now.”
“Even if I never let you into my bed again?”
“In case you’d forgotten”—amusement coloring his voice—“this is my bed. Soon to be our bed, I hope and pray. You’ll have to use your room sometimes, for your levees and suchlike, but here is where you come at the end of every night. Or I’ll come and join you. I never want to wake up alone again.”
Now she smiled. She went back into his arms and laid her head on his shoulder. “I can hardly believe it.”
“Which part?”
“That you love me.”
He cracked a laugh. “So after a day when you learn you’re a princess, that’s the concern that affects you the most? That I love you? Believe me, that part was easy.”
“I’m not a princess.”
“But you are of royal blood. And you’re mine.”
Growling, he kissed her and they lost each other in their kiss.
Smiling, he touched her chin as their lips separated. “Do we go out tonight?”
“We should. Let people see us.”
“We should.” But neither made an effort to move.
“Let’s go back to the country to tomorrow.”
She smiled at him, completely and deeply his. “Yes, let’s.”
Meet the Author
Lynne Connolly lives in England with her family and her mews, Jack the cat. She comes to the USA every year to visit her publishers and readers. She was born in Leicester, England and was brought up in a haunted house. She is part Romany, and in her spare time she loves reading the Tarot as her grandmother taught her, and making and filling dollhouses.
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