“I’m surrounded by spies,” he answered, echoing her words.
He pulled her closer, and she let her head rest on his chest. It was their habit to sit thus each night after she danced or spied, looking into the flames in the hearth. A simple ritual, one that had not replaced her evening routine to keep her body strong, but that fed her heart instead.
“Will you marry me, Flower? Vivienne? Sarah?” His hand played idly with her hair, though his heart beat furiously beneath her cheek—not like trapped butterflies, but a team of horses thundering inside his rib cage. “I confess, I want us to belong to each other. I want to shock not only London, but all of England by marrying you. I want you and Anne and me to be a family. I want to make a family with you.”
She did not speak. She could not.
He had asked, and she had always said no. It was a jest when he asked, and they both knew it. But he was not jesting now. Not this time.
And she did have a choice. Sir Charles had explicitly indicated so.
She set her hand against Maximilian’s chest so that she could feel the beat of his heart beneath her fingers, and looked up into his face.
“Yes.” What else could she say to this man? “Yes.”
“Oh, thank all the gods. Even the Persian gods.” His forehead pressed against hers, every muscle of his body relaxing. “I thought you might say no again.”
She laughed and took his mouth. Kissing Maximilian was all that was good in her world. He was heat and strength, love and comfort. His lips were mobile and full, and tasted only of the man she loved.
When he started to flick open the buttons of her shirt, she laughed again.
When his hand cupped her breast, she gasped and arched toward him.
And when they made love, when his body worshipped hers and her heart was full of him, she could only sigh in pleasure.
“I love you, Maximilian,” she whispered as he kissed the tender area around her collarbone.
“And I you.” He looked clearly into her eyes, holding himself still above her. “Whatever name you use, whatever clothes you wear, whatever weapon you hide. Beneath the surface is a woman of many parts, and I love them all.”
“Yes,” she breathed, arching toward him, opening her arms to hold the man she had been gifted with. The man who knew each part of her, and loved all of her. “Yes.”
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Acknowledgments
I must thank so many people for helping to see A Dance With Seduction become a reality! Alethea Spiridon and the Entangled Publishing team, my agent Nalini Akolekar at Spencerhill Associates (also known as the Goddess Among Agents), and all those involved in copy edits and marketing and cover art. It is truly a pleasure working with all of you!
To Kimberly Kincaid and Jennifer McQuiston, thanks for reading every single word! And to Tracy Brogan, well, I believe you let me cry on the phone to you more than once.
Also, Mummy, Daddy, and my Sisters, thanks for your unending support! I need to give a shout out to Bruce, the best boss ever, for time away from work to write.
To my Josh, thanks for eating pizza and monster faces and PB&J when your Momma is writing. I love you, baby!
Joe, there aren’t enough thanks in the world that I could give you. In fact, there’s not much I can say except that I know we drive each other crazy, but I’d marry you again tomorrow if you asked. All my love.
Finally, and most importantly, thanks to all of you, Dear Readers! Authors are nothing without readers, and I cannot wait to share Vivienne and Maximilian with you!
About the Author
Despite being a native Michigander, Alyssa Alexander is pretty certain she belongs somewhere sunny. And tropical. Where drinks are served with little paper umbrellas. But until she moves to those white sandy beaches, she survives the cold Michigan winters by penning romance novels that always include a bit of adventure. She lives with her own set of heroes, aka an ever-patient husband who doesn’t mind using a laundry basket for a closet and a small boy who wears a knight in a shining armor costume for such tasks as scrubbing potatoes.
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