“Oh, Francis.” She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck as he stood. He squeezed her tightly and nuzzled her neck.
“My Eden, my love,” he whispered emotionally as he pressed kisses against her neck and nuzzled her ear. “Is that a ‘yes, then?”
Eve leaned back in his arms to stare up into his eyes with a trembling smile. “No.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in. He drew back with a frown. “What did you say?”
With a sigh, she stepped back. “I said no, Francis.”
“Nay, as in ‘no, I will not marry you?’”
“Yes, I won’t.”
“Why the bloody hell not?” His deep brogue pulled itself mightily to the forefront with his strong emotions and was so evident that, for a moment, she could barely understand him.
“I appreciate the offer, I do. It makes me so incredibly happy that you would ask,” she tried to assure him.
“So happy that you won’t say yes?”
“Francis, please try to understand—”
“Understand what?” he queried in disbelief. “Is it the divorce? The scandal? I had thought, since ye had considered it yerself before yer mangy husband died, that ye might be fine wi’ it.”
“It’s not the divorce.” Eve shook her head in denial. A month ago, no, even a week ago, the idea of linking herself to such scandal would have been appalling, but now it seemed so easy to shrug such a minor thing away.
“Then what?”
“Perhaps we should have a seat?” Eve suggested and waved him into her room, closing the door behind him. There were two chairs arranged across from a settee, in front of the fireplace. She supposed she couldn’t be angry that he chose a chair where she couldn’t sit next to him. Hesitating only a moment, she sat on the settee opposite him and tried to formulate her thoughts. “You must realize, Francis, that I have responsibilities to my son and the earldom that cannot be ignored—”
“Nice try, Eden.” He dismissed her explanation before she even got going, rising to his feet to pace the room. “I will accept that you take your responsibilities as guardian seriously, but that isn’t the reason you are denying me. What is it?”
As he prowled restlessly, she realized how much she loved to watch him. The movements of his body were so fluid; the muscles of his back shifted and rippled under his shirt. Those in his arms and legs bunched beneath his clothing as he squatted before the fire and reached for a poker. She could watch him constantly and never tire of him, his graceful movements rare for a man of his size. He stirred the fire into a good blaze and stayed crouched there, encouraging the flames with the poker. The glow of the fire lit his face. So strong, so beautiful touched by light and shadows.
Her heart seized.
“Francis,” she sighed longingly, “my God, how I love you!” The words popped out of her mouth before she even realized they had formed. Not to her complete surprise, she realized the words were true. She had loved him from the moment she met him, and that love had never faded.
It was as Moira had said. She could be forever without him and love him still with a depth of feeling different from the love she had ever borne for another. Francis had the love of her heart and her soul. It was complete, passionate, and fulfilling love. She would do anything for him.
Absolutely anything. How terrifying!
She’d give up her reputation without thought or hesitation just to engage in a scandalous affaire de coeur with him. Undeniably, she already had. Was it possible then, that she’d even give control of her life to him? Would she really go so far as to marry? Just to be with him and make him happy?
How horrifying that she would even think of willingly putting herself under the thumb of another man. Never. Never again! She could not be owned. She would not allow herself to be legal property again.
But her heart called. Love him. Forget the rest. But adoring him so completely meant that, if she lost herself to him, it could be both her downfall and her salvation. Still, her life felt complete with him her heart argued. She knew she could live without him but did not want to. The internal conflict raged as her heart and head waged battle. “Oh, God, no.”
Those first words of love had startled Francis so much he dropped the poker with a loud clang. His entire body tensed as she spoke them, a wonderful warmth filled him, flowing outward from his chest to every part of his body. She loved him. He knew she did, of course; she had shown him already in so many ways, yet it made him feel good, like a god in some ways, to hear it aloud. It also humbled him completely, knowing he had done nothing to deserve it.
He was about to admit this thought to her when he realized she was crying.
“Paradise?”
“I can’t! I can’t!” She was crying. “I can’t love you. I won’t. I know you can’t understand. ”
“Love is a good thing, is it not?” He sat beside her on the settee and put an arm around her, comforting her as she wept. “Tell me, darling. Tell me what has you so troubled.”
“Eight years ago, this wouldn’t have bothered me at all,” she confessed. “I was a different person then.”
“I know your marriage was not a good one—”
“It’s not just that. You can’t comprehend the change that was forced upon me. My whole life I did what I wanted. I went my own way. Then Da had me betrothed to Shaftesbury. William never doubted he would get the prize, never asked whether I wanted to marry him. Did I tell you that? He never spoke to me about anything personal. I told you about our first dance? How I thought he looked so proud? You have no idea, Francis.” Eve shuddered at the memories. “He spent the entirety of our marriage trying to mold me into his vision of the perfect wife, the perfect showpiece of his collection. I was just a thing to him. As perfect as his sculptures and paintings. He took away my choices, my free will! He took away all the things about me that I was proud of and made me into a shell of what I was, A perfect façade. I went from having control of my every choice before I married him to none at all after! I never want to be put into that position again, and loving you, even without marriage, allows you the power to do just that.”
Francis stroked her head as it rested on his shoulder. Her fear was obviously very real, and he did not want to belittle it by dismissing those fears summarily. Clearly there was much more to her marriage that Eve wasn’t sharing, but this was not the time for details. He’d had no idea how deeply it had scarred her. Shaftesbury was lucky he was dead, or he would have suffered greatly indeed at Francis’ hands. However, Eve also needed to realize that one man was not necessarily like another. “There is a difference between us, you know? I am not Shaftesbury. I am not a monster.”
She pulled away and shook her head. “I know you are not, Francis, but to lose myself, to allow someone to have power over me again, is terrifying. In marriage, a man has all the power. He is the master.”
“But you are forgetting something, sweet Eden.” He caressed her cheek lovingly before urging her to face him. “When it comes to people such as you and me, it is not a question of power. It is a question of love.”
“A question of love?” she asked in confusion, not understanding his logic.
“Aye, my Paradise, loving you as you are.” He dropped a feathery kiss on her lips, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. “I do not want to change you, my love. I adore the improper chit who bellowed her ire to all of Mayfair, the girl who plays chess and is proud of it, who challenges me at every turn and plays with worms with her son. And I don’t want to rule that life. I want to share it with you, not take it from you.”
“I couldn’t stand to lose myself again, Francis. To lose my identity again. But I don’t want to continue without you either.” She buried her face in his shoulder and clung tightly to him. His words had warmed her heart. He could feel the tremors rippling through her body and acknowledged that her fears, however unfounded, were very real. “I’m so frightened, Francis.”
“So am I, sweet Paradise.”
“You?”
She sniffed, looking up into his deep green eyes. “Frightened? Of what?”
Love came his unspoken thought. He feared that in finding this woman once again, the whole of his chances for happiness rested with her. He didn’t want to become a hermit once more, didn’t want to live a life of bitter reflection and cynicism. He feared not finding a way to keep her, lest he revert to that embittered existence. He could not lose her, this bit of paradise who had brought laughter and, yes, love into a life that had none. She was his. A gift he clearly did not deserve but one he intended to keep. Talk about a person having power. Finally, he spoke. “Perhaps of the same thing you fear, my darling. Giving you power over me.”
“How would I have power?” she asked, perplexed by his reasoning. “A man has all the power in marriage.”
“But not all the power when it comes to the heart,” Francis explained, trying to find the words to make her empathize. He knew that giving her understanding of his fears also risked her seizing that power, but he could not deny presenting his heart to her. “You have the power to destroy my life as well. You could have me under your heel in an instant. When a man loves a woman, all the power becomes hers.”
“You love me?” Her head came up and her bright, tear-glazed eyes stared directly into his darker ones.
“More than life itself,” the instant response came with a smile.
“Really?”
“You know I do.” Francis stroked a hand down her throat, shoulder, arm until he reached her hand, which he clasped in his and pressed against his heart. “I am yours and completely at your mercy. You know it well. Don’t you, Eden?”
She curled back up against his shoulder and stared into the flames, feeling secure and safe for the first time since the day she had married. “A part of me wants to,” she confessed softly at length. “A very large part. The other parts want me to flee to safety.”
“You can’t run away from life, Eden. It will not chase after you-. Live it with me.” Francis brushed his lips against the top of her head. “Be my love, knowing I’ve never loved another.”
“Oh, Francis,” she sighed. Her heart begged her to embrace all he offered.
For a long moment they simply sat entwined, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and new love. Feeling his heart pounding under her hand, she felt safe. It felt wonderful, she thought, to love and to be loved. And she trusted him, she realized with a start. Trusted that he would not take advantage of her. That he would not try to mold her into what he wanted, but rather encourage her to come into her own and simply learn to be herself again.
He was right. It had always been a question of love. To love her as she was. To not fear the consequences of that love. To have the words spoken and be secure in their truth.
Her brow wrinkled then. To have the words spoken to you. To have the words…
“Francis?”
“Hmm?”
“I’d be pleased to hear those words again, if you would be so kind.”
“What words would those be?” he teased with a hug.
In mock outrage, Eve pushed out of his embrace and moved away from him. Sitting up straight, perched on the edge of the settee with her hands folded in her lap, she tried to look starchy but failed to suppress a grin. “Truly, my lord, have you nothing to say to me?”
With his arms slung over the back and arm of the settee, hair rumpled, languid smile in place and with a languid smile, he lounged back in the corner of the little sofa. He looked utterly delicious, sexy and masculine. “Nothing comes to mind, other than you look silly like that.”
“You!” She threw herself against his chest and beat on it playfully. “Give up,” she demanded sitting on top of his chest. The skirt of her black riding habit twisted nearly up to her hips as she straddled him. Her deep golden hair, loose from its pins, fell wantonly about her shoulders. “Admit it.”
“I admit that you don't look at all silly like this.” He ran his hands up her thighs to the tops of her gartered black silk stockings. He gathered her hair in his hands and brought it to his cheek. “Actually, you look bloody seductive from here.”
Eve leaned over and kissed him warmly and slowly. When his arms came up to hold her, however, she pulled back, her loose hair brushing his face. She watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Her chest twisted almost painfully.
“Say the words, Francis.”
He recognized the need in her whispered plea, and his own chest tightened in response. To say the words, those three simple words. To say them to a woman for the first time in his life. To say them and mean them. It would be the easiest thing he’d ever done, for he did love this woman more than his own life. He opened his eyes. Bright green met dark. He opened his mouth…
He shook his head and closed his mouth. No, that wasn’t quite right.
Pushing himself up and taking her with him, he lifted her into his arms, ignoring her squeal of protest. He carried her over to the fireplace and set her down before it. He arranged her until she sat before him, skirts circled about her, hair pulled over one shoulder and cascading into her lap. He nodded in satisfaction. The firelight flickered across her features and bronzed her glorious hair. It was perfect.
Pulling himself up on one knee, he brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. In that moment, her worried expression fled, and love radiated from her eyes.
“My lady Evelyn,” he began in a low, husky voice, showing all the emotion pent up inside him for the past thirty-three years. “Words simply cannot say…neither can they describe the emotion or do justice to the feeling I have in my heart for you. It is beyond anything I have ever imagined possible. It fills me and fulfills me.”
His voice caught slightly, and he turned his head away. Touched by the obvious depth of feeling he was experiencing and knowing that it was not unlike her own, Evelyn caressed his cheek and started to speak. “Fran—”
He cut off her words with a finger over her lips. “Sweet Eden. I’ve said before that you are my paradise. There is more truth in that than you can know. You have given me more than I could ever hope to return, but I will try. You have given me your friendship, your passion, and your love. And I will give them all back to you tenfold. Most especially my love. You want the words even though they do not say nearly enough. But I will offer them to you. I do love you. More than words can say. I love you.”
Completely overwhelmed by his heartfelt declaration, a single tear crept down Eve’s cheek. Francis caught it with a finger and raised it to his lips. “My lord, that was…” she trailed off, at a loss for words.
“I’d hear the words in return, my love.”
“I love you, Francis. I adore you. Don’t you know how much?”
“How much?” he teased, catching her to him and holding her tightly.
“I love you enough to trust you,” she answered with simple sincerity. She was rewarded with a passionate kiss for her answer, which she returned whole-heartedly.
“Then marry me.”
“No.”
“Marry me.”
“I’ll think about it.”
* * *
With her concession, Francis fell onto his back with a satisfied grunt and pulled her to sit on top of him. “Now, where were we?” Shoving her skirts up to her hips and tousling her hair, he nodded. “Right about here, I think.” With that, their lips met in a fiery kiss that drove away all other thoughts beyond themselves and that room.
“I would never have thought you to be such a romantic, my lord.”
“I’ll show you romance, my lady.” His hands ran down the backs of her thighs, sending little shivers through her.
“Will you, my lord? Is it time for romance, yet?” she taunted seductively.
He flipped her over until she lay beneath him and settled snugly between her thighs. A fervent groan was ripped from his throat as the hard length of him came into contact with her heat through the barrier of his breeches. Need consumed him, racing frantically through his body, rising swiftly to a fev
erish pitch. He felt lacking in control just as he always did when he touched her. He needed to touch her, taste her, and lose himself in her, to come inside her. He wanted it so badly it hurt. Bloody hell! Romance had no place in this urgent, boiling passion.
“Bloody hell, Paradise,” he panted, his heart pounding against her chest. “Would you think me less of a man if I said it wasn’t time for romance yet?”
“Francis,” she whispered, her voice filled with as much need as he felt. “I’d think you less a man if you said it was.”
“Och, my sweet!”
Burying his face in her neck, he tore the jacket and blouse of her riding habit open, immediately capturing an exposed nipple in his waiting lips and sucking hungrily. Raw cries of passion from his prim, proper countess drove him even farther out of control.
He pulled at the front of his breeches, popping several buttons before freeing the length of himself from confinement. He spread her legs farther apart intent on losing himself between them. At the last moment, he refrained, determined to see to her pleasure before his own.
He found her with his fingers. To his amazement, she was already warm and wet. He looked down at her face and saw nothing but passion in her green eyes. He cupped her breast, and her eyes fluttered closed, a deep moan born in her throat. The Scot bent and caught the other rosy peak in his teeth and teased it with his tongue. Eve cried out and wrapped her legs around him.
“Francis!” she cried out. “Please!”
That single word drove him over the edge. Perhaps it always would. Grasping her hips with his big hands, he drove deeply into her and nearly lost himself in that instant, so hot and tight was she. He thrust into her again and again, until her burning climax erupted his own scalding release. He collapsed on top of her, burying his sweaty face against her breast. “Damned if we aren’t going to kill ourselves if we go on like this.”
“As long as we go together, I don’t care,” she whispered, still holding him tightly.
All You Could Ask For Page 42
