Page 77 of The Gentleman Was Right
“Of course.” He followed her, closed the bedchamber door behind him, and tugged her into his arms. “Let me,” he whispered into her ear, as he began dragging her gown up her body.
For the first time, she didn’t feel the need to take over. To strip him first. Controlling their lovemaking had been a way for her to be certain that she didn’t surrender to the emotions physical pleasure could evoke. Now that she could allow those emotions free rein, she was able to enjoy the way he slowly removed her wet garments.
Trailing kisses over the skin he bared and letting his fingers drag over her cool flesh, he explored her body in a way he never had before. With worship.
And affection.
“I love you,” she whispered.
His fingers stilled, and his breath feathered across her collarbone. “You don’t…” He made a noise that sounded almost like a chuckle into her neck. “You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’d never say it if I wasn’t.”
She felt him nod, his head burrowing further into the crook of her neck, his breath sounding increasingly ragged. Was he hiding from her?
“Edward,” she said, pushing at his shoulder.
She pushed again, and he lifted his head, tears glistening in his eyes. “I told Sebastian I’d be what you needed, but you were so determined you’d never care for me, and between that and Basil’s lies, I worried I couldn’t succeed. That it was already too late.”
“It isn’t too late. You succeeded. I care for you.I love you,” she repeated.
“I love you too,” he said against her lips. “And I’ve never been happier that I was right.”
Epilogue
TWO YEARS LATER
“You have to stay still,” Edward said to Violet for the fifth time in a matter of minutes.
She huffed as she tried to keep herself from squirming. It was difficult to remain motionless when he viewed her with such intensity.
In a million years, she wouldn’t have envisioned herself the subject of a nude portrait, and when first she discovered he wanted to paint her, she had unequivocally refused. He hadn’t mentioned it again, but the seed had been planted, and she’d occasionally wondered how he’d portray her.
On their second anniversary, she’d brought it up, and he’d been quite eager. In the weeks since, she’d posed enough times that she knew what to expect. His gaze flicked back and forth from his canvas to her body, each time causing a wave of desire to flow through her veins. Being caressed by his eyes was not the same as being touched by his hands, but the attraction between them still crackled every time he looked up.
It was difficult to refrain from demanding that he put down his brush and cover her body with his. The only thing that stopped her was the knowledge that eventually he would do exactly that. “It hasn’t escaped my attention that you painted me at the seaside almost entirely from memory, while you’ve requested I lay in repose a dozen times since you started this portrait.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “That was different. This time I must capture your expression, which is infinitely more difficult.”
“My expression?” It was hard to showcase her doubt with just her voice, but she gave it her best shot.
“And…other details.”
“Details.” She snorted. “I believe you simply like having me sprawled out like a delicacy you can sample at your will.”
He chuckled. “That goes without saying.”
His gaze darted between the painting and her prone body, until suddenly his brows drew together, and his brush paused midair.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re too beautiful for me to concentrate any longer.” He dropped his brush and prowled across the room. Falling directly on top of her, he used his arms to brace his weight so that he didn’t crush her. Then he leaned down to brush his lips across hers but was halted from doing more by a knock at the door.
“Bollocks,” he whispered.
“Edward,” a muffled voice called through the door.
“Belinda.” He shot to his feet, his voice rising. “Give me a moment.”
