Page 48 of Miss Determined
“There is every need.” He brushed his finger across her brow, and even in such a small tenderness, he moved with deliberation.
When Lissa would have argued, she was distracted by a sense of gathering desire, a drawing up of all her yearning and wishing into an impossibly intense longing.
I cannot bear thishad formed as a thought in her mind, and she was marshaling the effort to speak the words aloud when Trevor increased both the tempo and power of his thrusts.
And truly, Lissa could not bear what came next. She endured, she shook, she rejoiced, she marveled, and endured some more, until a deluge of pleasure receded to a roaring torrent, and then a steady current of satisfaction, surprise, and joy.
Trevor stilled above her, holding himself just far enough away that Lissa could breathe freely.
“That was…” She cast around for words—French, English, dog Latin, any words at all. “That was…”
“That was merely a prelude.”
ChapterEleven
Joy had given Trevor the self-restraint of a god, though come to think of it, the gods hadn’t been known for their self-restraint. That thought drifted through the happy mists of his mind as Amaryllis drowsed in his arms and satisfaction burbled through his body.
Along with a dawning awareness that he could soon be aroused again.
Lissa had gone two rounds with him before declaring herself at the limit of her endurance. Trevor had spent on her belly and used a handkerchief on the resulting mess. He’d expected to wrap himself around Amaryllis and drift into the contented sleep of the lover who’dexceeded expectations—and had his own exceeded as well—but instead, he hovered just out of reach of sleep.
In the name of all that was lovely, this moment was too precious to spend snoring.
A special license would take a week or so to arrange, but then again, Amaryllis deserved to be courted.
Publicly.
In the parks, in the ballrooms, at Gunter’s Tea Shop, and in the travel section at Hatchards. At rubbishing Almack’s too. Out at Richmond, in the churchyard of St. George’s, and in every fashionable shop in Piccadilly.
For starts.
And she deserved to be courted for more than the three weeks necessary for crying the banns. They’d be married at St. Nebo’s—the new roof ought to be finished in a couple of months—and if nobody else was on hand to see Amaryllis to the altar, Trevor would prevail on the nearest handy duke to attend to the honor.
Moreland would oblige. He was famously besotted with his duchess. Anselm was a closet sentimentalist when it came to weddings. Quimbey was a Dorning connection who’d married for the first time late in life…
Trevor was mentally choosing the flower arrangements for the altar—the amaryllis could symbolize pride and strength as well as determination—when his prospective bride stirred.
“I slept,” she muttered. “What time is it, and… Oh, you, you… I like that. When you kiss me there, I go all shivery.”
He’d merely kissed her nape. They were spooned together in a cocoon of warmth, and—Trevor hoped—joy.
“You merely dozed for a few minutes,” he said, “felled by a surfeit of passion. For your information, I like the cuddling part too.”
She aimed a look at him over her shoulder, a little wary, a little impish. “You excel at cuddling, sir. One would not have suspected this.” She subsided on a sigh. “I have some latent talents, too, it seems.”
Trevor took the span of two more leisurely kisses—shoulder, biceps—to realize he was being asked for reassurances.
“You knocked me so far off my horse, Amaryllis DeWitt, I’m still flying somewhere above Hampshire. Ours will be a passionate union.”
“You haven’t proposed yet.”
Oh, but he would. “The matter wants some thought. You may rely on me to make a proper job of it.”
“You sound so determined, so serious about a mere formality. I’m not a high stickler, Trevor.” She seemed to think he hadn’t noticed that lovely attribute, when he was all but wrapped around her naked abundance.
But then, some of the patronesses at Almack’s were both high sticklers and… notably frolicsome.
“Don’t spend too much time planning your speech,” Amaryllis went on, rolling over to face him. “Mama thinks to drag me off to London by the end of the month.”
