Page 148 of A Rogue in Firelight
“And you,” she said, coming closer, “you are sometimes the perfect gentleman. You dance beautifully and catch fish in your bare hands. You distill the best whisky in the world, you always choose the right fork, and you defend others with your very life. And you make a lonely lass feel heard and seen and so good—” She drew a ragged breath.
“Ellison,” he murmured.
“And I love you with all my heart and soul. Madly so, even now. Beast.”
“I am. I am sorry.”
“I do not care a whit who you are, what title you have or do not have. I do not care if you live in a cave or a castle. Or in this house.” She gestured with a flailing hand. Tears were running down her cheeks. “It—is so clean. You made it so nice. When did you do that?”
“It has a chair. Two. And a bed.”
She sobbed a little, caught it behind her hand.
He opened his arms then, and she ran to him, deep into his embrace, knocking into him so that he huffed. She could get enough of his warmth and strength around her as he caught her deep in his arms, set his cheek against her bonnet, crushing it.
“Silly damn thing,” he said, and with deft fingers, stripped loose the bow and tore the hat free, tossing it aside. “Fetching creation, though.”
She laughed through tears, pressing tightly against him, inhaled his scent, male and musky, laced with whisky. The warmth and power of his body enveloped her. “I do so love you.”
“I love you,” he whispered. “I was wrong. I was—so upset.”
“I was wrong to not tell you what I meant to do. I am sorry Corbie got to you.”
“Well done for taking him down. Ellison—have I ever told you that I fell in love with you the moment you walked into that dungeon?”
“You never said that.”
“I am telling you now. You were my angel. The one who showed up to change me, change my life.” He cupped her cheek, tilted her face up, kissed her so gently she felt as if she melted there in his arms, had to clench her toes to make sure she was whole and standing.
“You did not need changing. I did. I am better for finding you.”
“You were perfect already, lass. You just did not know it.” He kissed her again, let it linger, pulled her against him, so that she knew his body was strong and awake and ready.
“God, Ronan, oh,” she said, sinking against him. “Oh! Another thing.”
“Mmm,” he murmured, deepening the kiss, rising again.
“My father—I told Papa”—she kissed him—“we were married and happy and he said—”
“No mention of your father now, aye?” He spoke softly, his voice driving downward in her body, his lips pressed to her hair, then tracing along her cheek. Crooking a finger, he tipped her chin up to touch her lips with his. “But I am proud of you.” The kiss was deep, exquisite.
She parted for a moment. “He says he was wrong about you.”
“Aye, he was.” Ronan laughed softly. Ellison renewed the next kiss and the next, each touch and taste hungrier, more fervent, heated and moist, yet her thoughts whirled yet. “I know it does not matter what he thinks, but—”
“It does matter. But hush now, later for that.” His lips on hers smothered her reply. Her limbs were dissolving so fast she nearly sagged in his arms. “Shall we go upstairs, darling girl?” He lifted her in his arms as if she weighed nothing and headed for the steps.
“Wait—the lock—”
“The lock.” He swung, carrying her as she reached out to latch the door. “Happy now?”
“So very,” she whispered against his neck.
“Nothing in the upper rooms,” he murmured. “Well. A bed. I can show you that.”
“Please.”
This time, she realized as she lay with him, they were finally and completely alone; no interruption, no obligation until dawn or beyond. This time, she felt their love, still so new, ripen into a commitment that they need not explain or examine. It simply existed, a deep trust that was full in every moment, with each touch, kiss, caress, each word. Beyond the darkness of this bed, it would last and deepen. His kisses were different now, hers were different too. The world had changed somehow.
