Page 83 of With Love in Sight
“No, I love you, Imogen. As the other half of my heart.” He spun her to face him. His pale gray eyes held new worlds of emotion in their depths. “Yes, we’re friends. Yes, we have passion. And you were right, for a marriage to work, we would need more. Imogen, we have more.”
It wasn’t until he reached up and wiped at her wet cheek with his thumb that she realized she was crying. “You were crying the first night we met,” he murmured. “Do you remember?”
She nodded, unable to speak, too overcome with the emotions welling up in her. For so long she had forced them down. Now, however, they were breaking free.
Her eyes searched his face frantically, looking for any doubt there. This could not possibly be real. She had to be dreaming; that was the only excuse. But no, his body was solid and warm, pressed to hers. And his eyes were open, and honest, and true.
Hope uncurled like a sleeping bird in her heart, woken after too long a slumber. And it began to sing.
“I will forever be grateful that you stumbled upon me that night,” he said. “You have brought a calm and happiness to my life that I never thought to have again—indeed, never thought I even deserved.”
“You love me?” she whispered.
He smiled and pulled her closer. “How could I not? You are beautiful and kind and generous. I’m only amazed it took me so long to realize.”
Still Imogen could find no words. She was dizzy with the whirl of emotions—first such utter despair, followed by such staggering joy she was afraid to grasp onto it. She reached up, gingerly touching his face, his lips. He clasped her hand, pulling it to his mouth, pressing a fervent kiss to her skin.
“I have been a fool,” he said, his eyes roaming greedily over her face. “I was so blind to the truth that it nearly cost me you. If I had only realized before. It came on me so gradually, I couldn’t see it for what it was. Though I think I have loved you since I saw you transformed at that masquerade ball.”
Imogen felt a sudden dimming of her joy. He had loved her since she had changed into a completely different person? She began to pull away from him, but he held tight.
“Since,” he continued, reaching a finger under her chin to tilt her face up, “I realized that I’d rather have you as you are, and not as a copy of every other debutante out for the Season. Since I realized that I could not deny the pull you had on me. You ground me, make me a better man. My life was a shell before you stumbled into it. And thank God you did.”
He pulled her flush against him and she opened her arms to him. His breath stirred the tendrils of her hair that had escaped her braid as he embraced her.
“Marry me, Imogen,” he pleaded, his lips moving at her temple, his hands cradling her like the most precious of treasures. “Marry me, and make me the happiest of men.”
She smiled into his shoulder as all the doubt and sorrow in her heart melted away. “Yes,” she whispered.
He stilled, and then pulled away just enough to look into her face. His eyes, dim in the candlelight, flared with a fierce joy. “Say it again.”
She laughed. “Yes, I will marry you, Caleb.”
Before the words had completely left her mouth, his lips covered hers. His fingers splayed over her hips, digging into their roundness, pulling her against him. Her thin nightgown was barely a barrier to the hard press of his body. Her skin felt as if it were bursting into flame. She reached up, her fingers diving through the thick softness of his hair, her heart singing as he bent over her, forming his body to hers. She felt wrapped up in him, safe and cherished.
His lips moved from her mouth, trailing over her cheek, to the sensitive skin near her ear. “I love you,” he growled against her flesh, his voice sending waves of pleasure through her body, his words sending pure joy to her heart. “I love you so very much, Imogen.”
She gasped as his lips worked a path down her neck to her collarbone. She strained against him, needing more, needing to be closer to him. “Please, Caleb,” she moaned, her fingers tugging at his clothing.
His hands released her and she nearly collapsed, her legs were so weak from wanting him. But the world suddenly tilted, and she was cradled against his chest for a short moment before being lowered gently to her bed.
“I will get a special license,” he promised, his lips trailing down to her breast. He took possession of the straining tip, and Imogen nearly choked at the feel of his hot mouth through the thin material.
“Yes, you will,” she panted, unable to bear the thought of even one night without him in her bed.
“We can marry as soon as tomorrow,” he went on, sitting up and rapidly divesting himself of his clothing, his eyes hot on her, raking her body with fierce possessiveness.
Imogen chuckled low in her throat. “You may have a battle ahead of you. Do you think my mother will allow her daughter to marry a marquess and not gloat to all of society about it?”
“I don’t give a damn about your mother, or for society either.”
She smiled, getting up on her knees, the better to watch as he stripped off his clothing. “We can give her two weeks,” she suggested. The heat between her legs only grew hotter as his muscled chest was revealed. She cleared her throat and adjusted her spectacles.
“One week,” he growled, looking at her, devouring her. His face was pure need. Need for her.
Imogen felt a power she never had before shoot through her at the realization that this incredible man hungered for her. And not just her body. He hungered for her love as well, so much so that he had raced across counties to get to her, had scaled a three-story building to proclaim his love for her.
She smiled and placed her spectacles on the bedside table before, reaching down, she located the hem of her nightgown and pulled it slowly over her head, letting it fall from her fingers to the carpet. Caleb watched her with an intent, raw yearning. She reached for her braid and brought it over her shoulder, working the plait apart. His eyes fastened on the movement, on how the strands came free and curled over her breast. Her nipples hardened under his stare.
