Page 83 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
“Thetonlikes to look down on a man who marries outside of his station,” he said by way of explanation, and her eyes widened. “But I do not care. I’d rather marry for love and be happy. You have no idea how miserable I have been these last few weeks. I have re-read your letters hundreds of times, and your book, too, just to hear your voice again.”
“William, please—”
“Marry me, Becca.”
“What?” she spluttered.
He raised her hand higher between them and kissed the back.
“Marry me? Please?” he whispered quietly, placing his lips on the inside of her wrist and bestowing an intimate but fleeting kiss there. “I am in love with you, Becca. I think I have loved you for so long that I took your presence for granted. Only when I lost you did I realize how fortunate I was and how much of a fool I have been to even debate living my life without you in it.”
“Y-you’re to be an earl someday,” she reminded him with a stutter. “I am just a writer.”
“And if you say yes, you’ll be a writer who will also someday be a countess,” he said, such a smile spreading across her face that her lips parted.
“You are in earnest?”
“Completely.” He bowed his head toward her. “Marry me, Becca?”
She reached up onto her toes and met his lips with her own. Such a fierce kiss passed between them that they stumbled together in the chamber. He laughed against her lips, and they ended up turning once more, falling against the door, so that her back was flat to it and his body was pressed to hers.
“Does that…mean yes?” he managed to ask between their kisses.
“Yes!” she said loudly and kissed him again.
Chapter 29
William felt such a rush in his body, he could not stop now. It didn’t matter to him that an entire ballroom full of people was downstairs, that his father was there wanting to celebrate the release of the book. All that mattered was Becca, who had just said she would marry him.
He pulled her away from the closed door, flicked the lock, and looked at her with raised eyebrows. She could object, she could insist they returned to the room downstairs, but instead, she smiled.
“We do not have to go down again just yet, do we?”
“No, we do not.” He tore the black mask from his face as she took the red one from hers, and they met again in a kiss. Lips clashed together, and there was such need in their frantic hands that they pulled at one another’s clothes. His tailcoat was shed first, along with his waistcoat, and she kicked off her shoes.
He didn’t bother moving them toward the bed but ended up finding the chaise longue nearer to the fire instead. They tumbled down onto it together, Becca laughing as he kissed down her neck. “God, I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered into her neck.
“I have missed you, too.” Her hands pulled at his shirt, and he gladly pulled back a little to tear it over his head. He thought he heard some of the material rip, but he didn’t care. He’d rip every bit of clothes he currently wore if it meant making love to Becca again.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he begged, reaching beneath her gown and bundling it around her hips. He took hold of her stockings, one at a time, and pulled them down her thighs, teasing her with the touches of his fingertips. “This time, promise me you’re mine, forever,” he pleaded.
Such a smile spread up on her lips, her eyes glittering, that he practically growled with desire for her. Never had Becca looked more beautiful, and he had a feeling it had everything to do with knowing that she would soon be his wife, and they would never have to sneak about to do this again.
“I’m yours,” her voice was breathy. “Forever, Will.”
He bent down toward her, bundling her skirt high. He reached for her core without hesitation, wanting to please her.
So often had he dreamed of this over the last few weeks that he found himself in awe as he watched her now. His gaze was fixed on her face, watching as her lips parted in pleasure, her eyes seemed to roll back into her head, and she tipped her body back flat on the chaise longue.
Her legs parted wide, allowing him to sink his fingers deeper into her, pumping, preparing her for what they were going to share next. He pulled himself up over her, debating tearing the red gown off her, but he knew it would take longer to redress her than it would him.
Once they were wed, he would take his time with their lovemaking, ensuring each part of her felt completely adored every day, but for now, they both needed this. They needed their release, to explore together.
As if her thoughts had mirrored his own, as her legs twitched around his hips and she moaned breathily, her hands reached up for his trousers.
“Please,” she whispered. “Make me yours again.”
He released his hand from her, helping to undo his trousers and slide them down his hips. He kicked off the trousers, discarding them on the floor, then moved to kneel over her on the chaise longue.
