Page 96 of The General's Gift
“What are you thinking?” he said, nibbling her lips.
“That you have no talent for writing poetry with a quill, but you certainly can do it with your hips.”
“Minx.”
He chuckled, and she reveled in the intimate, warm sound.
Her breasts pressed into the rough curl of his chest, his heat soaked into her thighs, and the soreness tangled with a hunger that would not abate. She gasped, toes curling, the ache already turning sweet.
He shifted, catching her wrists and sliding them above her head, their fingers laced against the pillow. His weight held her pinned while his hips rocked, coaxing her to rise and meet him. He kissed her eyelids, the damp corner of her mouth, the stray curl at her temple, each touch unhurried, as though they had all eternity.
This was what it meant to make love, she thought, tears pricking behind her eyes. Not Shakespeare’s verses, not fantasy, but the slow drowning in another’s body. The sweet ache of being remade by him, branded by him, belonging wholly to him.
She shattered. Pleasure unfurled through her in waves. He cried her name, release flooding deep, hot, endless. For a moment they were still, breath tangled, hearts racing, the world reduced to heat and wonder.
Then he began to ease back, breath harsh.
“Stay. Don’t leave me yet.”
He stilled, buried deep inside her. She pressed her face to his chest, tracing muscle and scar, memorizing every ridge and hollow as though she could carve him into her fingers, into her heart.
Then she spread her hand over his ribs, as if she could hold him there, keep him from vanishing. Please, nightingale. Keep singing. Drive the lark from her window.
She would not sleep. But the steady beat beneath her cheek, the warmth of his body cradling her—all conspired against her. Her eyelids sagged. She blinked, fought.
Sleep came anyway, stealing him from her before the dawn could.
Celeste awoke to the soft trill of a bird. It had to be the nightingale. She lay very still, listening. If she stayed still, Hawk’s steady breathing would reach her. Time would not be so cruel.
Pale morning light filtered through the curtains, and a lark perched on the windowsill, like a sentinel of fate.
She blinked once, then twice, waiting for Hawk to shift beside her.
Nothing moved. She turned slowly, pressing her palm to the empty sheet. It had cooled. She sat up, heart thudding in her chest. The lark tilted its head and sang again.
Celeste jumped to her feet. “Stop this song right now. Go back to your nest.”
But the bird flew away.
Celeste sniffled a sob. She pulled her gown over her head with shaking hands, not bothering with stays or slippers.
The corridors stretched before her as her feet slapped the stone. She turned corner after corner. The library was silent. The study held only dust motes. Once the most alive place in thehouse, the war room had gone still. At the landing, she nearly collided with Graves. He removed his hat when he saw her. His mouth pressed into a line.
“My lady. The general, he is—”
Celeste didn’t wait for him to speak. She could not bear the pity in his eyes. Even Othello looked at her tenderly, as if she were the most sorrowful creature.
Hawk had to be on the field, checking the cavalry, speaking to his soldiers. Gathering her skirt, she stepped into the pale morning.
The air stung her cheeks. Summer had broken. The trees were still, but the sky had turned the color of pewter.
When she crested the ridge, the breath left her all at once. The regiment had already begun to move. Long lines of men stretched across the road. Horses snorted and stamped. Wheels groaned beneath the weight of carts and cannon.
Three ships awaited at the pier. Grey hulks, tall as cathedrals, lined with gunports and sails furled tight against the masts. They rocked in place with the tide, patient and hungry, as if they had come to swallow England’s sons whole.
She wrapped her arms around herself and scanned the columns. Red coats, blue coats, black plumes. A sea of movement and sound. But no silver hair. No steady stride.
He was already gone. And she was left behind.
