Page 18 of A Wild English Rose
“When I thought you saw me as nothing more than the sum of all the spiteful rumors, it tore me to pieces. That’s why I felt I had to leave. But now I see that you and I have both been saying the same prayer, hoping to find that one person to love. I love you, Thomas Rosemount. You are my home. Yes, I will marry you.”
Chapter Sixteen
They walked hand in hand back to the main house. Both were lost too deep in thought to speak. When they reached the top of the staircase inside, they stopped.
Thomas looked at Cecily, and she nodded. She had made her choice, and there would be no going back. No regrets.
He led her into his bedroom and closed the door. She was relieved when he locked it. The last thing she wanted was for his valet to come in and disturb the moment.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him. His gaze searched her face. Wherever he looked, he placed a soft, tender kiss.
“I wanted to hold you like this that day when we stood under the tree in Hyde Park. It took all my willpower not to seize you and kiss you then and there. I never thought I would actually get the chance to do it,” he said.
“It would have just been another moment of scandalous behavior on my part, so I don’t expect anyone would have bothered with a second glance if you had,” she replied.
She reached up and brushed her fingers along the stubble of his beard. There was something so seductive about a manwith an afternoon shadow. For a moment, she wondered what Thomas would look like if he let his beard grow.
She put the thought away for another time. They would have the years ahead in which to explore the changes in one another, and their bodies.
His lips met hers in a kiss that was full of warmth and reassurance.
“You have done nothing scandalous as far as I am concerned. Though I would ask that you if you are going to help yourself to more than a couple of glasses of champagne, that you have a full meal beforehand. I only have two knees, and you have already mangled one.”
Her eyes grew wide with feigned horror. “I was perfectly fine where I was in my practice of praying to the garden beds. It was you who did not keep a weathered eye on where your feet were treading.”
He chuckled. She was going to give him a lifetime of cheeky retorts, and he would die a happy man. “Speaking of beds,” he said.
Cecily glided her hands up the front of Thomas’s shirt, feeling the strong muscles underneath the linen. Reaching his cravat, she found the ends and began to work on undoing the ties.
“Yes,” she replied.
His hands did not remain idle, making quick work of the buttons on the front of her gown. After pulling it over her head, he threw it on a nearby chair. She raised an eyebrow in approval of his skills.
Within minutes they had shed the rest of their clothes and stood with only Cecily’s shift and Thomas’s shirt between them and complete nakedness. The lightness in his manner disappeared.
“I want you, Cecily. From that night in the hotel, I have wanted nothing more than to hold you in my arms and makelove to you. But I need you to understand that this is not just lust. I am giving myself completely to you from this moment on. Please tell me that you want me as much as I want you?”
She had little experience of truth in her life, but she was in no doubt that she saw it shining in his eyes. It took her breath away, humbled her with its purity.
The lump in her throat made it hard to reply, but she managed a breathless, “Yes.”
He bent and kissed her once more. His hands took hold of the hem of her shift and lifted it. Stepping back, he pulled it over her head and with a grand flourish, threw it toward the pile of their clothes. His shirt immediately followed.
They stood in silence while their gazes slowly roamed over naked flesh.
Thomas had a scar on his upper chest which reached to his shoulder. His gaze followed hers as she reached out to trace the long pale line.
“Thrown and pined to the ground by a bad-tempered mare five years ago. My own stupid fault for having thought I was the master,” he said.
“Hmm. I made that mistake when I was fifteen. It took weeks for the bruises to heal. I learned to respect the stable master’s advice regarding how I treated my mount after that,” she replied.
His fingers touched her breast, cupping it gently in his hand. “May I?”
She nodded as he took a nipple between his fingers and squeezed. Her hands rested lightly on his chest. His other hand drifted over her hip and down to the thatch of hair at the top of her thighs. She swallowed as he slipped a finger inside her heat.
He groaned. “You are so wet.”
He slid a second finger into her and began to slowly stroke. She whimpered as his masterful fingers stretched and teasedher sex. She wanted to touch him, but he held her under his command.
