Page 61 of A Virgin for His Grace
"And I love you," Arabella replied with matching fervor, reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw with trembling fingers. "So much that I sometimes fear my heart might burst from the force of it."
The confession seemed to release something fundamental within Devon, and he claimed her mouth in a kiss that spoke of months of suppressed longing and desperate need. Yet beneath the passion lay infinite tenderness, the sort of reverent worship that transformed mere desire into something approaching the sacred.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together as they struggled to process the magnitude of being able to love each other without restraint or concealment.
"Come," Devon said softly, resuming his progress up the staircase with renewed purpose. "Let me show you to our chambers."
"Our chambers?" Arabella asked with a slight smile, noting the possessive satisfaction in his voice when he spoke of their shared accommodations.
"Did you think I would allow my wife to sleep anywhere but in my arms?" Devon replied with matching humor, though his eyes held a heat that made her pulse quicken with anticipation. "The master suite has been prepared for your comfort, though I confess I care little for the furnishings so long as you are there to share them."
As they reached the second floor and moved through corridors, she had traversed countless times as Livia's companion, Arabella marveled at how different everything appeared now that she walked them as mistress of the house rather than a mere employee. The elegant artwork seemed to glow with new warmth, the fresh flowers arranged in crystal vases appeared more vibrant, and even the very air seemed charged with possibility.
"Here we are," Devon announced as they reached the imposing doors of the master suite, pausing to shift her weight so that he could turn the ornate handles with one hand. "Your new home, my darling duchess."
The chambers that greeted them were magnificent beyond anything Arabella had ever imagined. The sitting room was decorated in rich shades of burgundy and gold, with furniture that spoke to generations of accumulated wealth and refinement. Yet it was not the opulence that captured her attention, but rather the intimate touches that marked this as Devon's private sanctuary. The books scattered across various tables, the glass of brandy left half-finished beside his favoritechair, the subtle masculine scents of leather and bergamot that seemed to permeate the very walls.
"It is beautiful," she said with genuine admiration as he set her gently on her feet, allowing her to explore the space that would now be theirs to share. "Though rather big for someone accustomed to more modest accommodations."
"You shall grow accustomed to grandeur," Devon replied with quiet confidence, moving to pour himself a measure of brandy from the crystal decanter that rested upon an elegant side table. "Indeed, I intend to surround you with every luxury within my power to provide."
"Luxury is pleasant," Arabella agreed with a slight smile, "but your love is the only wealth I truly require."
The simple declaration made Devon's hand still upon the decanter, and when he turned to face her, his expression held such profound emotion that it took her breath away.
"How is it," he asked wonderingly, "that you always know precisely the right words to cut straight through to the heart of things? You have a gift for truth, my dear wife, that both humbles and inspires me."
"Perhaps," Arabella suggested with growing boldness, "it is because I have finally found someone worthy of complete honesty. With you, I need not pretend to be anything other than what I am."
"And what you are," Devon said with quiet intensity, setting aside his glass to move toward her with predatory grace, "isperfect. Absolutely, completely perfect."
Before she could protest this extravagant claim, his hands came up to frame her face with reverent tenderness, and she found herself drowning in the dark depths of his eyes.
"Not perfect," she whispered, her own hands coming up to cover his where they rested against her cheeks. "Simply... yours."
The word seemed to unleash something primitive within Devon, and his mouth descended upon hers with a hunger that spoke to months of enforced restraint. Yet even in his passion, he maintained the sort of careful control that marked him as a man who understood the precious nature of what he held.
As the kiss deepened, Arabella felt herself melting against the solid warmth of his body, her hands fisting in the fine wool of his coat as she surrendered to sensations that threatened to overwhelm her entirely. This was what she had dreamed of during those long, lonely nights in the blue suite, the freedom to express her love without fear of discovery or consequence.
"Arabella," Devon groaned against her mouth, her name falling from his lips like a prayer. "My beautiful, impossible wife. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
"Show me," she replied with a boldness that would have shocked her former self, her green eyes meeting his with steady challenge. "Show me what I do to you, what we can be together now that nothing stands between us."
The invitation was all the encouragement Devon required. His hands moved to the fastenings of her wedding gown withpracticed skill, though she noticed that his fingers trembled slightly as they worked to free her from the ivory silk that had seemed so beautiful in church but now felt like an unwelcome barrier between them.
"Are you ready to be mine like you have never been before? Are you ready to learn the depth of my feelings without all the thoughts that diminished our actions of love?" he asked once more, his voice rough with barely controlled desire as the gown began to loosen around her shoulders. "We need not rush, my darling. We have all the time in the world now."
"I am certain," Arabella replied with quiet conviction, reaching up to begin working at the intricate knots of his cravat. "I have waited so long to be yours completely, Devon. Yours in a way that I have never experienced before. Yours, free of fear, self-incrimination and self-punishment. Please... do not make me wait any longer."
The breathy plea seemed to shatter what remained of his restraint, and Devon claimed her mouth once more whilst his hands continued their patient work upon her garments. The wedding gown pooled around her feet in a whisper of silk and lace, followed by her chemise and stockings until she stood before him clad only in moonlight and desire.
"My beautiful wife," he breathed, his gaze moving over her form with the sort of reverent appreciation that made her feel like a goddess rather than a mere mortal woman. "So beautiful it takes my breath away."
"Your turn," Arabella said with surprising composure, her hands working to divest him of his own clothing with aneagerness that spoke to her growing confidence in their mutual desire.
Devon's coat and waistcoat joined her gown upon the floor, followed by his shirt and finally his remaining garments until they stood before each completely naked. The sight of his powerful form, all lean muscle and aristocratic elegance, sent heat pooling low in her belly whilst her hands traced the contours of his chest with wondering touch.
"You are magnificent," she whispered, marveling at the play of firelight across his skin and the way his breath caught when her fingers encountered particularly sensitive spots.
