Page 111 of Propriety
He tilted her chin up, pressing a kiss against her lips. A shiver ran down her spine, over her arms. Gooseflesh peppered her skin. “Don’t move,” he whispered against her kiss.
He rummaged through his chest of drawers, pulling out a threadbare tunic and something else that she couldn’t quite place. Returning to her side, he unfolded the shirt. Gwen bowed her head as he slipped it around her.
It was warm and covered in the smell of him.
“I love wearing your tunics.” Her voice was almost indiscernible from the crackle of the fire as a gentle blush covered her cheeks. “They feel safe.”
He didn’t answer right away, setting upon the task of rolling the sleeves of his shirt. Once they were folded neatly above her wrists, his hands found her waist, pulling her close. Their foreheads touched, breath warm between them. No kiss this time — just closeness, just the pulse of each other.
“Hearth?” She asked, looking up at him through her lashes.
A mischievous grin spread across his lips as he scooped her up in one motion. She squealed, clinging to his neck. “Lancelot!” But she was laughing, breathless, in his arms.
He walked across the room with her in his arms, entirely too pleased with himself. “Lancelot, I can walk,” she muttered against his shoulder, though her laughter betrayed her.
“You could, yes,” he said, adjusting his grip dramatically, “but then I wouldn’t get to prove that I will cater to your every whim.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “And frankly,mon cœur, I think you owe me that much after attacking me.”
She gasped, mock affronted. “Attacked? You said you wanted me!”
“Ialwayswant you,” he said easily, kneeling to set her down with exaggerated care onto the rug by the fire. “But I didn’t say I wanted my buttons ripped open like I was a dying man.”
“I was gentle,” she sniffed.
“You were amenace.” He flopped down beside her, narrowly missing her foot. “A beautiful menace, but still.”
She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow as shesquinted at him. “Did youfoldmy gown?”
“I’m not an animal.”
“You are something.” She reached out, tugging a lock of his hair playfully, and he let her. Something about hissoftnessbrought a warmth to her chest. The way he was so quickly able to leave the world outside their door and justbewith her.
She envied that about him, and a part of her wished she could do the same. He turned the rage off like a switch as soon as they were alone.
Anger had no place in a room that was finally full of love.
They lay like that for a beat — the fire cracking, the heat on their faces, the weight of everythingelseslipping away.
He turned toward her with a little smile, resting his chin on his palm. “Feeling more like yourself?”
She blinked. Then nodded. “A bit.”
He reached out and brushed a knuckle across her cheek. “Good. Because I was about to sing if you didn’t.”
She gave him a bewildered look. “What would you have sung?”
“Oh, something tragic and loud. About betrayal. Or horses. Or how my queen has too many damn buttons on her dresses.”
That earned a laugh, unguarded and real. “Poor knight.”
He grinned. “It's all right. I like a challenge.”
Guinevere narrowed her eyes, propping her chin in her hand to match his pose. “You like a challenge, do you?”
“I serve a queen who has left me alone with a raging king onseveraloccasions,” he said, arching a brow. “I’ve made my peace with it.”
She smirked. “And yet you still love me.”
He sighed dramatically. “Yes. Deeply. Tragically. I’m afraid I may never recover.”
