Just Another Viscount in Love Page 15

  When he thought of Gemma, he didn’t just see contentment and amiable conversation. He saw his life, all of it—hour by hour and day by day—spanning decades. He saw himself waking up to her face each morning and kissing her before bed each night. He saw their hands intertwined as they peered down into the cradle of their firstborn. He saw the way her smile would change over time, adding wrinkle by wrinkle, her hair threading with silver. And he wanted that—no, he needed that. He needed to spend his life with her. And he knew that no one else would ever compare.

  Yet he also knew that he could not force her to want the same thing. He could not make her choose a life with him. Or to love him.

  Losing interest in the sport of angling, he dropped his ash wood pole to the ground, allowing his line to sink, untended, into the depths. Standing there for a time, he stared out across the glimmering surface, kneading a fist over the gnawing ache in the center of his chest. He wondered if it would ever abate. But mostly, he wished the remedy he sought would suddenly appear, the way she had that first day.

  While his mind was preoccupied with that memory, he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye as his pole began to slide to the water’s edge. But no, not slide; it was being pulled.

  Sam quickly reached for the pole, his fist tight on the cork grip. He reared back, taking hold of the line and hauling the tip out of the water in one deft movement. But he was jerked forward toward the water’s edge. Whatever was on the other end was looking for a fight. Digging the heels of his Hessians into the soft earth, Sam was ready to give it to him.

  For a quarter of an hour, the titanic beast gave Sam his best, leading him down the edge of the pond toward the bottleneck. Then, after one last hard struggle, one final jerk, the monster broke free of the surface, twisting his long, slender body in the air, the sun glinting off his dark green-blue scales.

  There he was—the pike.

  Sam couldn’t believe it. For years this fish had remained elusive, had dodged every attempt he’d made to catch him. This was the moment he’d been waiting for.

  “At last, I have caught you,” Sam said, hauling him to shore. Yet when he looked into the pike’s eyes, he felt no measure of triumph. He only thought of how much he wished Gemma were here with him, her laughter skimming across the surface of the pond. “Sadly, my friend, I would much rather have caught her instead.”

  Careful of the jagged rows of sharp teeth, Sam removed his hook and tossed the pike back into the water. The pike lingered for a moment, going still in the shallows, and seemed to look back at Sam as if he too were disappointed by this anticlimactic end to their battle.

  Then he swam off with a lazy flick of his spiked fin—a taunt, daring Sam to try to catch him again. Instead, Sam wrapped his line around the pole and laid it in the grass. But when he stood, he caught a movement across the water.

  Turning his gaze, he saw Gemma standing on the opposite bank, her hands clasped beneath the sash of her rose-colored muslin. He blinked, believing her to be an apparition.

  “Was that the elusive Mr. Pike?” she asked, her soft voice reaching him over the water, her eyes watchful and uncertain.

  “It was.” Standing still, he could not look away, just in case he was hallucinating. If this was a dream, he did not want to awaken.

  She lowered her hands to pick up her skirt as she began to walk along the edge. “When I was a child, I once met a gambler who wore a pike tooth around his neck. He believed it brought him luck. He always claimed that if you caught a pike and set him free, he would grant your wish.”

  Sam might very well believe that too. But it depended on what happened in the upcoming minutes. “The truth of pikes?”

  “You could say that,” she replied, the hint of a smile on her lips, her focus on navigating past the few stones and clusters of tall grasses that marked her path. “I can understand how grateful the pike must feel to be set free. That was all I wanted, after all. For years it seemed to be as elusive as your friend.” Then she paused and met his gaze. “Thanks to you, I have the freedom to live my life without bringing censure upon my family.”

  Was that the reason she was here? If so, then her gratitude was a harsh reminder that if she left, it would be his own fault.

  If she hadn’t had another choice, then she might have married him, even if only to salvage her reputation. And yet he wanted more from her—and for her—than that. He wanted her happiness and to see all the days of her life joined with his. Above all, he wanted her heart open to love. And he would fill it, each minute of every day.

  “But then I realized,” she continued, taking a few more tentative steps toward him, “that if I could choose to live anywhere on earth, I could think of no better place than Dunnock Park.”

  His heart pounded faster, beating against the withered husk of uncertainty. Yet he told that organ not to rush ahead. After all, she might still be here to say farewell but merely wanted to ease into it by complimenting his grounds.

  All right, perhaps that was a ridiculous assumption, but he refused to assume she loved him before she said the words.

  “It is a fair prospect, I grant you,” he said with a casual sweep of his arm over the vista as he began to walk around the bend toward her. By another feat of patience, he kept his pace moderate, meandering.

  She frowned as if she hadn’t expected that response. “Yes, well . . . I suppose it would be too bold of me to ask if I could live in a little one-room cottage, right here, nestled within the woodbines?”

  “Somewhat bold,” he mused. “Especially if you want me to build it. After all, constructing a proper cottage, even a small one, would take months, perhaps even years. In the meantime, where would you live?”

  “I”—she swallowed—“I would hope to live nearby.”

  She was so careful and cautious that it was driving him mad. He feared he might die from anticipation before he reached her. “But why—if you no longer need to worry about your surname and could live anywhere in the world—would you wish to live near Dunnock Park?”

  “Because my heart is here,” she said on a shallow breath, her breasts rising and falling in rapid succession as she searched his gaze.

  The air grew thicker with expectation, and he found his own breathing labored. “Are you speaking as a philosopher?”

  “The truth of falling in love is that you can no longer imagine your life without that person.”

  “Forgive me, I didn’t quite catch that,” he said as joy tumbled through him. “The breeze must have carried it away.”

  She shook her head at first, then pressed her lips together as if to keep from grinning back at him, but the happiness glistening in her eyes gave her away. “I love you.”

  He couldn’t help it—he let out a wondrous laugh as he closed the distance between them, every last doubt leaving him. Then he took her small hands in his. “I’ve been waiting ages to hear you say that. I knew from the day we met that I loved you. That you belonged here with me.”

  She gave him her smile, her face glowing with unguarded happiness. “I have a confession to make. I’ve known for quite some time too. In fact, from that very first day I’ve had the startling impulse to fling my arms wide and then wrap myself around you.”

  He liked the sound of that. “Show me.”

  Without hesitation, she leapt into his arms and began to pepper kisses over his face and jaw. “Do you think this would have been too bold for a first meeting?”

  “I think your aunt would have wielded her parasol to separate us,” he said, his mouth finding hers. He held her tightly, his hands and body greedy for the feel of her against him.

  A small, effortless laugh escaped Gemma. “No, indeed. She would have pulled the carriage around and driven us to the nearest chapel, grinning madly all the while.”

  “The nearest one is in Banfern Glenn.” He drew back just enough to gauge her reaction. The last time he brought up marriage, he didn’t receive the reaction he’d expected.

  She pursed her
lips in thought, taunting him with that plump bottom one. “Such a short distance. In essence, you’d be free to marry whenever you chose after the banns were read, or . . . ”

  “I would purchase a special license.” He felt the smallest hitch in her breathing, but her expression revealed little.

  “Hmm. You must be quite certain of your bride to know that she would be amenable to a hasty wedding.”

  Was the minx trying to keep him guessing? He retaliated by rasping his lips across hers and nuzzling into each upturned corner of her mouth. Feeling the corresponding tremble through her body, he only continued his onslaught. “I would offer her some enticements to persuade her.”

  “Your strong arms around her? Slow, melting kisses?” she asked against his lips, nibbling softly and making him wonder who was seducing whom. “Though, if she truly loved you, the only enticement that she would need would be to know that you were hers.”

  For clarification, he kissed her again, fully, slowly sinking down onto the cool grass, the air thick and sweet with the scent of woodbine. “I am yours, Gemma. But more importantly, you are mine.”

  “Coincidentally,” she began, lying half beneath him and threading her fingers in his hair, “your wedding counterpane was finished this morning. I put the last stitch in it myself.”

  Imagining her lying beneath it, he gave her another lingering kiss, his hands drifting over her waist to the curve of her hip. Then he lifted his head and winked at her. “Then I suppose it’s high time I find a wife.”

  Her eyes narrowed, glinting in playful warning. “Did you know there is an old Dunnock Park custom that states you must ask the woman who puts the final stitch in your wedding counterpane to marry you?”

  “I don’t believe I’ve heard that one,” he said, intending to ask her as soon as he kissed her once more. The best part of it all was that he knew she would say yes. “When, precisely, did this begin?”

  She smiled against his lips. “Ages and ages ago.”

  EPILOGUE

  December 1825

  “How do you like Woodbine Cottage, my lady?”

  A happy laugh escaped Gemma, turning into puffs of vapor in the frostbitten air. On the other side of the still, mirrored surface of the pond, the little stone structure looked snug and inviting. It rested beyond the willow, contentedly nestled between a pair of evergreens, with a curl of smoke rising from the chimney that poked through the thatched roof.

  “Is this truly for me?” She lifted her gaze to Sam, still feeling as if this were part of a dream. One she’d been living since summer.

  Holding her hand, he tugged her into his embrace, pulling her flush against him through the layers of their winter clothing. “You asked if you could live in a one-room cottage at Dunnock Park. And I will always give you what you want.”

  “As I recall very well from last night.” She grinned unabashedly, slipping her arms inside his greatcoat and earned a rakish grin from her husband. “Though surely you’re not going to make me live here. After all, I’ve grown quite accustomed to having a close proximity to the master of Dunnock Manor.”

  As it was, they couldn’t make it an entire day without one of them tugging the other into the nearest room. The delicious truth of marrying an irresistible man.

  He gave her a playful glower as he worked the top button of her redingote free and then the second one. “I’ll only send you here when you are bad and pretend to lose when we are playing cards.”

  She sighed as he nuzzled the corner of her mouth. He nipped her chin and skimmed along the underside of her jaw. She tilted her head to allow him better access. “Can I help it if I enjoy the many ways you console me when I lose?”

  “I rather like those as well.” Deftly unfastening the entire row of buttons, he slipped inside. His gloved hands surrounded her ribcage, thumbs beneath her swollen breasts, teasing her in slow, climbing sweeps as his mouth heated a path down her exposed throat.

  Having experienced the wonders he could perform with his mouth, hands, and all of his other impressive parts, her body clenched in a damp, expectant rush. “Sam, take me to the cottage.”

  “Afraid of scandalizing the woodland creatures”—his lips curved against her flesh, his voice a seductive murmur—“again?”

  “Perhaps I’m merely eager to give you my present.” She slipped her hand between them, pressing her palm along the thick length of him until he was out of breath, his forehead pressed to hers and his eyes dark and drowsy. It was his own fault for unlocking the wild, hungry side of her nature. She couldn’t get enough of him.

  They wasted no more time, their hurried footsteps crackling across the crystallized grass. And when he opened the door, a shower of dried woodbine petals rained down like wedding confetti, littering the floor of the snug cottage. Peering up, she saw that he’d rigged a basket overhead to spill when she entered. When she looked at him, he offered a shrug, a lopsided grin on his lips.

  “I hope you know that I love you.” So full of joy, she couldn’t stop herself from launching into his arms.

  He caught her handily, closing the door with his foot, and brushing his lips over hers. “I have an inkling.”

  Then they were alone, closed inside this cozy space, the air sweetly scented and warmed by the flickering fire in the small half-circle hearth. She wanted to explore every detail . . . but later. Now, she only wanted him.

  Sam shared her thoughts, ridding her of her redingote, and biting off his gloves before his hand slipped to the nape of her neck, drawing her mouth to his.

  They’d become quite good at undressing each other. It was like a hurried game of expose and kiss. Her lips explored him, first beneath his cravat where a faint line of stubble met smooth, warm flesh. Followed by the hard protrusion of his Adam’s apple. The ridge of his clavicle where his shirt fell open. Then his waistcoat was gone, followed by his shirt, sailing overhead to land unheeded on the floor. She leaned close, her lips tingling as they swept over the smattering of crisp blond hair over his chest. A flat brown nipple. The firm bulge of a bicep.

  Divesting her of her dress and her worsted petticoat, he picked her up against him, fitting her hips in perfect alignment with his. She became acutely aware of the suede texture of his still-fastened breeches along her inner thighs, and she couldn’t stop herself from clamping tighter around him. And with the hard summit of his erection, he teased the taut, pulsing bundle of nerves at her sex into a frenzy.

  Her hips hitched, the pressure giving a sweet stab of pleasure. He wasn’t playing fair. At this rate, she would reach her own pinnacle before he was even inside her. She had to remedy that at once.

  He turned around, pressing her against the door, his hand behind her head, cushioning her. Anchored by his lean, solid body, she reached down and nimbly freed him, his flesh heavy and scorching in her grasp. A few errant woodbine petals tumbled around them as she positioned him. Even though she was wet and eager, he stretched her fully, his thick flesh edging inside her in slow-burning, unhurried degrees. She could feel her walls closing around him, shrinking, clutching. Her back arched, reaching toward the crest of her own pleasure, seeking immediate release. Then, just as she felt her body cleaving to his, he went still.

  Wedged inside her, Sam pressed his temple to hers, a faint sheen of perspiration shared between them. “Not yet, my love. If you go over the edge, I’ll surely follow.”

  The thought of him losing himself sent an uncontrollable tremor through her, and one swift clench.

  He groaned, his chest shuddering on a breath as he gave her a look of heated warning. She bit down on her lip to keep from grinning, knowing that neither of them would last long.

  Proof of that was the way he took her mouth, devouring her. “Give me that grin, Gemma. I want to taste it.”

  And she did, right before he rocked against her, seated fully inside her. She gasped as he withdrew and pitched forward, his thrusts in and in, so deep she was surprised she didn’t combust from pleasure. It kept building higher, so
high it was hard to breathe. She broke from their kiss, her teeth sinking down onto his shoulder, holding on until—

  She cried out, her body quaking, sparks lighting up behind her clenched eyes. Sam answered with a surprised shout, hips driving faster, endlessly, prolonging her shudders until he’d claimed every last one. Then he slowed, whispering a series of low, wanton murmurs, their bodies slick with pleasure.

  Spent and blissful, they soon found themselves on an untidy pile of clothes. And they continued their game of expose and kiss but at a more leisurely, satisfied pace.

  “Thank you for my cottage,” she said, lifting her head and lying half atop him, her leg gliding sinuously between his. “It’s the perfect size for the two of us.”

  He reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear, his eyes glowing in the firelight, a smile on his lips. “Rather shortsighted of me, considering . . . ”

  “Considering what?” she asked when he didn’t continue. Narrowing her eyes, she studied him closely. When she saw the tender way he gazed at her, she realized he knew her secret. “I wasn’t going to tell you until Christmas morning. The news is supposed to be your present.”

  He shifted, turning them until she was lying back on his greatcoat. Propped up on his elbow, his hand brushed her cheek and skimmed down her body, pausing to mold around one of her plump breasts. “And I’m to wait until . . . June, I suppose . . . before this present arrives?”

  Hmph. “For a man who claimed an uncertainty for reading people, you seem to have developed quite a knack for it.”

  “Only because I find the object of my study utterly fascinating.” He kissed her softly, lingering. “Besides, was I supposed to miss the fact that your perfect nipples are slightly darker and so sensitive that I need only blow on them to bring them to a hard peak?” He paused to prove his point with a thin stream of air over the tip, and drew out a gasp from her, head back, her body bowing toward him. Then he moved lower, his hand splayed over her abdomen. Bending down, he kissed her there, gently, reverently. “And was I not supposed to notice how your slender stomach is firmer and with the faintest rounded swell, where my child is growing inside of you?”