Meanwhile, Kate and Deverill would return to St. Georges this evening, and in the morning, settle their business with Louvel and Gabrielle and gather their belongings from the cottage.
That plan also afforded them another visit to the Roman bath—which, Kate suspected, Deverill would use to ease her sadness.
Claiming a saddle horse from the livery rather than using the hired carriage, he mounted first, then took her up in front of him. He held her closely the entire way, speaking little while she leaned back against him, willing to let him take the lead.
When they reached the cove and brought the horse to a halt, Kate bestirred herself to observe their surroundings. The three pools rippled with silver light, possessing the same luminous beauty as the sea that shimmered beyond the bath.
The spellbinding scene held an aura of enchantment, as sensual as anything she had known before with Deverill. Yet the moment also held a special poignancy since it would be their last time alone together.
He helped her dismount, then led her to the edge of the center pool. When she started to remove her gown, he stopped her.
“No, allow me.”
He undressed her slowly, as if she were a helpless rag doll. His eyes were so soft. His touch so tender. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth with tantalizing gentleness before he lowered her into the heated water.
She was right, she realized; he intended to provide her comfort. He wanted to distract her from her melancholy thoughts of loss and grief, just as she had yearned to do for him upon learning of his hidden war wounds.
A sigh that mingled sorrow and need escaped Kate as she sank deeper.
Deverill shed his own clothes quickly and joined her. Guiding her to one side of the pool, he positioned her back against the sloping wall. She could feel his gaze like a tangible caress drifting over her as he scooped up water and let it run over her naked shoulders. His hands moved in a light murmur over her skin…yet offering more solace than arousal.
The moon, casting slivers of light through the tree limbs overhead, sculpted his features in shadows, but his gaze held the same disarming gentleness as his hands; that dark, intense, beautiful gaze that had haunted so many of her dreams. She felt as though she were falling into his eyes.
Then he took her in his arms and bent his head. His lips moved over hers, his kiss slow and soft and designed to burrow into her heart, she feared.
After a time his embrace grew more intimate. He began stroking between her thighs, and in only a short while, he glided into her.
The passion Kate felt rising from deep inside her had less to do with physical sensation than the emotions pulling at her heart. She was suddenly seized with longing. She was frantic to be with Deverill, to ease the fiery ache in her chest and limbs. She kissed him back with an edge of desperation, and he responded in kind, increasing his rhythm, taking her with hard, possessive thrusts, his lovemaking the primal expression of life to chase away the darkness of death.
When it was over, he gathered her close again. Kate buried her face in his chest, the water swirling around them in heated currents.
The ripples faded eventually, the pool growing still once more. Yet inside, Kate felt her heart swelling with frightening tenderness. She kept her eyes closed, trying to quell the longing still clamoring inside her, but it was no use.
She loved Deverill. There was no other explanation.
She’d mistakenly thought she could manage him. That she could keep her heart safe. She should have known better.
I love him.
Strangely, the realization was not in the least shocking, although she acknowledged an element of surprise. Since her girlhood, she had imagined ideal love, had fantasized about how it would feel. In truth, however, real love was vastly superior to her romantic ideal, and far more painful.
Painful because it wasn’t reciprocated. At least not yet.
So what should I do now?
Most immediately, what point was there in confessing her love? She couldn’t force Deverill to develop deeper feelings for her. They had to grow naturally, without coercion. Indeed, divulging her love might actually do more to drive him away.
Therefore, she had to pretend that nothing had changed.
“Thank you,” she murmured against his sleek wet skin.
“For what?”
“For all you have done for me and my late family. Now you and I can return to England and resume our normal lives.”
He drew back, giving her a quizzical look. “Normal?”
Looking up, Kate manufactured a smile. “You can have what you have wanted all along—an uncomplicated marriage of convenience, without my silly notions of love and romance plaguing you.”