She could hardly wait.
He was still shaking, and the hand holding the ring dropped to his side. His other hand splayed against the white wall behind him. He could easily push her away but he didn’t.
Holding his poor, disfigured face, she rose on her toes to press her lips to his. His mouth remained unmoving. The skin beneath her hands burned as if a flame devoured him from inside.
She wasn’t discouraged. She’d been taught seduction by a master. And she’d always been stubborn. Poor Jonas was about to embark on married life with a difficult woman. She smiled against his mouth and kissed him again, nipping lightly, tracing the seam with her tongue.
Still he didn’t relent.
Nor did she. She could kiss him like this all night, she thought dreamily, warmth
seeping through her for the first time in months.
“Leave me alone,” he muttered, pulling a few inches away.
“Never.”
“I can’t trust you.”
“Yes, you can.” She stared into his eyes, hoping he could see her eternal, steadfast love, a love that would never let him down.
“How the hell do I know that?” he asked savagely.
“Look in your heart, Jonas. Your heart knows the truth but you have to trust yourself first.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “You have to trust yourself as I trust you. Forever.”
His expression remained forbidding. But she wasn’t giving up. She fought for her life here. And his.
She leaned in to kiss him again. He placed his left hand on her waist. It tightened and she braced for rejection.
For the space of a breath, the world stopped turning.
Almost imperceptibly his touch curled into a caress. The pressure changed from pushing her away to pulling her forward. He made another sound deep in his throat. This time it sounded like delight.
Finally the stern mouth relaxed, then parted so her tongue flicked into the interior. “Damned witch,” he groaned in surrender.
“Oh, Jonas,” she whispered and yielded to his kiss as he sagged against the wall and dragged her into his body. Under her hands, his cheeks were wet, and she’d long ago given up any attempt to stop her tears.
He kissed her endlessly. He kissed her as though he never wanted to let her go. He kissed her as though he loved her more than his life was worth.
Slowly, still kissing, they sank to the Turkish rug. Eventually he pulled away. He grabbed her left hand with a roughness born of extremity and shoved the ruby ring back on her finger so clumsily that he bruised her. She didn’t mind. The unashamed need in his silvery eyes flooded her heart with love.
“Stay, bella,” he choked out.
“Always, my love.”
Epilogue
Merrick House, London, August 1827
Lamplight glowed soft and golden on the woman sitting up in the bed. Jonas stepped quietly into the room, his eyes on Sidonie and the child she cradled so tenderly to her breast.
She smiled at him, the beautiful smile that always made him feel like a king and not a scarred disaster. He didn’t care what the rest of the world thought. Sidonie loved him. Now, he prayed, he had a daughter to love him, too. Because he loved both of them more than he could ever say.
“Jonas, come and see. She’s perfect.”
He’d ventured in earlier after an excruciating day of waiting downstairs. His wife had been tired and drawn but happy. The baby had been small and black-haired and inclined to scream. The nurse had chased him out, insisting she needed to prepare Lady Hillbrook before she saw her husband.
Good thing he was used to difficult women.