She had that same feeling she’d had at the wedding. Like she no more began to get comfortable and then things changed again. “Mason,” she said as she slipped an arm behind him, resting her hand on his back. “I’m glad you’re going to lie down but I’m worried. We seem to be rushing everything. Are you feeling—”
“I’m just excited.” He embraced her shoulders. “I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to finally marry you.”
That melted her insides a bit and she forgot her worries as she opened the door to his room.
The bed had been made with fresh linens, and the room cleaned while they’d been gone.
He sat on the bed and then slowly pushed back until he was lying down, his hands resting on his stomach. She pulled off her gloves, setting them on the side table. “Would you help with my boots, sweetheart?”
She turned toward him, grasping the leather at the heel and shaft and sliding it off his leg and down his foot. Then she did the other. Not waiting to ask, she began untying his cravat, then undid his shirt and pulled him back up to sitting to slide them both off.
He groaned softly. “I love the feel of your hands. They’ve always made me feel so…”
“What?” she asked, her hands stilling on his bare arms.
“Perfect,” he answered, bringing one of her palms to his lips. “I’ve never touched softer, gentler fingers than these. They make a man ache with want.”
She wound her fingers into his hair at the base of his neck. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not,” he said as he pulled her closer, His head resting on her chest. The feel of him pressed against her bosom stole her breath. “I already told you. I thought I would die in that church. I was sure I would, just as my father wished. Only your hands and your voice brought me back. And I’ve devoted that extra time you’ve given me to providing the best life for you.”
She looked down at him, reaching for his face and tilting it up toward her own. “I just have one question for you?”
“What’s that?”
“If you’ve done all this for me. What have you done for yourself?”
Mason opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Yes, he’d married her for her benefit. But it had been for his too. A little gift to himself to make his life worthwhile. The hope of seeing her again had pushed him to thrive and now, touching her, he felt truly alive. “What helps you, helps me.”
“Your father made you feel worthless. You found something to live for, but did you find real worth in yourself?”
He rumbled out his dissent. He didn’t have time to worry about such questions. He could feel his strength fading and he’d need the last of it to touch her the way he wished.
Himself? He didn’t give a damn about what happened to him, only her. But he did plan to take this moment for one thing he wanted. “Clarissa,” he whispered as he looked deep into those clear blue eyes. “Would you be a dear and take off your dress?”
She cocked a brow. “No.”
Damn. He didn’t want to have to persuade her. It used precious energy. Energy he should likely be using to heal. But right now, he just wanted her. “You asked what I was doing for me. This is what I want. Your skin against mine.”
She shook her head. “No. That can be after you’re better.”
He dropped his head against the soft pillows of her chest. “I don’t want to wait. What if I don’t recover and we never consummated? Someone might contest our marriage. We can’t have that.”
“So it’s actually for me,” she said, lifting his face again. “And something is becoming clear. You’re worried you won’t live.”
He grimaced. She was right, of course. But he wasn’t telling her that. He’d watched men die from far smaller wounds. Of course, some lived with larger ones. But he’d already had his turn at that. “The doctor says I’ve got a good chance to fully recover. But we need to have everything in place, just in case.”
“Or, we need to take better care of you to increase your chances.”
By way of answer, he slid his hand up her dress and cupped her breast in his hand, massaging the flesh as her nipple peaked in his hand. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll let you do all the work.”
“Mason,” she hissed as he gave the stiffened flesh the lightest tweak. “You’re too sick.”
“I swear,” he whispered, working the flesh until she melted into his arms. “This is what I want more than anything in the world.”
“More than anything?”