Even if she tried to undress him, if he got his hands on her first, she didn’t get to see this—him revealing himself to her. And in oh-so-many ways.
He didn’t hurry but took his time drawing the cravat away and letting it fall on his waistcoat and coat, then unbuttoning his cuffs before starting on the long placket of buttons closing his shirt.
Beneath the covers, she shifted.
Glancing down to hide his grin, he remembered something he’d been dying to ask. Perhaps tonight was the right time, now the right moment. Stripping off his shirt, he raised his head and looked at her—saw her gaze wasn’t on his face. “I wondered . . .” He waited until, reluctantly, her gaze, followed by her attention, rose to his face before continuing, “If there was anything you wanted to tell me? To share with me?”
She held his gaze for a moment, then, openly coy, arched a brow. “What sort of thing?”
He didn’t immediately reply but slipped off his shoes, sat and stripped off his stockings, then stood; refocusing on her, he prowled slowly to the bed, unfastening the buttons at his waist as he did.
Reaching the bed, he knelt on it, continued his prowling, crawling advance until he was poised on hands and knees over her, all but nose to nose. “I can count, you know.”
Although her eyes remained locked with his, her body stirred, eager, impatient, restless and reckless. Her hands tensed, but she kept them where they were, her arms draped over the pillows above her head, while she debated.
Then she made up her mind and, slowly lifting her arms, wound them about his neck, clasped her hands at his nape, used the leverage to evocatively settle herself beneath him, and smiled.
Cornflower blue glory met his gaze. “Yes,” she murmured and, stretching up, she touched her lips to his chin. “I believe I’m pregnant.” She pressed her lips to his briefly, then drew back to whisper, the words a wash of sensation over his lips, “With your heir.”
She kissed him again—and he kissed her back, the sudden surge of emotion catching them both.
Then she pulled away again, lay back, lips lightly swollen, eyes darkening with desire, and imperiously waved down his body—at his trousers. As he shifted to strip them off his long legs, she said, “Of course, it could well be a girl.”
“I don’t care.” Naked, he lifted the covers and slid beneath—and found her, all silken skin and firm curves, waiting to draw him into her arms. Coming over her, propping himself on his elbows above her, he looked into her eyes, saw her faintly skeptical expression, and smiled. Kissed the tip of her nose. “I truly don’t care—girl or boy, they’ll be the first new bud on our family tree.”
She smiled, then laughed, then she pulled him down to her and their lips and desires met, fused, merged.
And joyously, with open hearts, with minds attuned and souls committed, they gave themselves over to what waited for them—to the power, the passion, and the solid, abiding love that now anchored them.
Their future was clear, the journey defined; as they loved and laughed, they had one goal, one aim, one desire to which they devoted themselves. To which they renewed their commitment with each gasp, with each frantic, desperate clutch of their hands, with each heady, hungry beat of their hearts.
Neither needed any longer to even think of that desire, to shape it with words. It was forged within them and branded on their souls.
They would create a family of their own.
They would fill their house with their children, and work to draw in and encourage their siblings, to build the network of uncles, aunts, and cousins to form the branches and twigs of a healthy family tree.
They would reinvigorate and revitalize and reestablish the Cavanaughs.
Soar
ing on cataclysmic sensation, they raced, then flew, then tumbled from the peak, spiraling through ecstasy, riding the surging tide.
Hands locked, fingers entwined, in that moment when their hearts beat as one, they breathed in and, from beneath heavy lids, met each other’s eyes.
They would do all that, and then take it further.
Into the future.
Breaths mingling, they held tight to the moment, to the promise in each other’s gazes, then their lips touched, brushed, in a wordless vow. Together they had so much strength, so much passion. So much they could bring to, could devote to, the task.
Family. Forever.
There was no greater, no more satisfying goal.
Epilogue
August, 1837