He nodded. Lifted her trapped fingers to his lips. “The end of one life—the beginning of another.”
She looked into his face, into his dark eyes, then slowly smiled. Leaving her hand in his, she leaned closer. “Good.”
His new life—he was impatient to get on with it.
He was a master of strategy and tactics, of exploiting situations for his own ends; by the next morning, he had his latest plan in place.
At ten, he called to take Leonora for a drive, and kidnapped her. He whisked her down to Mallingham Manor, currently devoid of old dears—they were all still in London, busily devoting themselves to his cause.
The same cause to which, after an intimate luncheon, he devoted himself with exemplary zeal.
When the clock on the mantelpiece of the earl’s bedchamber chimed three o’clock, he stretched, luxuriating in the slide of the silk sheets over his skin, and even more in the warmth of Leonora slumped boneless against him.
He glanced down. The tumbled mahogany silk of her hair screened her face. Beneath the sheet, he curved a hand about her hip, possessively caressed.
“Hmm-mm.” The sated sound was that of a woman well loved. After a moment, she mumbled, “You planned this, didn’t you?”
He grinned; a touch of the wolf still remained. “I’ve been plotting for some time to get you into this bed.” His bed, the earl’s bed. Where she belonged.
“As distinct from all those nooks you were so successful in finding in all the hostesses’s houses?” Lifting her head, she pushed back her hair, then rearranged herself against him, propping her arms on his chest so she could look into his face.
“Indeed—they were merely necessary evils, dictated by the vagaries of the battle.”
She looked into his eyes. “I’m not a battle—I told you before.”
“But you are something I had to win.” He let a heartbeat pass, then added, “And I’ve triumphed.”
Lips curving, Leonora searched his eyes and didn’t bother to deny it. “And have you found victory to be sweet?”
He closed his hands over her hips, held her to him. “Sweeter than I’d expected.”
“Indeed?” Ignoring the rush of warmth over her skin, she raised a brow. “Well, now you’ve plotted and planned and got me into your bed, what next?”
“As I aim to keep you here, I suspect we’d better get married.” Lifting one hand, he caught and played with strands of her hair. “I wanted to ask—did you want a big wedding?”
She hadn’t really thought. He was rushing her—calling the shots—yet…she didn’t want to waste any more of their lives either.
Here—lying naked with him in his bed—the physical sensations underscored the real attraction, all that had tempted her into his arms. It wasn’t just the pleasure that wrapped them about, but the comfort, the security, the promise of all their lives combined could be.
She refocused on his eyes. “No. A small ceremony with our families would suit very well.”
“Good.” His lashes flickered down.
She sensed the spurt of relief he tried to hide. “What is it?” She was learning; rarely did he not have some plan afoot.
His eyes flicked up to hers. He shrugged lightly. “I was hoping you’d agree to a small wedding. Much easier and faster to organize.”
“Well, we can discuss the details with your great-aunts and my aunts when we return to town.” She frowned, recollecting. “It’s the De Veres’ ball tonight—we have to attend.”
“No. We don’t.”
His tone was firm—decided; she glanced at him, puzzled. “We don’t?”
“I’ve had enough of the ton’s entertainments to last me for a year. And when they hear our news, I’m sure the hostesses will excuse us—after all, they love that sort of gossip and should be grateful to those of us who supply it.”
She stared at him. “What news? What gossip?”
“Why that we’re so head over heels in love that we refused to countenance any delay and have organized to be married in the chapel here tomorrow, in the presence of our combined families and a few selected friends.”