Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

Slowly.

In that instant he truly was mesmerizing; she couldn’t have torn her gaze from his had flames leapt about them.

“Minerva, my lover. My lady. My heart. Will you marry me?”

She blinked once, twice, felt her heart literally swell. “Yes.”

Such a little word, and although she’d poured every ounce of her certainty, resolution, and joy into it, there was more she had to say. Raising her other hand, she laid her fingers against his lean cheek, lightly traced the angular planes that gave so little away, even now.

Felt her heart overflow as she looked into his eyes, smiled. “I’ll marry you, Royce Varisey, and fill the place by your side. I’ll bear your children, and with my hand in yours, face whatever the future might bring, and make the most of it that, together, we can…for Wolverstone—and you.”

He was Wolverstone, but that wasn’t all he was. Underneath was a man who deserved her love. So she gave it, let him see it in her eyes.

Royce studied the autumn hues, the brilliant golds, the passionate browns, the mysterious agate-green, knew to his soul how much she meant to him—and knew he was the luckiest man alive. Slowly bending his head, he waited until she tipped her face up to his, then lowered his lips to hers.

And let a simple kiss seal their pact.

The loving that followed mirrored that kiss—simple, uncomplicated, undisguised. And she was right—nothing had changed. The passion, the heat, the fervor were the same. If anything deeper, broader, more intense, brought to burgeoning richness by acceptance, by the simple declarations that had committed them both, minds, bodies, hearts, and souls, to facing their future together.

That pledged them to the adventure of forging something new, something never before known in his family. To forging a marriage founded on, anchored in, held together by love.

Spread naked beneath him on his crimson silk sheets, she wrapped her arms about him and arched in welcome; poised above her, as heated and urgent as she, he slid into the haven of her body, and felt her clasp him tightly, embracing him, holding him. On a soundless gasp, head rising, he closed his eyes—held still, muscles bunched and quivering as he fought to give them that moment, that instant of indescribable sensation as their bodies locked, that instant of flagrant intimacy before the dance began.

Sensing the reins slipping, sliding from his grasp, he hauled in a breath and looked down. Saw her eyes glint gold from beneath her lashes.

I love you. He wanted to say the words, they hovered on his tongue, yet he didn’t know, even now, if they were true. He wanted them to be, but…

Her lips curved as if she understood; reac

hing up with one hand, she cupped his nape, drew his lips to hers.

And kissed him—a blatant invitation to abandon.

He accepted and let go, let passion take and fuse them. Let their bodies surge, merge, surrendering to need, hunger, and wanting.

Opening his eyes, he looked down at her face, glowing with passion, rapturous in surrender, the face of his woman, his lady, soon his wife, utterly and unreservedly his.

Given to him.

He put aside the torment of the day, let their joint passion swamp it, drown it, wash it away. Let himself free and sealed their pact.

And gave himself unreservedly to her.

Twenty

The next morning, Minerva stood beside Royce as, with the cheers of the crowd for the nine handfasted couples gradually fading, he stepped to the front of the dais from which, earlier, he’d opened the fair.

Quietening, the crowd regarded him expectantly. He let his gaze roam the upturned faces, then said, “Wolverstone, too, has an announcement to make.” He glanced at her, with his gaze drew her closer. His smile was all she would ever hope to see; the undisguised warmth in his eyes held her as, capturing her hand, he raised it to his lips, and in full view of the assembled company, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Miss Chesterton has done me the honor of agreeing to be my duchess.”

He hadn’t spoken loudly, yet his voice carried clearly over the hushed crowd…

The crowd erupted. Cheers, huzzahs, triumphant yells, whoops, and shrieks; noise rose in a wave of unalloyed happiness and washed over the scene. Minerva looked, and saw Hamish and Molly, who they’d found and told earlier, beaming up at them. The castle’s staff were all there—Retford, Cranny, Cook, Jeffers, Milbourne, Lucy, Trevor, and all the rest—all looking fit to burst with pride and joy. Looking further, she saw the faces of many of Wolverstone’s people, all delighted, all thrilled. Saw happy, joyous, pleased expressions, clapping hands, laughter, happy tears. Even those from the house party, scattered here and there among the throng, looked pleased to be part of the upwelling gladness.

Royce held up a hand; the cheers and whistles died. “Our wedding will be held in the church here, in just over three weeks’ time. As many of you know, I returned only recently to take up the reins of the dukedom—in just a few weeks I’ve learned a great deal about what has changed, and what yet needs changing. Just as I’ll make my vows to my duchess, and she to me, together we’ll stand committed to you, to Wolverstone, to forging ahead into our joint future.”

“Wolverstone!” With one voice, the crowd roared its approval. “Wolverstone! Wolverstone!”

Minerva surveyed the sea of happy faces, felt the warmth of their people reaching for them, embracing, buoying; turning her head, she met Royce’s eyes, smiled.