Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

She stirred, shifting closer to his muscled body—a body she’d explored at length, claimed beyond question, and now considered uniquely hers. Eyes still on the far-reaching view, she murmured, “Hamish told me that love was a disease, and you could tell who’d caught it by looking for the symptoms.”

Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew his lips curved.

“Hamish is frequently a font of worldly wisdom. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“I love you.” A statement, no longer any great revelation.

“I know.”

“When did you know?” One thing she’d yet to discover. “I tried so hard to deny it, to hide it—to call it something else.” She turned in his arms to look into his face. “What did I do that first made you suspect that I felt anything at all for you?”

“I knew…” He brought his gaze down to meet her eyes. “The afternoon that I arrived back here, when I realized you’d polished my armillary spheres.”

She arched her brows, considered, then persisted, “And now I know that you know you love me.”

“Hmm.” The sound was full of purring content.

“So confess—when did you first realize?”

His lips curved; drawing the arm from behind his head, he caught a stray lock of her hair, gently tucke

d it behind her ear. “I knew I felt something, more or less from that first night. It kept getting stronger, no matter what I did, but I didn’t realize, didn’t even imagine, for obvious reasons, that it might be love. I thought it was…lust at first, then caring, then a whole host of similar, connected emotions, most of which I wasn’t in the habit of feeling. Yet I knew what they were, I could name them, but I didn’t know it was love that made me feel them.” He looked into her eyes. “Until today, I didn’t know that I loved you—that I would, without thought or hesitation, lay down my life for you.”

Through her happiness, she managed a frown. “Incidentally, I was serious. Don’t ever, ever do that again—put your life before mine. Why would I want to live if you die?” She narrowed her eyes on his. “Much as I value the sentiment—and I do, nothing more highly—promise me you will never give up your life for mine.”

He held her gaze steadily, as serious as she. “If you promise not to get caught by a murderous maniac.”

She thought, then nodded. “I’ll promise that, as far as I’m able.”

“Then I’ll promise what you ask, as far as I’m able.”

She looked into his dark eyes, and knew that would never hold. “Humph!”

Royce grinned, bent, and kissed her nose. “Go to sleep.”

That was one order he seemed always to get away with. As if she’d heard his thought, she humphed again, less forcefully, and snuggled down, within his arm, her head on his shoulder, her hand over his heart.

He felt her relax, felt the soothing warmth of her sink to his marrow, reassuring, almost stroking, the primitive being within.

Closing his eyes, he let sleep creep up, in, over him.

In the now peaceful stillness of his mind, the thought that had jarred and jangled as, weeks before, he’d raced back to Wolverstone to bury his father and assume the ducal mantle echoed, reminded him of the uncertainties, the loneliness, he’d left behind.

Since then, through Minerva, Fate had laid her hands on him. Now, at long last, he could surrender; at last he was at peace.

At last he could love, had found his love, and his love had found him.

It wasn’t supposed to have been like this.

That’s what he had thought, but now he knew better.

This was precisely how it was supposed to be.