A Gentleman's Honor

once again screened. Felt the flames inside rise, coalesce, fuse to an inferno.

He lowered his head, drove into her harder, faster, more powerfully.

“Now.” He breathed the word against her lips, then took them, took her mouth as the conflagration roared— and caught them. Overwhelmed them. Consumed them.

As one. Together, as she’d asked.

Tony felt the reins he’d released whip away, sensed them cinder, all control sundered and gone. For only the second time in his life, he plunged into the heart of that familiar fire with a woman, by her side. Her hand was his anchor; he clung to it as her body tightened beneath his, closed powerfully around his, hot, scalding, driving him on, taking him with her into the world beyond the flames, into the pleasure of sexual satiation.

If she wished, so he would; they whirled, joined more intimately than he’d ever been with any other, not just their bodies but their awarenesses fused, experiencing together, simultaneously soaring. Higher, then yet higher.

Until they were both gasping, bodies locked and straining. Until they were there, twined together at the peak.

Until they fell, hearts thundering, senses merged, glory pouring through them. Souls as one.

She was his. Totally, completely, beyond recall.

The words drifted of their own volition across Alicia’s brain.

Her body, trapped beneath his, thighs vulnerably wide with him buried so deep inside her, was no longer hers.

Her lips curved in sleepy satisfaction. No matter her thoughts, her will, her determination, logic had no place here. Despite all uncertainty, despite the nebulous unease that even now she could sense, a fog hovering just beyond the bed, even now, despite all, her heart rejoiced.

Lifting the hand he hadn’t claimed, she laid it on his hair, then gently stroked. Let her fingers play among the silky strands.

Let her emotions have their way.

Let them well, and fill her mind, fill her throat and her chest, fill her heart, and overflow. Let them slide through her veins and sink into her flesh, a part of her, forever.

He lay heavy upon her; she delighted in his weight. Within her, the warmth of his seed radiated a glow of deep and abiding pleasure. She’d given him all she was; tonight, he’d taken, claimed, but when she’d wanted and needed, he had surrendered and given, too.

No matter what else the days might bring, tonight, he’d been with her.

As totally hers as she’d been his.

The gentle tangling of Alicia’s fingers in his hair drew Tony back to earth. To a world that was almost as wonderful as the one they’d visited; her body was a sensual cushion beneath him, her breasts beneath his chest, her hips and thighs cradling his, their bodies still intimately joined.

He was more comfortable than he’d ever thought to be, not just in body but on all other levels. Physically, mentally, emotionally, he was at peace, at home in her arms. Where he was meant to be.

His satisfaction was so profound it was frightening. It lay like a golden sea about him, deep, timeless, ageless, weighing on his limbs, soothing his mind, infinitely precious.

Eyes closed, he savored it, held it, let its waves lap about him—and tried not to think of ever losing it.

Eventually, he felt forced to stir, to draw back from that contented sea. Lifting from Alicia, he ignored her sleepy protest; she seemed as addicted to the moment as he. Settling beside her, he drew her to him, against him, brushing aside her long hair so he could see her face. He looked into her eyes, shadowed pools, mysterious in the night.

Marry me tomorrow.

The words burned his tongue; all the reasons he shouldn’t say them—not yet—doused them. Instead, bending his head, he touched his lips to hers, and spoke from his heart.

“Je t’aime.” He breathed the words across her lips; closing his eyes, he tasted them. “Je t’adore.”

He wasn’t even conscious of speaking in French; it had always been the language of love to him.

She touched his cheek, returned his kiss, soft, clinging.

Their lips parted; he drew breath, softly asked, “Is everything here as you wish? If there’s anything you need—”

She stopped him, laying her fingers across his lips. “There’s nothing—everything’s perfect.” She hesitated, then added, “I like your house.”

They were speaking in whispers, as if not to disturb the blanket of shared pleasure that still surrounded them. It was the deepest part of the night, the small hours of the morning, yet neither was sleepy. Sated, content, they lay in each other’s arms, limbs tangled, hands occasionally touching, brushing, stroking.

Time drifted, and with it the tide of their loving. It slowly turned. Returned. Alicia didn’t think, but simply flowed with it, knew he did the same.

Effortless. Their communication in that moment needed no words, no careful phrases. It was carried by their hands, their lips, mouths, tongues, every square inch of their bodies.

They moved over and around, worshipping, first one, then the other. Pleasure bloomed, ecstasy blossomed.

He opened her eyes to pleasures she hadn’t imagined, sensual delights beyond her ken. In turn, she set aside her inhibitions and let instinct and his guttural murmurs of appreciation guide her.

When at last they joined and again crested the final peak, and found the now-familiar splendor waiting, they were again together, senses open yet wholly merged, deliberately and completely one.

Later, when they lay spent, exhausted, in each other’s arms, Alicia heard his words echo in her mind. I love you. I adore you.

She wondered if he’d understood her reply.

Tony sank toward sleep, sated to his toes, his mind unfocused. Thoughts drifted, melted into the fogs as they closed in.

He’d told her he loved her, had said the words aloud. He’d surprised himself; he’d always imagined they would be so hard to say.

They’d slipped out, almost without conscious direction, a statement of fact with which he had no argument.

So easy. Now all that remained was to organize their wedding.

They were one step away from identifying A. C. One step away from being free to face their future, to give it their full and undivided attention.

If he had his way—and he was determined he would— the next time they indulged as they just had, they would be in his big bed at Torrington Chase, and Alicia would be his wife.

The following days passed in a frenzy of activity—social commitments on the one hand, covert investigation on the other.

To Alicia’s relief, the staff at Torrington House truly were, as Tony had told her, delighted to have three boys rampaging through the house. Once she realized how safe, secure, and cared for the boys now were, with so many benevolently watchful eyes on them, she relaxed her vigilance—one item she didn’t need to worry over.

She had plenty of others on her plate.

One was a lovers’ spat between Adriana and Geoffrey. It blew over in twenty-four hours, but left Alicia, the recipient of both principals’ outpourings, feeling battered. The event precipitated the long-desired meeting between Geoffrey, Adriana, and herself. She and Adriana made their financial situation crystal clear; Geoffrey looked at them as if they were mad, and then asked why they’d thought he would care. Without waiting for an answer, he formally offered for Adriana’s hand. Adriana, somewhat stunned by his unwavering singlemindedness, accepted him.

Alicia retired, pleased, relieved, but wrung out. They all agreed that any announcement should wait until Geoffrey had written to his mother in Devon and taken Adriana to meet her. On all other counts, Alicia felt justified in leaving them to plan their own future.

When, later that night, she regaled Tony with a description of the meeting, he laughed, amused. Later still, when she was lying sated and warm in his arms, he murmured, “Did you tell him you weren’t a widow?”