Laughing, Simon stepped back. 'I cannot see to both of them, my lord. Only the one.'
'What are you laughing about, Mr. Quinn?' Lynette asked, sweeping into the room with a soft smile. She held her bare hand out to him and he accepted it, lifting it to his lips.
'Nothing,' he evaded, wrapping her arm around his. 'Shall we walk?'
'I should like that.'
They excused themselves and left the parlor, moving down the gallery to the doors leading to the outside. Once they had exited to the garden, Simon drew her closer, breathing deeply of the scents of rain-cleansed air and the seductive scent of Lynette's perfume.
'You know,' she murmured, her lips curved sweetly, 'when I first saw you, I marveled at your handsomeness and thought to myself that you would never be tamed.'
'Tamed?' His brows rose. 'I am not certain I like the sound of that.'
'Oh?' She glanced up at him from beneath thick, chocolate-colored lashes. 'Do you not have honorable intentions toward me, Mr. Quinn?'
''Mr. Quinn,' is it?' He sidestepped behind a tall hedge and dragged her with him. Cupping her face, he kissed her, releasing only the veriest portion of his insatiable desire for her.
He licked across her lips, nibbling, teasing. Relishing the wordless entreaties she made, soft pleas for more than he could possibly give her here. His tongue stroked deep into her mouth, licking, tasting, drinking her in. 'You would not want me tamed,
'Let me come to you tonight,' she whispered, her head tilted back, her eyes closed.
'Don't tempt me,' he growled.
'Simon.' She gave an exasperated laugh and opened her eyes. 'You will drive me insane. Have you any notion of how I dream of you? How I miss you? Sometimes at night I think of you lewdly. I feel your hands on my skin, your mouth on my breasts, your body covering mine…'
'Bloody hell.' He tugged her closer, his hips grinding restlessly against the mass of her skirts, his cock hard and throbbing within the confines of his breeches. 'You would drive a saint to sin.'
'There is a gazebo in the far corner…' she suggested, licking her kiss-swollen lips.
'I am attempting to court you properly, curse you.'
'Seems rather late, considering the fact that you have already been inside me.' She shivered against him. 'Sometimes I feel you, pushing deep…'
Groaning, Simon kissed her again, grateful for her passion and the freedom with which she gave herself to him. Without shyness or reservation, trusting him implicitly, as she had from the very first.
'What are you waiting for?' she asked breathlessly.
'I want to give you rime,' he said hoarsely, tucking a golden curl behind her ear. 'I want you to be certain I am what you want.'
Lynette's brows rose. 'And if I find someone else? You would allow me to go?'
His hands tightened involuntarily into her tender flesh and he forced himself to release her. 'No.'
Her slender arms wrapped around his waist, bridging the gap he had just created. 'I thought not. So you torture us both for nothing.'
'I have nothing to offer you.'
'Give me your heart and your body, those are all I desire from you. The rest-home, family-we will create on our own. Saint-Martin has promised a substantial dowry.'
'I've no need of it,' Simon said, resuming their walk in an effort to expend the sexual tension she incited in him. 'Eddington kept his word, oddly enough.'
'Lovely.' Her smile told him she was happy for him, but he knew she would have taken him anyway. 'My mother and father intend to wed.'
Simon smiled, pleased. It was rare to see a couple so attuned to one another. 'I wish them well.'
'It would be an excellent time for us to honeymoon in Ireland,' she murmured. 'It would give them the opportunity to enjoy one another and celebrate their reunion without interference.'
'Lynette.' He laughed and picked her up, spinning her. 'You will run roughshod over me for the rest of our days, I can see it already.'
Her hands settled on his shoulders and she pressed her lips to the tip of his nose. 'Do you fault me for wishing to start those days-and nights-now? If you drag your feet any longer, I will think you are waiting for someone better to come along.'
'There is no one better.'
'Of course not.' Her fingers sifted through his hair, her blues eyes warm and appreciative. 'Ask me,' she urged.
With a dramatic sigh, he set her down and dropped to one knee on the gravel path. 'Lynette Rousseau, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?'
Tears filled her eyes and her lips quivered. 'Oh, Simon…'
He reached into his coat pocket and removed a ring box.
Her eyes widened. 'You had that with you the whole time?'
Simon smiled.
'Ooh!' She stomped her foot, then turned on her heel and left him.
Laughing, he chased after her, unwilling ever to let her go.
Sylvia Day
