her to take her time stripping the clothes from his large frame, unwrapping him-discovering anew the heavy muscles, the strength, the hardness, the heat.
The solid reality of him, a male of her kind, in his prime-and he wanted her.
He’d never made any secret of that, yet that night when he reached for her, she sensed there was more. That this was what he’d wanted to tell her, as his lips moved on hers, as his tongue filled her mouth, as skin to naked skin his body claimed hers and his hands grasped, held while she clung.
The litany replayed over and over in Christian’s mind. Love was a word that long ago had come very easily to them both. Now…now he knew what the word meant in all its pain and glory, he couldn’t simply say it-couldn’t let it fall from his lips like any other word.
Powerful, dominant, all-consuming. Love now burned, a strong, steady flame within him, and using a single, simple four-letter word to encompass all it was wouldn’t do.
Love had to be seen, felt, experienced.
To be fully expressed, love had to be let free, had to be allowed to burn, to claim and consume, to rack and then, in benediction, suffuse them with its gold and silver glory.
Love required surrender to be fully realized.
So he surrendered.
And let her see.
Love ruled him in the here and now, and into his future, just as it had for the past countless years, ever since he’d first laid eyes on her. Love between them was a reality that wouldn’t be denied, not by years of separation, not by Randall and his machinations.
That night, he told her. Told her he loved her with all his being-his heart, his body, his soul.
And when at last they lay in a tangled heap, racked, unable to move, satiation a heavy blanket weighing them down, he knew she’d heard, knew she understood.
Chapter 18
The certainty. The blissful conviction.
Yesterday…rather than dismiss her fears for his safety as irrational, and therefore inconsequential, he’d accepted them. Even though he hadn’t stated it, unlike most men of their class he’d acknowledged her feelings as a consequence of her regard for him, and dealt with her and them on that basis.
Although she hadn’t intended it, that moment had been a test-one he’d passed with flying colors. If they were to have a future together, then him accepting her and her love as it was-fears and all-was crucial.
That moment in Green Park, she felt, had been a sign.
As for what followed…from the moment he’d joined her in his aunt’s drawing room to now, the past night had possessed an almost dreamlike quality. Standing by his side at an event like the dinner, then leaving with him and returning to his house, his bed-all of it had been just as she’d imagined, just as she’d dreamed long ago.
Not one moment, not one word, had marred the match between expectation and reality.
But this was now, no long-ago dream.
No turning back of the clocks, but a stepping forward onto the right path at last.
She now possessed the conviction she’d earlier lacked. Now she believed-in their future, in the resurrection of their dreams.
Glancing at him as, assured, at ease, he strolled beside her, she wondered when she’d find the courage, and the right moment, to broach the matter-their future-in words. She knew he was waiting, giving her time and space to find her own feet, to come to her own determination while simultaneously giving her ample, unstinting evidence of his regard for her.
He might not have said the words-not verbally-but given the sort of gentleman he was-a nobleman for whom vulnerability was a sin-expecting a declaration was unrealistic-and anyway, actions spoke much louder, much more surely and convincingly than any words.
Over the past twenty hours he’d convinced her.
She was the expert at setting a stage; she knew he’d been doing essentially that-constructing the position he wanted her to fill, and placing her in the role, presumably hoping she’d notice how well she fitted.
Her lips quirked. Last night had been all about that-and more. But what he perhaps hadn’t realized was that in setting his stage and playing his part, he’d naturally filled the opposing role.
And that, more than any other thing, had convinced her of how he felt for her-that in his own more reserved, more controlled way, he loved her as she loved him. He hadn’t been acting, not at any time; despite his past career, she wasn’t sure emotional subterfuge had any place among his talents. As a Vaux, she would know; she was the ultimate judge of emotional sincerity, and he hadn’t feigned a moment, not one word, not one response.
They were almost at Randall’s house. She mentally shook herself into the immediate present. “I won’t go out today.” Looking up, she caught Christian’s eyes. “You said you’d come and tell me all once you leave Roscoe’s.”
His hand closed over hers on his sleeve; he smiled reassuringly. “I will. You said you’d be waiting.”
She frowned as the situation with the company resurfaced fully in her mind. “I want to sell those gaming hells- at the very least sell my share of the company-as soon as possible. Quite aside from any threat of scandal-and what a scandal that would be, Lady Letitia Randall nee Vaux as the owner of such properties-it’s-” She gestured with her free hand. “-
When she put it like that…Christian nodded. “I’ll make sure Roscoe understands that the sale is still on.”
“Good.”
They’d reached the steps to Randall’s door.
She halted, looked at him, then to his surprise she stretched up and lightly kissed him.
He responded, touched-caught-by the sweetness, the warmth.
She drew back. Her eyes searched his briefly-as if checking to see that he understood-then she smiled, softly mysterious, and stepped back. “Take care.”
Summoning every bit of sangfroid he possessed, he smiled in reply, squeezed her hand, then reluctantly let her go. He watched as she climbed the steps, opened the door and went in.
The instant the door closed, his smile spontaneously widened into a grin-one he couldn’t contain. Turning, he started back to his house.
Spying Barton’s red head, he waved-plunging the runner into a quandary over whether to respond, and if so, how.
Christian laughed at the consternation on Barton’s face. He picked up his pace, striding along jauntily. He was closing in on Randall’s killer-all his instincts said so-and Letitia would be waiting for him to return, safely at home under Barton’s unimaginative yet unwavering eye.
And she’d made her decision-the right decision.
Matters were definitely looking up. Triumph beckoned. Victory would soon be his.
Christian alighted from the hackney he, Dalziel, and Justin had taken from the Bastion Club, joining the other two on the pavement in Chichester Street, Pimlico. As the hackney rattled away, they all stood and surveyed the large white-painted mansion that was Neville Roscoe’s residence; overlooking Dolphin Square, it was an imposing
