It's In His Kiss

she said.

He quirked a brow. “I will?”

She nodded. “Just not now.”

He laughed softly. “Fair enough.”

He rubbed her gently, using soft friction to bring her to a quivering peak. She was breathing erratically now, her lips parted and her eyes glazed. He loved her face, loved every little curve of it, the way the light hit her cheekbones and the shape of her jaw.

But there was something about it now, when she was lost in her own passion, that took his breath away. She was beautiful-not in a way that would launch a thousand ships, but in a more private fashion.

Her beauty was his and his alone.

And it humbled him.

He leaned down to kiss her, tenderly, with all the love he felt. He wanted to catch her gasp when she climaxed, wanted to feel her breath and her moan with his mouth. His fingers tickled and teased, and she tensed beneath him, her body trapped between his and the wall, grinding against them both.

“Gareth,” she gasped, breaking free of the kiss for just long enough to say his name.

“Soon,” he promised. He smiled. “Maybe now.”

And then, as he captured her for one last kiss, he slid one finger inside of her, even as another continued its caress. He felt her close tight around him, felt her body practically lift off the floor with the force of her passion.

And it was only then that he realized the true measure of his own desire. He was hard and hot and desperate for her, and even so, he’d been so focused on her that he hadn’t noticed.

Until now.

He looked at her. She was limp, breathless, and as near to insensible as he’d ever seen her.

Damn.

That was all right, he told himself unconvincingly. They had their whole lives ahead of them. One encounter with a tub of cold water wasn’t going to kill him.

“Happy?” he murmured, gazing down at her indulgently.

She nodded, but that was all she managed.

He dropped a kiss on her nose, then remembered the papers he’d left on his desk. They weren’t quite complete, but still, it seemed a good time to show them to her.

“I have a present for you,” he said.

Her eyes lit up. “You do?”

He nodded. “Just keep in mind that it’s the thought that counts.”

She smiled, following him to his desk, then taking a seat in the chair in front of it.

Gareth pushed aside some books, then carefully lifted a piece of paper. “It’s not done.”

“I don’t care,” she said softly.

But still, he didn’t show it to her. “I think it’s rather obvious that we are not going to find the jewels,” he said.

“No!” she protested. “We can-”

“Shhh. Let me finish.”

It went against her every last impulse, but she managed to shut her mouth.

“I am not in possession of a great deal of money,” he said.

“That doesn’t matter.”

He smiled wryly. “I’m glad you feel that way, because while we shan’t want for anything, nor will we live like your brothers and sisters.”

“I don’t need all that,” she said quickly. And she didn’t. Or at least she hoped she didn’t. But she knew, down to the tips of her toes, that she didn’t need anything as much as she needed him.

He looked slightly grateful, and also, maybe, just a little bit uncomfortable. “It’ll probably be even worse once I inherit the title,” he added. “I think the baron is trying to fix it so that he can beggar me from beyond the grave.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of marrying you again?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “You’re most definitely stuck with me now. But I did want you to know that if I could, I would give you the world.” He held out the paper. “Starting with this.”

She took the sheet into her hands and looked down. It was a drawing, of her.

Her eyes widened with surprise. “Did you do this?” she asked.

He nodded. “I’m not well trained, but I can-”

“It’s very good,” she said, cutting him off. He would never find his way into history as a famous artist, but the likeness was a good one, and she rather thought he’d captured something in her eyes, something that she’d not seen in any of the portraits of her her family had commissioned.

“I have been thinking about Isabella,” he said, leaning against the edge of his desk. “And I remembered a story she told me when I was young. There was a princess, and an evil prince, and”-he smiled ruefully-“a diamond bracelet.”

Hyacinth had been watching his face, mesmerized by the warmth in his eyes, but at this she looked quickly back down at the drawing. There, on her wrist, was a diamond bracelet.

“I’m sure it’s nothing like what she actually hid,” he said, “but it is how I remember her describing it to me, and it is what I would give to you, if only I could.”

“Gareth, I-” And she felt tears, welling in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. “It is the most precious gift I have ever received.”

He looked…not like he didn’t believe her, but rather like he wasn’t quite sure that he should. “You don’t have to say-”

“It is,” she insisted, rising to her feet.

He turned and picked another piece of paper up off the desk. “I drew it here as well,” he said, “but larger, so you could see it better.”

She took the second piece of paper into her hands and looked down. He’d drawn just the bracelet, as if suspended in air. “It’s lovely,” she said, touching the image with her fingers.

He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “If it doesn’t exist, it should.”

She nodded, still examining the drawing. The bracelet was lovely, each link shaped almost like a leaf. It was delicate and whimsical, and Hyacinth ached to place it on her wrist.

But she could never treasure it as much as she did these two drawings. Never.

“I-” She looked up, her lips parting with surprise. She almost said, “I love you.”

“I love them,” she said instead, but when she looked up at him, she rather fancied that the truth was in her eyes.

I love you.

She smiled and placed her hand over his. She wanted to say it, but she wasn’t quite ready. She didn’t know why, except that maybe she was afraid to say it first. She, who was afraid of almost nothing, could not quite summon the courage to utter three little words.

It was astounding.

Terrifying.

And she decided to change the mood. “I still want to look for the jewels,” she said, clearing her throat until her voice emerged in its customarily efficient manner.

He groaned. “Why won’t you give up?”

“Because I…Well, because I can’t.” She clamped her mouth into a frown. “I certainly don’t want your father to have them now. Oh.” She looked up. “Am I to call him that?”

He shrugged. “I still do. It’s a difficult habit to break.”

She acknowledged this with a nod. “I don’t care if Isabella wasn’t really your grandmother. You deserve the bracelet.”

He gave her an amused smile. “And why is that?”

That stumped her for a moment. “Because you do,” she finally said. “Because someone has to have it, and I don’t want it to be him. Because-” She glanced longingly down at the drawing in her hands. “Because this is