Passion burned in that gray gaze.
“Oh, I think you can,” she murmured with a soft smile. And deliberately she raised her hips, welcoming him into her and at the same time bracing for the pain.
It was sharp, so sharp she cried out. Still holding her face, Rand whispered senseless endearments, raining little kisses all over her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
But the pain was fading already, rapidly becoming an ache of another kind…an ache so exquisite she found herself straining against him in hope of easing it.
He kissed her mouth, and then, still holding her gaze, he moved in her.
A gasp of wonder escaped her lips.
“This, sweet Lily, is heaven,” he said.
She couldn’t seem to speak at all.
Then they moved as one in a duet as old as time, a perfect harmony that went far beyond music and words. Slowly and then faster, the feelings building to a crescendo, higher and higher until Lily erupted in pleasure so intense she was half convinced she really was glimpsing heaven. Up and up, flying higher yet when she felt Rand go with her.
At long last, she drifted back to earth. Rain still pattered overhead, but more softly now. Across the summerhouse, the animals had quieted. Beatrix had even stopped hiccuping.
Lily opened her eyes to the magic of candles winking in the dimness. Rand was still pressed close, his heart beating in a cadence to match hers. He lifted his head to find three creatures staring at him, and with a groan, he buried his face in the crook of Lily’s neck.
A soft laugh rippled from her. “You managed,” she said. “With the animals watching.”
“Ah, yes.” His words vibrated against her throat, sounding amused. “But I hope they’re not expecting a repeat performance. I’d just as soon not have an audience next time—not that this time wasn’t good.”
“It was heaven. I saw heaven.”
“Did you?” He kissed her nose, her mouth, then leaned up and shot her a smile. “Please don’t tell me you saw cherubs playing harps.”
“No.” She laughed again. She’d never expected to laugh at a time such as this, but it felt right.
Everything with Rand felt right.
“No cherubs,” she whispered. “Only you.”
THIRTY
IT TOOK THREE carriages to get to Oxford. A valet and two maids rode in the first, along with all the luggage. The second held Chrystabel and Joseph.
“Do you suppose the children will be all right alone?” she asked.
He laughed. “Three of those ‘children’ are in their twenties. Relax, Chrysanthemum. It seems like years since we’ve had a carriage to ourselves. Come over and sit on my lap.”
Smiling, she did. It had been years. But their offspring, with the exception of Rowan, were finally grown. “I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too.” He kissed the top of her head. “And I can hear you without all the chatter.”
She settled against his warm form, using his body to cushion her from the jarring ruts in the road. It was a calmer ride than many, though, the landscape mainly gentle green slopes. Cattle roamed, grazing aimlessly. “Ah, this is nice.” Chrystabel snuggled closer. “I wonder how everyone else is doing.”
“You worry too much, Chrysanthemum.”
She sighed. “I’m just wondering what happened yesterday. If anything.”
“If anything? Two young people in a summerhouse…”
“One of them was sweet Lily.”
He snorted. “The other was a healthy male. I used to be a healthy male, which means I know of what I speak.”
“You still are a healthy male,” she protested, knowing he wanted to hear it and also thinking it was true. He was only forty-six, after all. “But regardless, Lily remains worried by Rose’s attitude, not that I can blame her. I must figure out a way to get Lily and Rand off alone together some more. Much more.”
“Hey.” He tilted her chin up and placed a kiss on her lips—a somewhat bouncing kiss due to the ride, but a nice one nonetheless. “Can I entice you to forget about our children for a while? Here I’ve succeeded in getting us off alone together…why aren’t we taking advantage of it?”
Conversation was abandoned in favor of blissful sighs.
THE THIRD carriage wasn’t nearly as peaceful.
On one of the upholstered benches, Rand sat beside Lily, holding her hand. Across from them, Rose glared at their linked fingers while Rowan chattered, excited about his first trip to Oxford.
“You’ve never been?” Rand asked.
“Never.”
“Neither have I,” Lily added.
“And you, Rose?” Rand asked, trying to bring her into the conversation.
“No,” she said shortly, still glowering.
He squeezed Lily’s hand, knowing her sister’s disapproval was hard on her. Remembering their encounter in the summerhouse yesterday, he could only be glad it had happened. Lily would have no thoughts of changing her mind now. Perhaps the seduction hadn’t been planned or honorable, but he couldn’t be sorry, not when it had bonded her to him as tightly as a book to its cover.
At least he hoped it had, he thought suddenly, relieved when her fingers squeezed back. After all, she could be with child. Although that was one thing he didn’t hope for—not yet, anyway.
Of course, he knew the potential consequences of what they’d done, of what he expected they’d do over and over in the months and years ahead of them. And when children came along, he was certain he’d love them as much as he loved Lily. But he’d prefer some time alone with her first. He was just getting used to the idea of being a husband; he felt woefully unprepared for fatherhood as yet.
“Do you know,” Lily said, dragging his thoughts back to the conversation, “we’ve never been much of anywhere besides London and the area that surrounds Trentingham. Oh, and Tremayne, but not for years.”
“Tremayne?”
“A castle and lands our family owns near Wales. We stayed there during Cromwell’s Protectorate, and again in ’65 when the Great Plague was a threat. Now that Grandpapa has passed on and Father become the earl,
