Lord of Wicked Intentions
Page 95

When he joined his body to hers, she’d never felt so complete. When he rose up above her and gazed down on her, she thought his eyes had never looked more beautiful, filled with the love he held for her. She imagined him looking at her in the same manner when they were old and withered, fifty, sixty years from now. They were both so young. They had a long lifetime ahead of them.
She skimmed her hands over his face. She could see his youth now, tempered by the years, but still there. She wished he had not journeyed through life as he had, but it was that journey that had brought them together. To wish for a different path for either of them would be to wish they had not landed here, for how else would they have ever met—had he not been the purveyor of sin, and she sin’s daughter?
“I love you, Evie,” he whispered. “I doubt I’ll say it much, but tonight you should know.”
“I do know. And I love you. With my heart and my soul and my body.”
He began to rock against her, not protesting when she wrapped her legs about him. Not flinching when she wound her arms around him. She held onto him tightly, as the pleasure spiraled beyond the bounds of flesh to encompass her soul, her heart, her very being.
Their gazes remained locked, their breaths matched tempo. He led, she followed, they twirled in rhythm to lilting strains that only they could hear. The sensations built, rolled through her from head to toe, over and over, reaching out, stretching—until they could go no farther, and then they burst through her, carrying her to heights she’d never before ascended.
She was aware of his final hard thrusts, his body jerking, his jaw clenching, and she saw the wonder of it all in his eyes. As magnificent for him as it had been for her.
Gently, he lowered himself, burying his face in the curve of her neck. “Damn, but I have missed you.”
“You saw me every day.”
“Not like this.”
“I love holding you.”
“I love you holding me.” He kissed her chin, her ear, her temple, and then was once again gazing into her eyes. “You’re going to be very glad you married me.”
Smiling, she arched a brow at him. “Oh, you think so, do you?”
He gave her a devilish grin. “Oh, I know so. It would have been a colossal mistake not to.”
Her laughter was abruptly cut off by his kiss. Oh, the arrogant man. How she did love him.
Epilogue
Pembrook Castle, Yorkshire
Winter 1864
Tonight was the night they were to have died. Instead, they would make love to their wives.
But for now, in the late wintry afternoon, they sat upon their horses, at the top of the rise, looking down on Pembrook Castle. From their vantage point, they could see the remnants of the tower that had served as their prison so many years before. Sebastian had been slowly tearing it down, his sledgehammer against one brick at a time.
“Difficult to believe it’s been twenty years,” Tristan said.
“I should hire men to raze it completely, get it done,” Sebastian said.
“I think you should leave it as it is,” Tristan replied.
“What of you, Rafe?” Sebastian asked. “What do you think I should do with it?”
“Rebuild it, make it grander than it was.” He thought it a symbolic gesture, but feared he’d come off as a fool if he explained how Uncle had torn them down, reduced them to their bare souls, and that each of them had survived and built themselves up into something—someone—better than they might have been otherwise. So he said instead, “You’ll be around for a good long while. Your heir will need someplace to reside before he inherits the title.”
“You might be right. He seems to fancy the place. I’m always finding him exploring it. Perhaps that’s what I’ll do. Don’t suppose I need to decide today. It’s not going anywhere.”
“Unlike us,” Tristan said. “I suppose we need to return to the manor. I’ve heard your wife has prepared quite the feast to celebrate the night she rescued us.”
“She rescued me twice, once from the tower, and once from myself.”
Rafe felt as though he were still being rescued, every morning when he awoke to find Eve in his bed. It always amazed and humbled him to find her still there, still in his arms, smiling at him, making him laugh, giving him sons—two so far. She told him that the next time she was giving birth to a daughter. He suspected she would. She had a habit of achieving what she set her mind to do.
Using the house she’d obtained from Wortham, she had established a sanctuary for women who had no one, no place for refuge. She saw that they were taught skills, and found them gainful respectable employment. She had convinced him that the women who worked for him should manage his games rather than mattresses. It had created quite a stir the first time a woman had sat down to deal cards at one of his tables. But over the years his memberships had doubled; his earnings had tripled. Seemed a gent paid little attention to how much he was losing when he was receiving smiles and encouragement from a woman.
His brothers were as quiet as he, and he wondered the paths their thoughts traveled. He had yet to tell them that he loved him. He couldn’t voice the words, but Eve assured him they knew. He attended all their little gatherings, had been out on Tristan’s yacht so many times that he no longer dealt with illness when on board. He and his family were always here for Christmas.
He thought if his father knew that, he’d be pleased.
“We’d best get back,” Sebastian said. “They’ll be waiting for us.”