Married By Morning (The Hathaways #4)(51)

The intimacy of the moment, the sensation of holding him within her body, was stunning. She found herself trying to soothe him as well, her hands stroking his sleek back. Murmuring his name, she slid her palms to his flanks and urged him to continue. He began to thrust cautiously. It hurt, and yet there was something assuaging in the deep, low pressure. She opened to him instinctively, pulling him closer.

She loved the sounds he made, the quiet groans and fragmented words, his roughcast breathing. It became easier to take him, her h*ps lifting naturally with each forward motion, slippery flesh plunging and grasping. Her knees bent, angling to cradle him. His body trembled roughly, a grunt of something that sounded like pain coming from his throat.

“Cat … Cat…” Leo withdrew from her abruptly and thrust against her stomach, and she felt heat spill in wet pulses over her skin. He held her tightly, groaning into the joint of her shoulder and neck.

They lay together, trying to catch their breath. Catherine was limp with exhaustion, her limbs heavy. Contentment had saturated and softened her, like water seeping into a dry sponge. For the moment, at least, it was impossible to worry about anything.

“It’s true,” she said drowsily. “You are gifted.”

Leo eased to his side heavily, as if the movement had required great effort. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, and she felt the shape of his smile on her skin. “How delicious you are,” he whispered. “It was like making love to an angel.”

“Sans halo,” she murmured, and was rewarded by his low chuckle. She touched the film of moisture on her stomach. “Why did you do it that way?”

“Withdrawing, you mean? I don’t want to get you with child, if you’re not ready.”

“Do you want children? I mean … not because of the copyhold clause, but for their own sake?”

Leo considered that. “In abstraction, not especially. With you, however … I wouldn’t mind.”

“Why with me?”

Taking a handful of her hair, Leo let the pale runners sift through his fingers, playing with it. “I’m not sure. Perhaps because I can see you as a mother.”

“Can you?” Catherine had never seen herself that way.

“Oh, yes. The practical kind who makes you eat your turnips, and scolds you for running with sharp objects.”

“Is that how your mother was?”

He stretched, his feet reaching far past hers. “Yes. And thank God for it. My father, bless him, was a brilliant scholar one step removed from lunacy. Someone had to be sensible.” Rising up on one elbow, he studied her. He used the pad of his thumb to smooth the arc of her eyebrow. “Don’t move, love, I’ll get a cloth for you.”

Catherine waited with her knees drawn up, watching as he left the bed and went to the washstand. He took up a cloth, dampened it with water from a jug, and cleaned himself efficiently. Taking up another cloth, he moistened it liberally and brought it to her. She sensed that he intended to perform the service for her, but she reached for the cloth and said bashfully, “I’ll do it.”

Leo found his discarded clothing, pulled on his linens and trousers, and returned to Catherine bare-chested. “Your spectacles,” he murmured, setting them carefully on her nose. His hands were strong and warm against the humid coolness of her cheeks. Seeing the shiver that went through her, he pulled the quilt up to her shoulders, and half sat on the edge of the mattress.

“Marks,” he said soberly. “What just happened … am I to take that as a ‘yes’ to my proposal?”

She hesitated, and shook her head. And then she gave him a wary but resolute glance, as if to indicate that there was nothing he could do or say to change her mind.

His hand found the shape of her hip, squeezing her through the quilt. “I promise it will get better for you, once you heal and have time to—”

“No, it’s not that. I enjoyed it.” She paused, blushing fiercely. “Very much. But we don’t suit in any way other than in the bedroom. We argue so dreadfully.”

“It won’t be like that now. I’ll be nice. I’ll let you win every argument, even when I’m right.” His lips twitched with amusement. “You’re not convinced, I see. What are you afraid we’ll argue about?”

Catherine looked down at the quilt, smoothing out a frayed seam. “It is fashionable among the peerage for the husband to take mistresses and the wife to take lovers. I could never accept that.” As he opened his mouth to argue, she continued in a rush. “And you’ve never concealed your aversion to marriage. For you to change your mind so quickly … it’s impossible to believe.”

“I understand.” Leo’s hand covered hers in a vital grip. “You’re right—I’ve been against the idea of marriage ever since I lost Laura. And I’ve invented all kinds of excuses to keep from taking such a risk again. But I can’t deny any longer that you are entirely worth it. I wouldn’t propose to you unless I knew without a doubt that you could satisfy all my needs, and I could satisfy yours.” He slid his fingers beneath her chin and urged her to look at him. “As for fidelity—I’ll have no difficulty with that.” His smile turned wry. “My conscience is burdened enough with past sins—I doubt it could stand any more.”

“You would become bored with me,” she said anxiously.