Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(106)

He relaxed, his spasm spent, while she still lay on him, her flesh wet with both their fluids, delicately sensitized. She had enough presence of mind to reach up and untie his hands.

Then she tucked her head under his chin and lay quiet, his cock still lodged within her, and whispered, “I love you, Lazarus Huntington. I love you.”

* * *

“DOES IT STILL hurt when I touch you?” Temperance asked sometime later.

She and Caire had bathed and supped and made love again, and now they sprawled nude upon his bed. She lay on her side, her legs tangled with his, rubbing her palm over his chest. She couldn’t seem to touch him enough.

Caire turned his head, his sapphire eyes meeting her own. “No, your touch no longer pains me. I think you have indeed cured me. It tingles a bit, but the sensation is not painful.” He caught her hand, rubbing her fingers over his nipple. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Happiness streaked like a golden light through her, but she kept her face grave. “Are you sure? Perhaps we should test your endurance further.”

His lips curved rather wickedly, and he brought her fingers to his mouth, kissing each one slowly and carefully until Temperance nearly squirmed. “Is that a challenge, madam?”

She lowered her eyelashes demurely, her heart pounding at their flirtation. “Perhaps.”

“Then I shall endeavor not to disappoint.” His voice had turned serious, and when she looked up again, his face had lost its former teasing look. “I never want to disappoint you.”

“You won’t,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes as if pained. “I am not the man you would’ve chosen on your own, I think.”

She laid a palm on his cheek. “Why do you say that?”

His eyes snapped open, and he suddenly rolled to bring her beneath him. “Because I am selfish and vain and venal—nothing, in fact, like you or the men in your family. Don’t think I’m unaware of that fact. I don’t deserve you, Temperance, but it doesn’t matter. You have told me you love me, and I’ll not let you change your mind, now or ever.”

He lay on her heavily, his legs between her spread thighs, and she was aware that he was erect and ready again. It was a position of dominance, one meant to enforce his will.

But she looked up at him and smiled gently. “What makes you think I didn’t choose you?”

His dark brows snapped together. “What?”

She threaded her fingers through his glorious silver hair. “You are exactly what I want, exactly what I need. You are honest and strong and fearless, and you make me fearless too. You don’t let me hide behind excuses and prevarication; you make me face myself and you as well. I love you, Lazarus. I love you.”

“Then marry me,” he said fiercely.

She gasped, the prospect of happiness shimmering so close she could almost reach out and touch it. “But… what about your mother?”

He arched an arrogant eyebrow. “What about my mother?”

Temperance bit her lip. “I’m not an aristocrat—I’m not even close. Father was a beer brewer. Surely your mother and the rest of society will disapprove of marriage to me? After the fire, I don’t even have anything to my name but the clothes I wore today!”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” he drawled, and his sapphire eyes seemed to glow in the shadows of the curtained bed. “You have a very fine piano.”

“I do?”

“You do,” he said, and kissed her nose. “I ordered it only a couple of weeks ago as a surprise present, and as it wasn’t delivered before the fire—it wasn’t, was it?”

“No.”

“There you are,” he said loftily. “You have a piano and a full set of clothes, and that’s plenty dowry to marry me.”

“But you provided the piano!” Temperance couldn’t stop the smile that was spreading over her face. A piano? Lazarus might call himself selfish, but it was the sweetest gift she’d ever received.

“Where the piano came from is of no matter, Mrs. Dews,” Lazarus replied. “The fact is you own it. As for society, it can go hang. I’ll wager the thing the gossip mongers will be most scandalized by is that I found a lady to consent to be my wife.”

“And your mother?”

“And my mother will no doubt be extremely happy that I’ve married at all.”

“But—”

He nudged himself against her damp folds, and she lost whatever objection she was about to make.

“Oh!”

She looked up and saw he was so very close, his silver hair falling like a curtain to either side of her face.

“Will you marry me, Mrs. Dews,” he whispered, “and save me from a life of loneliness and uncaring?”

“I will if you’ll save me from a joyless life filled with only work and duty.”

His blue eyes flamed, and then he was kissing her passionately. He pulled back only long enough to say, “Then you’ll marry me, my sweet Mrs. Dews?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “Yes, I’ll marry you and love you until the end of both our days, my Lord Caire.”

And she would’ve said more, but he was kissing her again and it didn’t matter anyway. All that mattered was that he loved her and she loved him.