Page 92 of The Rebellious Countess
“Never. I. Love. You.” Each word a slap of flesh meeting flesh, and a rumble traveled through his chest as she fell over the edge of arousal into complete ecstasy. She watched as he pushed in and out, his neck straining, the muscles of his legs showcasing his strength and masculinity, and Elias followed her into to the paradise of the two of them being one.
His chest heaved as he stood there, his muscle quaking.
“What are you doing?” She laughed between pants.
“I told you I didn’t ever want to leave.”
She giggled and flexed her muscle around him, and he groaned in pleasure. His body draped over her as he kissed up her spine and her neck.
“You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”
“You are the most talented man I’ve ever known.”
He drew back and looked at her. His brows drawn together. “Are you saying you’ve known more men since we’ve been apart?”
“Would it matter if I did?”
He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “No. I love you. Nothing will change that.”
“Then you won’t mind if I continue seeking out other men?”
That created a scowl on his handsome face. “Over my dead body.”
She giggled. “You are the only man for me now and forever.”
He pulled her up from the settee and gently untied the silk as he ran kisses across her shoulders. “You are a minx.”
“I am your minx.”
A triumphant smile passed his lips. “And I am your ‘dirty Sassenach French bastard’ now and forever.”
She winced and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t ever tell Aventine I said that.”
“Never, beautiful wife of mine.”
Epilogue
Dear Sir Robert Williamson,
It was no accident. His last meeting was with Viscount Pembrock. Then six children were orphaned.
Astley
—A letter penned by Baroness Caillen Griffith to the Sir Robert Williamson, War Office, London, England, for the severely sick Simon Clark, Earl of Astley.
Caillen was not meant to be a nursemaid. The injured and sick earl lying in front of her dying was testament to that. She was not meant to be anything. She had no purpose. No goals. No feelings. Except…
Astley had said the death was no accident. She wouldn’t have thought too much about his insistence she write his dying testimony to Sir Williamson at the War Office if he hadn’t mumbled,six children were orphaned.
Six children were orphaned.
Astley had six siblings—not children. He had one son and he’d made her promise to take Sébastien to his own mother when he died. If he died. She prayed he wouldn’t, but it didn’t look like those prayers would be answered. His fever had lastedfor days, and she didn’t know how much longer his body could fight.
She rinsed out the cloth in the wash basin and returned to the man in the bed where she began sponging off Astley’s brow. His dark skin held the pallor of death, yet the angles of his cheeks and jaw still showcased the most handsome face she’d ever seen. Careful not to push too hard around his swollen eye, she wiped down the bridge of his gloriously straight aquiline nose that now had a new bump in the middle it had not had the last time she’d seen him. She continued down across his full, split but masculine lips.
She worked her way down the cords of his neck and thought about his long hair she’d had to cut. She’d come close to crying as she’d lopped off the snarled mass that had once been silky smooth. She worked the cloth across his Adam’s apple and down across the wide breadth of his chest. She smiled as she remembered the first time she’d seen Astley’s chest ten days earlier. She’d never seen her husband’s chest and was rather shocked to see Astley’s nipples and the light sprinkling of hair. He’d lost a tremendous amount of weight, yet she could still see the strength of his muscles across his entire torso. She worked her way down his stomach and hips, marveling at the trail of hair to his—she froze. Her gaze flew to his face to find him still sleeping peacefully. She looked again at his manhood, shocked to see him aroused for the first time since she’d begun taking care of him. Even that part of him was markedly different than what she remembered of her husband. In his entirety, Astley was beautiful, despite the bruising and cuts and broken bones. The exact opposite of what she had looked like when he’d rescued her from similar circumstances.
A knock at the door made her throw the bedclothes over the earl, only to see a large tenting in the middle from his hard manhood.
