Page 112 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
In seconds, the flames of their always-ready passion had flared, and desire swirled about them, heightening their senses, goading and tempting and driving them on.
Even so, they didn’t rush but savored each second as they divested each other of their clothes, layer by layer, garment by garment. Reverence and worship had become their watchwords, underpinned by commitment to the other, to their pleasure, with the achievement of that being their greatest reward.
They came together in an achingly slow dance, one that stretched and expanded their awareness of all that was physical and all that was emotional in the simple intimacy.
In the communication that flowed between them in the moment that, hand clutching hand, bodies clamped tight, they reached the peak in a rush of togetherness, and their senses soared, then shattered.
They clung as they spiraled slowly back to earth.
As one, together, determined never to be parted.
Finally, Drago stirred, lifted from her, and slumped onto his back.
She curled toward him, and he gathered her in, and she pillowed her head on his chest.
A moment later, staring up at the canopy, he sighed. “I didn’t expect this.”
She pressed a soft kiss to his chest. “This what?”
“In all honesty, hopes and dreams aside, I never expected to fall in love.” He paused, then went on, “I know my parents’ marriage was a love match. I just didn’t expect to have one myself.” He shifted his head to glance down at her face. “I never expected to be so blessed.”
She smiled softly and smoothed a hand over the crisp black hair before her face. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t expect to fall in love, either. Especially not with you.” She glanced up, and when he waited, went on, “I’d been looking for the right gentleman for me, the one man above all others I would love, but by the time I met you, I’d lost hope of ever encountering him. Yet the instant I set eyes on you, inebriated though you were, I suspected you might be the one. Against all the accepted precepts, against all odds, that proved to be the case.”
He smiled down at her and tightened his arms in a gentle hug. “So here we are.”
She nodded. “Indeed.”
He raised his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep.”
As if he’d cast some spell, she felt the lethargy arising from their recent activities well and swell, then flow in an ocean of oblivion over her. On a sigh, she slipped under, into peaceful dreams.
Drago watched her slide into slumber. He waited until he was sure she was fathoms deep, then he carefully eased from her lax embrace and ultimately from the bed. He found his silk robe, shrugged it on, and belted it.
Then he quietly crossed the room to the door, opened it and left, then closed the door silently behind him.
He padded along the familiar corridors to the other end of the wing and took the servants’ stairs to the attic.
On reaching the head of the stairs, he stepped into the narrow attic corridor and tapped quietly on the first two doors.
When Maurice and Tisdale appeared, he beckoned them down the stairs to the landing and proceeded to make his own arrangements.
* * *
As agreed,they set their plan in motion the very next day.
After confirming the details over breakfast, at eleven o’clock, Drago mounted his black hunter, Vulcan, and rode across the estate toward Melwin Place.
Having steeled himself to play his part, he’d remained in the stable yard and chatted amiably with his stable hands while they’d saddled the big horse, then he’d ridden off with not the slightest sign that his entire awareness remained centered on Wylde Court.
Specifically on the family parlor at the rear of the mansion, where Meg was waiting with the others.
Their plan called for Meg to wave off George and Harry as if the pair were returning to London. Then Denton was to leave with Toby, Aidan, Evan, and Carter, ostensibly to show them the way to Walkhurst Manor.
They’d reasoned that if their villain was watching the house—or had men doing so—they would deduce that Meg was, however temporarily, without protectors.
So when she went out to the rose garden…
With tension locked like a vise about his head and heart, Drago cantered up the gravel drive of Melwin Place. As he dismounted before the steps, a groom came running. Drago handed over the reins. “I’ll be about an hour.”
