“Oh, Phillip,” she said, and then she did the only thing she knew to do. She closed the distance between them and threw her arms around him and held on for all she was worth. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her tears soaking into his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t want to fail again,” he choked out, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I can’t—I couldn’t—”
“You won’t,” she vowed. “We won’t.”
“You’ve got to be happy,” he said, his words sounding as if they’d been ripped from his throat. “You have to be. Please say—”
“I am,” she assured him. “I am. I promise you.”
He pulled back and took her face in his hands, forcing her to look deeply into his eyes. He seemed to be searching for something in her expression, desperately seeking confirmation, or maybe absolution, or maybe just a simple promise.
“I am happy,” she whispered, covering his hands with her own. “More than I ever dreamed possible. And I am proud to be your wife.”
His face seemed to tighten, and his lower lip began to quiver. Eloise caught her breath. She’d never seen a man cry, never really even thought it possible, but then a tear rolled slowly down his cheek, settling into the dimple at the corner of his mouth until she reached out and brushed it away.
“I love you,” he said, choking on the words. “I don’t even care if you don’t feel the same way. I love you and . . . and . . .”
“Oh, Phillip,” she whispered, reaching up and touching the tears on his face. “I love you, too.”
His lips moved as if trying to form words, and then he gave up on speech, and he reached out for her, crushing her to him with a strength and intensity that humbled her. He buried his face in her neck, murmuring her name over and over again, and then his words became kisses, and he moved along her skin until he found her mouth.
How long they stood there, kissing as if the world were to end that very night, Eloise would never know. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her out of the portrait gallery and up the stairs, and before she knew it, she was on her bed, and he was on top of her.
And his lips had never left hers.
“I need you,” he said hoarsely, pulling her dress from her body with shaking fingers. “I need you like I need breath. I need you like food, like water.”
She tried to say she needed him, too, but she couldn’t, not when his mouth had closed around her nipple, not when he was sucking in such a way that made her feel it down in her belly, a warm, slow heat that curled and grew, taking her hostage until she could do nothing but reach for this man, her husband, and give herself to him with everything that she had.
He lifted himself away from her, just long enough to yank off his own clothing, and then he rejoined her, this time lying beside her. He pulled her to him until they were belly to belly, and then he stroked her hair, softly, gently, and his other hand splayed at the small of her back.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I want nothing more than to grab you and—” He swallowed. “You have no idea how much I want you right now.”
Her lips curved. “I think I have some idea.”
That made him smile. “My body is dying. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt, and yet . . .” He leaned in closer and brushed his lips across hers. “I had to stop. I had to tell you.”
She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. And she felt the tears coming, burning in her eyes until they spilled out, flowing over his hands.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered.
“I can’t help it,” she said, her voice shaking. “I love you so much. I didn’t think—I’d always hoped, but I guess I never really thought—”
“I never thought, either,” he said, and they both knew what they were thinking—
I never thought it would happen to me.
“I’m so lucky,” he said, and his hands moved, sliding down her rib cage, over her belly, and then around to her backside. “I think I’ve waited my entire life for you.”
“I know I’ve been waiting for you,” Eloise said.
He squeezed and pulled her against him, nearly burning her with his touch. “I’m not going to be able to go slowly,” he said, his voice shaking. “I think I used up my entire allotment of willpower just now.”
“Don’t go slowly,” she said, sliding onto her back and pulling him atop her. She spread her legs, opening until he settled between them, his sex coming to rest right at the opening of her womanhood. Her hands found his hair and sank in, pulling his head down until his mouth was right at hers. “I don’t want it slow,” she said.
And then, in a single fluid motion, so fast that it took her breath away, he was inside her, embedded to the hilt, knocking against her womb with enough force to jolt a surprised little “Oh!” from her lips.
He smiled wickedly. “You said you wanted it fast.”
She responded by curling her legs around his, locking him to her. She tilted her hips, which pulled him in even deeper, and smiled back. “You’re not doing anything,” she said to him.
And then he did.
All words were lost as they moved. They weren’t graceful, and they didn’t move as one. Their bodies weren’t in tune, and the sounds they made were not musical or lovely.
They just moved, with need and fire and total abandon, reaching for each other, reaching for the summit. The wait was not long. Eloise tried to make it last, tried to hold out, but there was no way. With every stroke, Phillip unleashed a fire within her that could not be denied. And then finally, when she couldn’t contain herself one moment longer, Eloise cried out and arched beneath him, lifting them both from the bed with the force of her fulfillment. Her body quivered and shook, and she gasped for breath, and all she could do was clutch his back, her fingers surely leaving bruises on his skin as she clung to him.
And then, before she could even fall back down to earth, Phillip cried out, and he slammed forward over and over again, emptying himself within her until he collapsed, the full weight of him pinning her into the mattress.
But she didn’t mind. She loved the feel of him atop her, loved the heaviness, loved the smell and the taste of the sweat on his skin.
She loved him.
It was that simple.
She loved him, and he loved her, and if there was anything more, anything else important in her world, it just didn’t matter. Not right there, not right then.
“I love you,” he whispered, finally rolling off of her and allowing her lungs to fill with air.
I love you.
It was all she needed.
Chapter 19
. . . days are filled with endless amusements. I shop and attend luncheons and pay calls (and have calls paid upon me). In the evenings I usually attend a ball or musicale, or perhaps a smaller party. Sometimes I remain at home with my own company and read a book. Truly, it is a full and lively existence; I have no cause for complaint. What more, I often ask, could a lady want?
—from Eloise Bridgerton to Sir Phillip Crane,
six months into their unusual correspondence
For the rest of her days, Eloise would remember the following week as one of the most magical of her life. There were no stupendous events, no bursts of fine weather, no birthdays, no extravagant gifts or unexpected visitors.
But still, even though it all seemed, on the outside at least, very ordinary . . .
Everything changed.
It wasn’t the sort of thing that hit one like a thunderbolt, or even, Eloise thought with a wry smile, like a slammed door or high C at the opera. It was a slow, creeping kind of change, the sort of thing that begins without one realizing it, and ends before one even knows it has begun.
It started a few mornings after she’d come across Phillip in the portrait gallery. When she woke, he was sitting fully dressed at the foot of the bed, staring at her with an indulgent smile on his face.
“What are you doing there?” Eloise asked, tucking the sheets under her arms as she scooted into a sitting position.
“Watching you.”
Her lips parted with surprise, and then she couldn’t help but smile. “It can’t be very interesting.”
“To the contrary. I can’t think of anything that could keep my attention for so long.”
She blushed, mumbling something about his being silly, but in truth, his words made her want to yank him right back into bed. She had a feeling he wouldn’t resist—he never did—but she put a hold on her desire, since he had, after all, got himself completely dressed, and she rather thought he’d done so for a reason.
“I brought you a muffin,” he said, holding out a plate.
Eloise thanked him and took his proffered dish. While she was munching away (and wishing he’d thought to bring something to drink as well), he said, “I thought we might go on an outing today.”
“You and I?”
“Actually,” he said, “I thought the four of us might go.”
Eloise froze, her teeth lodged in the muffin, and looked at him. This was, she realized, the first time he’d suggested such a thing. The first time, to her knowledge, at least, that he’d reached out to his children rather than setting them aside, hoping that someone else would see to them.
“I think that’s a fine idea,” she said softly.
“Good,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your morning routine and inform that poor housemaid you bullied into acting as their nurse that we will be taking them for the day.”
“I’m sure she’ll be relieved,” Eloise said. Mary hadn’t really wanted to take the position as nursemaid, even on a temporary basis. None of the servants had; they all knew the twins too well. And poor long-haired Mary vividly recalled having to burn the bedsheets after they’d been unable to remove the last governess’s glued-on hair.
But there was nothing else to be done, and Eloise had extracted a promise from both children that they would treat Mary with the respect due to, say, the queen, and so far they had been living up to their word. Eloise even had her fingers crossed that Mary might relent and agree to the position on a permanent basis. It did pay better than cleaning, after all.
Eloise looked over at the door and was surprised to see Phillip standing quite still, frowning. “What is wrong?” she asked.
He blinked, then looked in her direction, his brows still pulled down in thought. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“I believe the doorknob will turn in either direction,” she teased.
He shot her a look, then said, “There are no fairs or events occurring in the village. What should we do with them?”
“Anything,” Eloise said, smiling at him with all the love in her heart. “Or nothing at all. It doesn’t matter, really. All they want is you, Phillip. All they want is you.”
Two hours later Phillip and Oliver were standing outside the Larkin’s Fine Tailor and Dressmaker in the village of Tetbury, waiting somewhat impatiently while Eloise and Amanda completed their purchases inside.
“Did we have to go shopping?” Oliver groaned, as if he’d been asked to wear pigtails and a frock.
Phillip shrugged. “It is what your mother wished to do.”
“Next time, it’s the men’s turn to pick,” Oliver grumbled. “If I’d known having a mother would mean this . . .”
Phillip had to force himself not to laugh. “Men must make sacrifices for the women we love,” he said in serious tones, patting his son on the shoulder. “It’s the way of the world, I’m afraid.”
Oliver let out a long-suffering sigh, as if he’d been making such sacrifices on a daily basis.
Phillip looked through the window. Eloise and Amanda showed no signs of wrapping up their business. “But as pertains to the issue of shopping, and who gets to decide upon the next joint activity,” he said, “I agree wholeheartedly.”
Just then, Eloise poked her head outside. “Oliver?” she asked. “Would you care to come in?”
“No,” Oliver replied, shaking his head emphatically.
Eloise pursed her lips. “Allow me to rephrase,” she said. “Oliver, I would like you to come in.”
Oliver looked up to his father, his eyes pleading.
“I’m afraid you must do as she says,” Phillip said.
“So many sacrifices,” Oliver grumbled, shaking his head as he hauled himself up the steps.
Phillip coughed to cover a laugh.
“Are you coming, too?” Oliver asked.
Hell, no,Phillip almost said, but managed to catch himself in time to change it to, “I need to remain outside to watch the carriage.”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Why does the carriage need watching?”
“Er, strain on the wheels,” Phillip mumbled. “All our packages, you know.”
He was unable to hear what Eloise said under her breath, but the tone was not complimentary.
“Run along, Oliver,” he said, patting his son on the back. “Your mother needs you.”
“And you, too,” Eloise said sweetly, just to torture him, he was sure. “You need new shirts.”
Phillip groaned. “Can’t we have the tailor come out to the house?”
“Don’t you want to choose the fabric?”
He shook his head and said, quite grandly, “I trust you implicitly.”
“I think he needs to watch the carriage,” Oliver said, still hovering in the threshold.
“He’s going to need to watch his back,” Eloise muttered, “if he doesn’t—”