When a little of his strength returned he moved onto his side, taking her with him, still a part of her. Her hair spilled over his naked chest like a rumpled satin waterfall, and he lifted a shaking hand to smooth it off her face, feeling humbled and blessed by her sweetness and unselfish ardor.
Several minutes later Elizabeth stirred in his arms, and he tipped her chin up so that he could gaze into her eyes. "Have I ever told you that you are magnificent?
She started to shake her head, then suddenly remembered that he had told her she was magnificent once before, and the recollection brought poignant tears to her eyes. "You did say that to me," she amended, brushing her fingers over his smooth shoulder because she couldn't seem to stop touching him. "You told me that when we were together-"
"In the woodcutter's cottage," he finished for her, recalling the occasion as well. In reply she had chided him for acting as if he also thought Charise Dumont was magnificent, Ian remembered, regretting all the time they had lost since then…the days and nights she could have been in his arms as she was now. "Do you know how I spent the rest of the afternoon after you left the cottage?" he asked softly. When she shook her head, he said with a wry smile, "I spent it pleasurably contemplating tonight. At the time, of course, I didn't realize tonight was years away." He paused to draw the sheet up over her back so she wouldn't be chilled, then he continued in the same quiet voice, "I wanted you so badly that day that I actually ached while I watched you fasten that shirt you were wearing. Although," he added dryly, "that condition, brought on by that particular cause, has become my normal state for the last four weeks, so I'm quite used to it now. I wonder if I'll miss it," he teased.
"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked, realizing that he was perfectly serious despite his light tone.
"The agony of unfulfilled desire," he explained, brushing a kiss on her forehead, "brought on by wanting you."
" me?" she burst out, rearing up so abruptly that she nearly overturned him as she leaned up on an elbow, absently clutching the sheet to her breasts. "Is this-what we've just done, I mean-"
"The Scots think of it as making love," he interrupted gently. "Unlike most English," he added with flat scorn, "who prefer to regard it as 'performing one's marital duty.'"
"Yes," Elizabeth said absently, her mind on his earlier remark about wanting her until it caused him physical pain, "but is this what you meant all those times you've said you wanted me?"
His sensual lips quirked in a half smile. "Yes."
A rosy blush stained her smooth cheeks, and despite her effort to sound severe, her eyes were lit with laughter. "And the day we bargained about the betrothal, and you told me I had something you wanted very badly, what you wanted to do with me…was "
"Among other things," he agreed, tenderly brushing his knuckles over her flushed cheek.
"If I had known all this," she said with a rueful smile, "I'm certain I would have asked for additional concessions."
That startled him-the thought that she would have tried to drive a harder bargain if she'd realized exactly how much and what sort of power she really held. "What kind of additional concessions?" he asked, his face carefully expressionless.
She put her cheek against his shoulder, her arms curving around him. "A shorter betrothal," she whispered. "A shorter courtship, and a shorter ceremony.
Several minutes later Elizabeth stirred in his arms, and he tipped her chin up so that he could gaze into her eyes. "Have I ever told you that you are magnificent?
She started to shake her head, then suddenly remembered that he had told her she was magnificent once before, and the recollection brought poignant tears to her eyes. "You did say that to me," she amended, brushing her fingers over his smooth shoulder because she couldn't seem to stop touching him. "You told me that when we were together-"
"In the woodcutter's cottage," he finished for her, recalling the occasion as well. In reply she had chided him for acting as if he also thought Charise Dumont was magnificent, Ian remembered, regretting all the time they had lost since then…the days and nights she could have been in his arms as she was now. "Do you know how I spent the rest of the afternoon after you left the cottage?" he asked softly. When she shook her head, he said with a wry smile, "I spent it pleasurably contemplating tonight. At the time, of course, I didn't realize tonight was years away." He paused to draw the sheet up over her back so she wouldn't be chilled, then he continued in the same quiet voice, "I wanted you so badly that day that I actually ached while I watched you fasten that shirt you were wearing. Although," he added dryly, "that condition, brought on by that particular cause, has become my normal state for the last four weeks, so I'm quite used to it now. I wonder if I'll miss it," he teased.
"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked, realizing that he was perfectly serious despite his light tone.
"The agony of unfulfilled desire," he explained, brushing a kiss on her forehead, "brought on by wanting you."
" me?" she burst out, rearing up so abruptly that she nearly overturned him as she leaned up on an elbow, absently clutching the sheet to her breasts. "Is this-what we've just done, I mean-"
"The Scots think of it as making love," he interrupted gently. "Unlike most English," he added with flat scorn, "who prefer to regard it as 'performing one's marital duty.'"
"Yes," Elizabeth said absently, her mind on his earlier remark about wanting her until it caused him physical pain, "but is this what you meant all those times you've said you wanted me?"
His sensual lips quirked in a half smile. "Yes."
A rosy blush stained her smooth cheeks, and despite her effort to sound severe, her eyes were lit with laughter. "And the day we bargained about the betrothal, and you told me I had something you wanted very badly, what you wanted to do with me…was "
"Among other things," he agreed, tenderly brushing his knuckles over her flushed cheek.
"If I had known all this," she said with a rueful smile, "I'm certain I would have asked for additional concessions."
That startled him-the thought that she would have tried to drive a harder bargain if she'd realized exactly how much and what sort of power she really held. "What kind of additional concessions?" he asked, his face carefully expressionless.
She put her cheek against his shoulder, her arms curving around him. "A shorter betrothal," she whispered. "A shorter courtship, and a shorter ceremony.
( Judith McNaught )
[ Almost Heaven ]
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