Frederica stood in the drawing room, her body unable to be still and sit serenely as was expected of her. Instead, she was by the large window that overlooked the extensive grounds of the Lord Brackley's estate while Garrett was perusing the books placed neatly on the bookshelf in the corner.
A single rap on the open door of the drawing room had her turning to face the sound, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Garrett turned too.
A distinguished-looking man, dressed almost head to toe in dark brown which made his blonde hair — the exact same shade as hers — stand out in stark contrast. She saw William's chin in his, the slant in his eyes in her own. And she knew, without a doubt, that this was the man who had fathered her.
He offered them both a smile and brief nod. "I was told I had guests. It was quite a surprise, I must say, for I don't have many guests nowadays." His brows drew together lightly as he moved further into the room. "I must apologise but I don't quite seem to recall if we've been introduced before."
Frederica willed her feet to move but they seemed to have grown roots of their own. And her lips refused to part, as if they'd been glued shut by the stickiest of honeys. She could only stare at this man who'd abandoned her mother, abandoned her. A whole bag of emotions swirled inside her, all demanding attention from her.
Garrett must have noticed her stillness because he strode forward, hand outstretched. "Thank you for welcoming us into your home, Lord Brackley. It is a very fine house. We're terribly sorry to intrude and while I know it is against the rules of society for us to introduce ourselves to you but I assure you that this is quite the extraordinary circumstance. I hope you will understand and forgive us."
Brackley nodded though Frederica still saw the confusion on his face. "Certainly. This transgression is not great."
"I am Garrett Kendall, the fifth Viscount Healey. My brother-in-law, Christopher Wyndham, the sixth Earl of Dover is an acquaintance of yours I believe."
Brackley's face lit up at that. "Dover! How is he? I haven't seen him since my wife's funeral."
"He is well, I'm happy to report. He has tasked me to send his regards to you."
"Thank you. And please send mine to him as well." Brackley turned to look at her. "And this young woman with you is Lady Healey I presume?"
"No, unfortunately she isn't." She winced slightly at the longing she heard in Garrett's words. When he waved her forward, she finally managed to dislodge herself from where she was standing to move closer to the pair of them. "Might I introduce you to my dearest friend, Mrs David Brookfield. She's expressed a great interest in meeting with you, sir."
Frederica sank into a curtesy as Brackley bowed. "A pleasure to meet you, Lord Brackley."
"Likewise." He gazed at her, a slight frown on his face. "Are you certain we've never met before, Mrs Brookfield? There's a certain familiar quality to you, but I can't quite put my finger on it."
This was the moment she'd dreamt about for the longest time. But the words she longed to say wouldn't emerge.
Once again, Garrett saved her, his hand on the small of her back. "Shall we sit first? Mrs Brookfield, will you pour?"
After she fixed them all a cup of tea, with Brackley liking his with lots of cream and no sugar, the exact opposite of hers, Garrett, sensing her nerves, drew the older man into a conversation about fishing. Though she was present, but if anyone were to ask her later what exactly they'd been talking about, she wouldn't have been able to answer, so occupied was she on trying to gather the courage to ask the questions she wanted answers to. To touch on the subject of William, the sole reason why she had even thought about looking for Brackley in the first place.
Yet, she could only sit there, helplessly mired in her own tangled thoughts and fears.
"Do I have the right of it, Mrs Brookfield?" She nearly jumped at the hand on her back. Their faces were turned to hers, expectant.
She felt heat creep up her neck. "I...I beg your pardon, my lords. I was woolgathering. You were saying?"
Brackley's lips curved slightly as he picked up his cup. "Eleanor used to get that look on her face too whenever I talked about fishing during mealtimes." He sipped. "I called it her 'escape from fishing' face."
"You must have loved her for you seem to miss her," Frederica said. But something in her voice must have given her true emotions away because Garrett pressed his knee against her leg. She cleared her throat. "My condolences, my lord, on her passing."
"Thank you, Mrs Brookfield. I suppose in some sense I do miss her." He looked at them. "One cannot spend many years living together without getting used to the other person's presence."
"If...If I may be so bold as to ask, how did Lady Brackley pass on?"
"Consumption." Sorrow coloured his grey eyes. "She had it for about three years. But her health took a turn for the worse after returning from visiting her mother and brother who were residing somewhere in Devon. After about a month in the sickbed, she passed on."
An awkward silence descended after that, with Frederica not knowing how else to carry on the conversation. Everything would sound like a platitude, an insincere inanity. On top of that, she was starting to regret her decision of coming here. She'd thought that her courage would rise up when she saw her father in the flesh, that she'd be able to demand answers.
But now, the fear of being rejected, of realising that she and her mother might've not been romantic heroines in this story as she'd always thought they were, that they may even be villains grabbed ahold of her and wouldn't let go.
Her gaze flitted to Garrett because she felt his eyes on her. She could see the puzzlement as to why she hadn't yet touched on the topic of her mother. Drawing strength from him, she opened her mouth, but found the words stuck in her throat. Swallowing, she tried again, but not a sound emerged.
Understanding dawned and he gently touched the back of her hand before he turned to Brackley. "My lord, if we could beg for a chance to take a tour of your house and grounds, would you be able to oblige us?"
"Yes, most certainly." They all stood and Garrett took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly before looping it through the crook of his arm.
While Brackley led the way to the wing opened to visitors, he leaned down to whisper into her ear, "Are you well?"
"Yes, but...but I can't seem to bring myself to say what I need to."
"There is no rush to. If you'd like me to broach the subject, I can."
It would the easy way, certainly, but it would also be the coward's way. She needed to do this for herself. "Thank you for the offer, but I will find a way to be brave to venture upon this topic on my own."
"As you wish." They reached the hall where the family portraits were and Frederica gazed upon the men and women whom she'd descended from while Brackley detailed their deeds and accomplishments for the nearby villages. Then she saw the portrait of the recently deceased Lady Eleanor Brackley, a woman whose looks were as ordinary as anyone else, the air of nobility coming only from the finery she was draped in.
"This painting of Eleanor was done to celebrate her five and thirtieth birthday some three, no four, years ago now."
"She looks lovely, as if she were someone's mother," Garrett commented.
"She did long to have children. Unfortunately, our union did not bring about any." Frederica eyed Brackley. Had it just been her own imaginings or had her father looked uncomfortable as he said those words?
Garrett continued. "And how long were you married for?"
"Just a little over twenty years." Frederica stilled at that. She was one and twenty this year. What did it mean? Had she been conceived while Brackley was married? Was her mother truly the villain? She had to know.
"Precisely how long was it?"
Brackley looked surprised by the sharpness of her tone but she didn't apologise, only held his gaze silently, almost defiantly. "One and twenty years if I were to be precise."
Frederica blinked. A year was a long time. A baby could be conceived and born before the year was over. His answer didn't bring the relief or condemnation she'd thought would follow. It only served to create more questions.
She nodded mutely and turned back to face Eleanor Brackley.
Who precisely was the interloper in this tangled web? Her mother? Or the woman whose portrait hung among in the hallowed hallway of the Brackley ancestral home?
Garrett watched Frederica carefully. After her question, she'd become silent, morosely so. She tried to hide it, seemingly paying attention to what Brackley was describing because she occasionally nodded and smiled when he looked at her. But she spoke no words and so Garrett took pains to ensure Brackley didn't notice, peppering the man with questions about the history of the building, the care and livelihood of the tenants, and many other things he didn't really care to know about.
As they rounded the corner to the main staircase that would bring them back to the drawing room, Frederica stopped suddenly. She stared at the sole picture frame that hung on the wall for many breaths before she asked, "My lord, might I ask who painted this?"
Brackley and he moved forward. It was a watercolour of a countryside, trees with sheep dotting the landscape painted a golden yellow, fields of wheat ripened and ready for harvest. Looking at it, one could almost feel the breeze that brushed against the bent stalks depicted in the drawing.
"Oh. It was done by our governess. Or rather, my younger sisters' governess. She was quite the accomplished painter and taught my sisters everything they needed to know about watercolours and oils."
"It is a wonderful painting. I...I have one that looks remarkably similar back home but in oil. My mother painted it."
Garrett's eyes swung between the two. The degree of warmness that both spoke with while discussing the artwork was extremely similar. Could the governess be Frederica's mother?
"Your mother must be extremely talented," Brackley commented.
"She was. She passed away last year. From consumption too."
"My deepest condolences. It must be hard to lose a parent."
She nodded. "She was all I had for...for I...I never knew my father." Garrett saw it, the question on the tip of Frederica's tongue, and he willed her silently to have the strength to ask the question. And for a heartbeat, it almost seemed like she was. But then, she turned away abruptly and the moment was lost.
Garrett let out a breath he didn't know he held in. Frederica was staring at the picture still. Her finger lifted to press on the glass. "Is this...the signature of the painter?"
"Yes."
"And...and was her name...Margaret Milbourne?"
"Yes." Garrett heard the surprise in Brackley's voice. "How did you guess from her initials?"
"Because..." Frederica turned to look at the man, her fingers clasped firmly together in front of her. "Because she...she was my mother. And I believe..." she took a deep breath then. "That you are my father."
From behind, Garrett could see the unnatural stillness of Brackley's entire being at that declaration. And from Frederica's hopeful yet worried expression, he could tell that the man had yet to give away any clue about how he felt. Hurriedly, he moved to Frederica's side so that she wouldn't feel so alone.
"You...you're Margaret's daughter?" She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. "And...how...how old are you this year?"
"One and twenty."
Brackley's eyes took on a bright sheen and his hand reached out. "I have a...daughter," his voice broke and he closed his eyes. His hand fell as he leaned against the banister. "Oh, Margaret. Why did you not tell me?"
Garrett took one of Frederica's hand in his own. And when she looked at him, sadness, relief, worry were written all over her face. He smiled at her, putting all the love and pride he felt into it. She must have understood for she returned it, though tears gathered in her eyes.
"My lord, shall we adjourn to the drawing room? I'm sure there is much to talk about."
The older man seemed to regain a little of his spirit and he straightened. "Yes, yes of course." He sent Frederica a tentative smile and then silently led the way.
When they were back in the room and a fresh pot of tea rung for, Garrett watched the two newly reconciled father and daughter try to figure out how they should sit. He shook his head at them and directed Brackley to sit next to Frederica on the couch while he opt for the chaise longue adjacent to them.
Frederica pulled out the silk wrapped box from her valise and opened it. Brackley touched the necklace nestled within it. "I'd gifted this to your mother as a promise that we'd marry and live together as a family."
She nodded and handed over the accompanying letter. "Mama had written as much when she wanted to return it to you. She couldn't bear to keep this family heirloom. And that is how I discovered about your existence."
Brackley pushed the box back into her hands. "It is yours to keep now."
"But...I can't. It's too valuable."
"You are my daughter, my only child. I can very pass this to you if I so desire."
"Should this not be passed along to the next heir of the earldom?"
He shook his head. "There are no more living males who can inherit. The title will revert to the crown once I've passed on. But the properties I have that are not entailed can be inherited. And now that I have you," he placed his hand over hers, "I will ensure that you inherit them all. That will ensure that you have a sizeable income. I think they generate at least five thousand a year."
"All?" Her hand flew up to her lips. "Five thousand? But..." Tears gathered and one spilled over the edge. "Thank you, sir!" And threw her arms around him.
Brackley quickly got over his surprise and patted her back, albeit uneasily. "But, why the tears?"
"They're happy tears!" She wiped them away hurriedly and reached into her bag, pulling out the miniature she'd wrapped carefully. "I'd come because I wanted to ask for your assistance to ensure your grandson's future." She showed it to him. "But I hadn't expected your generosity. It is more than I ever hoped for." She touched the painting loving.
Her father smiled at her, though there were questions in his eyes. "This is the least I could do to make up for all the years I've been absent from your life." He touched her cheek. "Do not canonise me." His hand dropped and he lowered his head. "If I hadn't underestimated my father's will and wrath, I wouldn't have let your mother out from my sight. Then, she wouldn't have been kidnapped and the both of you wouldn't have been lost to me all these years."
"I...I do not understand. Mama told me she'd ran away." Frederica pointed at the letter. "She wrote she couldn't return this to you, or to your side because she feared what you'd have done to your father if it was revealed that she was still alive."
He let out a rueful laugh. "Your mother knew me well. I might've killed him. He'd threatened me with your mother's safety, forcing me to submit to his will and marry the woman of his choosing. I couldn't have very well risked your mother's life, and so I married Eleanor. But what he hadn't known is that I'd already signed the marriage register with your mother before she was kidnapped in Gretna Green. So I supposed I've had the last laugh for Eleanor and I haven't been legally married at all the entire time."
Garrett couldn't believe his ears. "Do you mean to say that Frederica is your legitimate daughter?"
Brackley stared at him. "What do you mean? Of course she is! Did you...did you think otherwise?" He directed his question to Frederica.
"Mama never told me. And from the story the Leylands — our benefactors — told me, they were equally unaware. But why? Why would she hide such a fact?"
"She might've wanted to protect me, or you, from my father's tyranny if he ever found out. It isn't difficult to see why."
"But why was..." she loathed to acknowledge the familial relation by calling the previous earl 'grandfather' since he'd wrought such havoc on so many lives. "Why was the previous earl so against you marrying Mama? Was she really unsuitable to be a countess? She was second cousin to Baron of Sothersby after all, a barony that has been around since King Richard III."
"In my father's eyes, your mother was no more than a poor relation since she'd had to seek employment as a governess. And he was in desperate need of money because he'd been less than prudent in his lavish spending and had gambled away most of the income generated by the lands." Frederica saw Brackley's fists curl tightly and his voice harden. "Because he was deep in debt, my father needed me to marry a heiress that would bring to the marriage at least 40,000 pounds."
Frederica gasped. "Mama certainly couldn't have been able to fulfil that criterion."
Brackley shook his head ruefully. "Unfortunately. But I was determined to marry the woman I'd fallen in love with even after I'd known what my father intended to do. I pleaded with my father to let me manage the estates and our lifestyle. I was confident that I'd be able to turn our fortunes around. He seemed amiable about it and I'd laboured under that false impression that he'd let me make my own decisions.
"While I was busy trying to convince your mother that my family would accept her as a countess since my mother had nothing but high praises for her character and my much younger sisters adored her gentle ways with them, my father was hard at work looking for the highest bidder for me. And he found one, all but selling me like some horseflesh to Eleanor's family in exchange for her massive dowry of 30,000 pounds and a yearly income of 2,000. It was barely enough but it seemed that was the best offer he received." He let out a derisive snort. "And when he told me of that he'd arranged my marriage for me and that it would take place within the week, I knew then that I had to elope. Your mother and I left in the middle of the night and made for Gretna Green as fast as we could. We arrived and were married without any problems. And that was when I became complacent because I hadn't thought my father capable of doing what he did. I thought the sanctity of marriage would protect your mother. But evidently, my father didn't think the same way." His hands curled into fists. "If that...bounder were still alive, I'd kill him again for making her suffer while she was pregnant with you. And for depriving me the joy of being a father to you."
Frederica reached over to touch his arm. "You can still be one."
He returned her tentative smile with one of his own. "I will do my best. Thank you for giving me the opportunity." He patted her hand that was still resting on his arm. "But what I do not understand is why your mother did not return to my side after the news of my father's death was published in the papers a decade ago. Did she not see it? Surely she'd have thought it safe by then."
Frederica lifted her shoulders. "Maybe she hadn't..." They grew silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Garrett was certain they must've each been thinking about how things would've turned out differently. "Just out of curiosity, after the previous earl's death, what was the reason you remained with Lady Brackley all these years?"
"Your mother will always be Lady Brackley. As for Eleanor," he was quiet for a few breaths, "I know not her reasons for her remaining with me. After my father died some five years ago, I revealed the truth of our marriage to her. I told Eleanor that when I found your mother — whom I'd never stopped searching for — I would have her take her rightful place as my wife and Countess of Brackley. And in recompense for her time and her youth spent living unknowingly in bigamy, I'd settle upon her an annuity of three thousand in a place of her choosing until the end of her life. And if she so chose to remarry, I'd return the dowry she'd brought into our marriage."
"Did she not protest?"
"She left the room in shock and went away for a week. At her return, she sat me down and acquiesce to my request. She only had one condition, and it was that she'd be allowed to stay and continue the running of the household and oversee the care of the tenants until such a time that was required of her to take her leave."
"She sounds like a very agreeable person."
"She was. I may not have loved her like I loved your mother, but Eleanor was a good friend. And she had one of the kindest and most giving of souls I've ever had the privilege of knowing. I'd like to believe that she and your mother would have gotten along well." Frederica smiled. "But enough of that. Will you not share with me more about your growing years with your mother?"
Frederica stayed as long as she could afford to. Her father had been extremely reluctant to let her leave, and she supposed a part of her had wanted to stay as well. But her heart yearned for her son. Furthermore, because of the lack of proper lighting, night travel was fraught with danger from highwaymen. And so, after a simple repast, they made to leave for London.
She stood with her father at the main entrance while Garrett waited at the driveway with her valise in hand for the carriage to be brought around. "Here, this is for you." She pressed the miniature of her and William into his hand. "For until when I can travel with him. We will come see you then."
He clutched it gratefully. "Or maybe I will come to London to see the two of you first."
"That would be very wonderful indeed, father." She smiled shyly at the obvious delight in his face. The word did not roll off her tongue as smoothly as she might've thought. But it was getting easier every moment she said it. "I very much would like to introduce you to Sir John and his wife, for they were instrumental in my upbringing, and for ensuring that Mama and I were able to keep out of the workhouses."
"They have my eternal gratitude. And I hope to meet them very soon. Maybe before the week ends. Have a safe journey back to London, my dear."
She descended the steps to the waiting carriage. Garrett helped her in before hurrying away. She saw him converse with the earl for a few minutes before he returned.
"Is something the matter? I saw you with my father."
"Nothing's the matter." He threaded their fingers together as the carriage picked up speed. It would bring them to the town centre where they'd take the post-chaise they came in back to London. "You must be extremely pleased with the way everything turned out well."
"Yes!" She squeezed his hand. "Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that our reunion would be like this! And William will have a grandfather who loves and cares for him already, and who can guide him growing up." Her voice cracked. "There is nothing more I could possibly ask for."
"No? Nothing else at all?"
"What more could I possibly want?"
"How about your happiness?"
"My happiness?"
"Yes. Is there any possibility that there might be a space for me? In this happiness of yours?"
She saw the hopeful look in his blue eyes that deepened when she lifted her joined hands to press them against her cheek. "Yes, there is certainly space for you. Despite my best efforts, somehow you found a way to annihilate the barriers I'd erected around my heart, lodging yourself firmly within. Like a pebble in my shoe."
His eyes narrowed. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"
She giggled. "A compliment. Most definitely. Oh, how I compliment thee, with eyes burning like a house set ablaze," her fingers tracing his eyebrows, "and lips as plump as...a hog's behind."
He bared his teeth to snap teasingly at her thumb that was brushing against his bottom lip. She laughed before she drew him down into a kiss that would have gone on for longer had the carriage not stopped then.
They alighted, giddy with delight as a pair of newlyweds. Garrett quickly secured their conveyance and then they were off once again.
As the vehicle made its way out of the town centre, she leaned against his side, drawing his arm around her shoulder so she could snuggle closer to him. She felt him press his lips to her hair. Then two fingers were under her chin, tilting her head up so he could kiss her properly. The languid way he supped on her lips, the gentle probing of his tongue, the sigh of pleasure when she brushed his cheek had her heart tumbling and bouncing on grass that was as soft as his hair.
When he drew back, her eyelids were so heavy with contentment that they couldn't seem to open. "Frederica," he kissed those heavy, closed eyelids. "Although I've asked your father if I could have his blessing to wed you but because it is your choice...will you do me the great honour of being my wife?"
They fluttered open and she saw herself mirrored in those eyes she couldn't forget no matter how hard she'd tried. She sighed dramatically, letting her gaze be filled with regret. "I...I'm afraid...No."
"No?"
She really shouldn't have found his confused and forlorn expression so endearing. "You see, I'd wanted to be the one to ask you if you'd have me as your wife despite me having turned you down every time you tried, but only after-" The rest of her words were swallowed by his fervent kiss. He brooked no quarters, and she thoroughly enjoyed the way he pressed her back into the seat, cupping her cheek as his tongue tangled with hers, conquering her mouth like a pillaging viking.
Running her hands under his coat, she enjoyed the feel of his back muscles under her fingers, marvelled at the strength in his shoulders. She was going to thoroughly enjoy bedding him. And because she knew what it entailed, her womanly parts tingled in anticipation and she wondered if she could be patient.
When he drew back, he tweaked her nose gently between his fingers. "You little imp. Did you know how far my heart plunged when you rejected me again? I couldn't fathom the reason for it."
She traced her finger along the edge of his jaw, loathing the thought of not touching him. "I merely wanted to be sure we are a good match."
His brows knitted together. "We match in temperament, in our views about the world, in our belief that William will always be our top priority. What more could you need to examine?"
With an opening salvo as such, it would be so easy. And it seemed that she wasn't a patient woman at all. She laid a hand on his inner thigh as she pressed her lips to his ear. "If we are a good match in bed."
His throaty growl had her laughing. "Did my earlier performance not give you enough to go by? No? Tonight then. I will leave you with no doubt."
"I can hardly wait."
At the twinkle she knew was in her eyes, he closed his own and leaned his head back. "You try my patience, my love. If you continue looking at me like this, I might not have the forbearance to wait until tonight."
"You know I need no soft bed upon which to enjoy your tender ministrations." She quickly undid the knot on his cravat and his eyes flew open as she straddled him, her skirts hiked up high so her bare thighs pressed against the linen of his black trousers. "Besides, I've always wanted to know what you meant when you told me two years ago that pain and pleasure go quite well together." She pressed her lips to the column of his exposed throat, gently nipping the skin as he'd done to her. At the rumble of his chest, she sat back, a wide smile on her face. "Is this what you mean?"
His expression was a mixture of unchecked desire and something else that was dark and dangerous. "Are you certain, Frederica?" His guttural voice sent a thrill down her spine. She nodded, her heart pounding in anticipation.
His tongue demanded entrance into her mouth, and when she wasn't quick enough, he sucked her bottom lip savagely, tugging on it.
His hands grabbed her buttocks and squeezed until she gasped into his mouth. And then suddenly, he reached around to pinch her secret bud. Wetness flooded her passage immediately even as little pinpricks of pain lingered. His palm ground hard against her bud and it tingled as his fingers speared her roughly and she cried out in surprise. "Frederica, you're so wet right now." He pumped his fingers in and out of her and she matched it with her own thrusts, their groans of pleasure filling the air, rivalling the pounding of the horses' hooves against the ground in volume.
"Keep your eyes open, Frederica." The hard edge of his voice sent thrills down her spine and she did as she was told, watching him watch her as he drove his fingers in and out of her mercilessly, sending bolts of pleasure shooting through every part of her. He reached for her breast, kneading it through her gown, his thumb sneaking under her neckline to brush against the linen of her chemise. She bit her lip, enjoying the way the cloth rubbed against her sensitive nipple.
"Garrett..." her head tilted back as she pushed her breasts into his hands wanting more.
"You liked it when I bit your nipple the other night, didn't you?" At her nod, he thumbed the nipple he was torturing hard and she couldn't keep her moan in. "When I can have you naked on a bed, I'm going to take my time with them and enjoy torturing you until you see stars."
"You'd better keep your promise," she panted out, kissing his lips that had spread into a wide grin.
A loud thwack, then a smarting burn on her behind before she was lifted from her seat on his lap. "Grab onto the back of the squabs." He commanded as he stood behind her, while her knees were on the cushions, feet dangling over the edge. The carriage jostled wildly but he propped one knee next to hers and kept a hand pressed against the ceiling while the other lifted her skirts up over her back. When his finger skimmed along the exposed flesh of the back of her thighs and buttocks, she felt goosebumps rise and impossible as it seemed, she grew even wetter between her thighs. "Garrett," she moaned as his feather-light touch brushed against her nether lips, "stop teasing me and put your prick in."
His thumb reached forward and pressed her little nub hard as he draped his body over her back and pushed himself into her in one stroke, eliciting a harsh cry from her. She barely had the chance to appreciate the fullness of him, before he withdraw and then with a firm grip on her hip, plunged in again with such force, she'd have knocked against the back of the seat had she not hold it as instructed.
Forceful thrusts followed and she spun higher and out of control, every fibre of her being focused on the tight grip of her hips as he directed her movements, on the flicks of his fingers against her tight nub, on the way he fucked her thoroughly.
"Frederica, please tell me you're close," he panted close to her ear. "I doubt I can hold out much longer."
She pushed her hips back into his, wringing a loud groan from him. "You have already given me more pleasure than I imagined, Garrett. Take what you need from me." She looked over her shoulder as she squeezed her inner walls, "I love you, Garrett."
He stilled for a breath, the wonder and joy evident on his face. His final thrust lifted her slightly off her knees, and she fell off the edge with him.
"Tell me again. Of your love for me." Garrett demanded once they'd righted their clothes and were seated. His clothes were still undone, and the indolent, disheveled look suited him as much as the staid demeanour he wore almost all the time.
"A little highhanded, are we?"
He turned serious. "I merely wish to confirm that I hadn't misheard you earlier."
"You hadn't." She leaned forward to brush her lips against his. "I love you, Garrett."
"Is it because you have discovered that you like it rough?"
His suggestive grin had her sending him her own coy smile. "Perhaps." She reached under his unbuttoned waistcoat to find his nipple covered by his shirt. "A little pain does go a long way in enhancing the pleasure." And pinched it between her fingers. At his husky growl, she laughed. "But that isn't why I love you." Withdrawing her hand, she began to do up the buttons. "It all began during your mother's house party, when you listened to my thoughts without censure." She looked up shyly at him. "It was utterly refreshing to air my ideas unreservedly to a member of the opposite sex who neither denigrated me nor was abhorred by my opinions. I think I fell a little in love with you then."
He took her hand in his. "It constantly pains me to know that my sex does not often appreciate the views of women simply because they think it lacking in wisdom when it is entirely the opposite."
She poked him in his side. "And this is why you even made Julia feel like she might fall in love with you eventually."
"You say it like it's a terrible thing." He paused. "Did she though?"
She rolled her eyes at his shamelessness. "Are you determined to make all women in Britain fall in love with you?"
"No, just you." He kissed her fingers. "And now that you are, I'm content. But if you've loved me since then, why have you only told me now?"
"I only said I might have fallen in love with you then. It wasn't that I've loved you all this while." His exaggerated mournful look had her shaking her head.
"What then made you love me?"
"Because you are the most selfless man I know. And because you proved that William's happiness was more important than yours." She toyed with a button on his morning coat. "Yesterday, when you declared that you would learn how to care for William, I realised then that had I not been illegitimate, I'd have accepted your hand. And now that I've discovered that I'm not, the last barrier has been removed."
"And you are free to be mine just as I've always been yours."
"Yes," she tapped the tip of his nose. "Though I could hardly understand why. I was no catch."
"Aren't you? Your wittiness and directness two years ago had already sunk their hooks into me long before I realised why I was so taken with you. I only knew then that your vivacity, your brazenness had made me feel the most alive I'd ever felt. Matching my wits with yours was the most fun I had. And even when I was bested by you, it didn't feel like I'd lost at all."
"'tis rare a man who'd admit to liking being bested by a woman." She looked at him coquettishly. "So, am I to believe that in the future, when you have lost every argument with me, you will not go to your club and complain loudly that your wife is disagreeable?"
"Even if I do, I will still be the envy of every man for I've the best woman — one who is clever as she is beautiful."