“Yes,” she said, quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear.
One side of his mouth kicked up. “Say it again.”
“Yes,” she said, this time firmer, more certain. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
And then his hands were in her hair, scattering her hairpins, and his lips were on hers, stealing her breath, and she was touching him—this remarkable man whom she’d loved for so long and who was finally, finally hers.
Callie sighed into Ralston’s mouth—noting that he tasted of scotch and something more exotic, more male—and a feeling of complete and utter elation coursed through her. This was Ralston, her future husband, and he was making her feel so warm and wonderful and alive. And then he was kissing down the column of her neck, whispering her name like a litany as he lifted her arms over his shoulders and set his lips to the expanse of white skin above the neck of her gown. Callie gasped as his strong hands spread wide across her torso, stealing up to cup her br**sts in a gesture of complete and utter possession.
“This gown,” he said, the words coming thick and liquid, “is sinful.”
Callie couldn’t help her smile as he leaned back to watch her br**sts lift against the satin edge of the dress. “Do you think so?”
“Indeed. It is made to drive men crazy…to reveal all your luscious curves”—he ran a finger beneath the satin lazily, just far enough to graze the edge of a nipple—“without showing off anything. It’s a torturous viewing experience,” he added, wickedly, as he pulled the edge of the gown lower, exposing the straining tip of one breast to the cool air and his hot mouth. He suckled briefly, until Callie was writhing against him, then, releasing her, he said, “When we are married, I shall buy you one in every color.”
She giggled at the words, the laughter fading into a sigh, then a low moan as his mouth worked its magic on her tender, sensitive flesh. He drew the sound out for as long as he could before he remembered their location.
“It occurs to me,” Gabriel said, pulling back, “that this is a highly inappropriate place for us to be in such a delicate position, lovely, what with your entire family mere moments away.” He met her gaze, and the liquid heat in her eyes consumed him for a moment and, with a little groan, he took her mouth again in a hot, open, consuming kiss that stole reason and thought for several long minutes. When he pulled away again, leaving them both breathless, he restored her dress to its original position with a soft, nibbling kiss on the delicate skin of her breast.
“I cannot stay, Empress. You are too much temptation, and I am nowhere near strong or good enough to resist you.” He spoke the words quietly at her ear, his nose buried in her hair—hair he no longer considered brown, but a rich myriad of chocolate and mahogany and sable that was fast becoming his favorite of all colors. “I shall return tomorrow. Perhaps we could ride on the Serpentine?”
Callie didn’t want him to leave. Didn’t want the night to end. Didn’t want to risk the possibility that this was a very dear, very wonderful, very realistic dream. “Don’t leave,” she whispered, placing one hand boldly at the nape of his neck and turning to capture his lips in a lingering kiss. “Stay.”
He smiled, setting his forehead to hers. “You are very bad for me. I am trying to turn over a new leaf—I am trying to be more gentlemanly.”
“But what if I want you to stay a rake?” she teased, her fingers trailing down his neck and chest, fingering the buttons on his waistcoat. “A libertine, even?” She slipped one fastening from its seat and he grabbed her errant hand, bringing it to his lips for a swift kiss.
“Callie,” he said, his voice thick with warning as she set her free hand to the second button on his coat.
“What if I want the rogue, Gabriel?” The question was soft and sweet.
“What are you saying?”
She kissed across the firm square line of his jaw and whispered to him, shyness in her shaking voice, “Take me to bed, Gabriel. Give me a taste of scandal.”
His breath quickened at the words, and he realized that leaving her would be the noblest thing he had ever done. His reply came deep in his throat, “I think you’ve tasted rather a lot of scandal in the last few weeks, Empress.”
“But, once we’re married, it’s back to plain old Callie. This could be my last chance.”
A shadow of self-doubt crossed her face, and he took her head in both of his hands. “Make no mistake, lovely, there is nothing plain about you.” He kissed her again, stroking until she broke away, panting.
Meeting his gaze with her most smoldering, inviting and irresistible look, she tried again. “Come upstairs, Gabriel.”
There was a long pause, and Callie thought she might have pushed him too far. He stood, reaching down to her and pulling her up to stand in front of him. “You realize that, if we’re caught, we shall have to marry immediately.”
A thrill coursed through her. “I do.”
“And that you shan’t have the enormous wedding of which your mother has no doubt dreamed for ages.”
Callie shook her head. “I never wanted that wedding anyway. Mariana can have it for both of us.” Her hands slid up his arms toward his broad shoulders.
“And that your mother will never forgive me for ruining her elder daughter.” His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer.
“Oh, she shall forgive you. Marquesses rarely receive the full force of a mother’s wrath. And, have you forgotten, good sir, that I am already ruined?”
A dark, wicked grin flashed. “An excellent point.”
“There is a servants’ stairwell that leads straight to my room,” she whispered. “The hinges on the doors are beautifully quiet. I oiled them myself.”
He chuckled. “’Twould be a pity to let such diligence go to waste. By all means, my lady, lead on.”
They crept up the stairs—avoiding the third from the top—and into Callie’s bedchamber. The door closed behind them with a soft click, and the air thickened immediately. Callie was instantly nervous. The siren from earlier was gone, and she was consumed with awareness.
Here she was, in the room where she’d slept for her entire life, with Ralston, who overpowered the space, his strength and maleness so incongruous within the dainty little room. She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly together, and wondered if she would ever be used to him so close in such an intimate place. Surely not.
And then he was touching her—lifting her chin and taking her mouth and pulling her against him in the most complete of ways—and thought was lost.
His hands made quick work of the long line of buttons on her gown. She felt the fabric loosen and the cool air brush against her flushed skin, and she knew that he was staying and that this night would be the most important of her life—the night she accepted Ralston’s suit, the night she professed her love, the first night of the rest of their life together. And she could not deny the remarkable rightness in his being there, his hands and mouth on her as he removed her dress to reveal—
“Oh, my. Empress.”
His words pulled her from her thoughts. His gaze was locked upon her, taking in the beautiful silk lingerie, the delicate fabric that clung to her curves, hinting temptingly at what it hid. He reminded her of a wolf—hungry and eager to snare its prey—and her breath caught as his eyes met hers, desire rife within them.