what about what I did to you? How I tricked you into marrying me?"
"Well, the fact that fate had you falling in love with the woman ye set out to fool, I consider myself the victor in this, for you are mine to command. Mine to love."
"I am yours," he declared, kissing both her hands in turn. "I'm sorry, Lizzie. I have missed you so much." He pulled her against him, holding her tight in arms that locked about her, like an impenetrable band.
"When my brother told me ye had signed any rights of Halligale over to me, I knew that ye loved me, for I knew how much that house meant to ye."
"It means nothing to me without you in my life." He reached up, pushing the loose strands of hair away from her face, his thumbs idly sliding over her cheeks. "I have missed you so much."
She blinked back tears. They could move forward, have a life together, a marriage. "I missed ye too. Once I decided to forgive ye your stupidity."
His lips twitched. Oh, she'd missed him, everything about the man in her arms. Even if he had been absurdly stupid, to begin with. "Are you here to stay with me?"
"I am," she said, looking about the room. "And when ye want, we can travel to Scotland to your home there as well. I want ye in my life, Sebastian, and from this day forward, I never wish to be parted from ye again."
"I love you. So much." He wrapped her in his arms a second time before pulling back and taking her lips in a searing kiss. Her body heated, liquified at the feel of him again, his warmth, the commanding way he took her mouth.
It did not take long for the kiss to turn from beckoning and sweet to hot and needy. The months apart acted as a kaleidoscope of need. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back with undisguised desire.
His hands were everywhere, teasing and touching, stroking and tweaking. She moaned when one hand covered her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers.
"I want you," he gasped, bending to scoop her into his arms. He carried her over toward the fire, laying her down on the thick Aubusson rug beneath them. And then he was atop her. His powerful body settling between her legs, atop her chest.
Lizzie reached down, fumbling with the buttons on his breeches. One of his hands supported his weight, the other making quick work of her gown, wrenching it above her hips. He thrust into her, taking her with hard, deep strokes. She sighed. This was right, what she wanted. Had missed so very much.
Lizzie wrapped her legs about his hips, letting go and giving over to his desire, the desperation in each thrust, each touch, and kiss he bestowed on her. She ran her hand through his hair, clasping his nape, trying to calm him.
"I'm not going anywhere, Sebastian," she said, slowing their kiss. "Not ever again."
He quieted his lovemaking, and it was more devastating than anything she had ever known. In every kiss, every touch, she could feel the reverence he felt for her, the care and love he had.
"I love you, my darling wife."
She arched her back, enjoying this newfound pace particularly. "I love ye too. Now and forever."
"Yes. Now and forever."
Epilogue
Halligale Estate, 1813 Scotland
Sebastian threw his son in the air, catching him as he giggled and screamed at the game. He was a strapping lad, already a young hellion and a handful for his mother. Ewan Sebastian Brice Denholm, Viscount Trent, future Earl Hastings, was the most perfect boy. Watching him stumble and run to his mama made Sebastian's heart twist in his chest.
Lizzie and Ewan were everything to him, and every day he thanked the stars in the heavens he had not lost his wife due to his own foolish actions.
"Stop throwing him in the air, Sebastian," she said, setting their boy back on his feet and watching as he ran back to him. "He'll be sick all over himself before Brice and Sophie arrive."
Sebastian inwardly groaned, seating himself on a nearby settee, content to watch his son pick up and play with the wooden blocks at his feet. Brice had eventually forgiven him for his conduct, but it had taken two years after their reunion. Still, even to this day, three years into their marriage, he sometimes wondered if the Scottish laird believed he loved his sister.
Not that he cared what