bring her her pleasure, until she groaned her need aloud and arched her back.
‘Please...’ she gasped as her teeth nipped at his neck.
‘Please...’ he pleaded against her ear, before moving his mouth to hers again. Her teeth grazed his chin, his lips, before she kissed him and it was a kiss that mirrored both the desperation and the torture in his soul.
He slid his fingers into her and watched the heat flare all the hotter in her eyes. And when he replaced his fingers with himself he waited, letting her grow used to the girth of him, watching her, and all that was between them, this thing that was so much more than desire and lust, shimmered and throbbed and roared its strength.
‘Francis...’ Their eyes clung together as he began to move within her, slowly at first, and then faster and deeper and stronger as she rose to meet each thrust, until she sighed her relief and he spilled his seed within her.
* * *
He kissed the breath from her mouth with a gentleness that belied the fierceness of their lovemaking. And in his eyes, his dark soulful eyes, she saw not anger or condemnation, only tenderness and hurt...and something that looked a lot like love.
I love you, she whispered in her mind, and kissed him with all that was in her heart. She clung to him as if she could capture this most precious of moments for all eternity. I love you, as she drifted back down to earth in the strong protection of his arms. But the words were silent on her lips, and as the light and the magic and the moment faded she could not speak them.
He rolled off her and lay on his side. He spoke not one word, but his eyes held hers for a moment and she saw in them the echo of all that had just been before he turned away and climbed from the bed. He did not look at her again, just dressed himself quickly, smoothly, efficiently, the expression on his face closed, serious, as coldly handsome as the first night she had seen him. And the chilling silence of the cell cooled the wonder and the warmth and togetherness from her soul, leaving her feeling raw and empty and alone.
She swallowed down the lump that was sticking like a rock in her throat, too proud to show anything of her hurt. She rose and donned her clothes, affecting an unhurried and calm demeanour, ever the consummate actress, as if she were not weeping inside. The silence between them was louder than any words.
She kept her back to him as she fastened the pearl buttons of the dark green dress in which she had been married. Those buttons she could not reach she just left, but when she would have let the heavy hank of hair drop to disguise the gaping green silk, Linwood’s hand caught it, making her breath catch at his sudden silent proximity. There was a smallest of hesitation before she felt the brush of his fingers against the exposed skin of the nape of her neck. Her heart was thudding hard enough to escape her chest, but he stepped away when it was done.
‘We need to talk about tomorrow,’ he said, his voice betraying as little emotion as his face.
She gave a brief nod. ‘We do.’ They sat down on opposite sides of the little table. And like two strangers, rather than lovers, they began a cool and dispassionate discussion of what would take place at the trial. And in her line of vision, over Linwood’s shoulder, Venetia could see the bed and the rumpled sheets and covers still warm from the heat and passion of their lovemaking.
Chapter Eighteen
Within the cell afternoon faded to evening and evening to night.
‘Do you wish me to leave?’ Her hair still hung loose and long over her shoulders. She was almost as cool and self-possessed as the divine Miss Fox had been.
He knew he should send her home. She was his wife and no one could now doubt that the marriage had been well and truly consummated, not with the colour that touched her cheeks and the tousle of her hair and the beautiful wanton air of a woman well loved that clung all around her.
He shook his head. He did not want to say the words, did not want to admit the weakness, and yet he did not want to be without her, not tonight of all nights. He