want you.”
Unbridled desire with Oak Dorning had much—much—to recommend it. The first coupling was exactly like a summer storm, fierce and fast, an inundation of pleasure. The next was more of an autumn rain, slow, thorough, and quiet.
Vera told herself to fret about the children returning, or fret about something, but she simply could not, so completely had Oak exhausted her.
“That will hold me,” he said, gathering Vera against his side, “for at least an hour. I spent a very restless night, Verity Channing, and that is entirely your fault.”
“As did I.” She put his hand over her breast and closed his fingers in a snug grasp. Never would she have been so bold while married, but with Oak, no shyness plagued her. “Did you engage in self-gratification?”
“I tried to, but it wasn’t any good. I wanted you, only you, and all of you. The hands of the clock refused to move. After another two or three bouts in this bed, I intend to take you for an ice at Gunter’s. I want all of London to gawk at us and whisper about what might have happened at the Montclair reception last night.”
“What will London be whispering?”
“That Richard Longacre will be leaving Town under a cloud of scandal, though the details aren’t circulating. That some changes will be made at the Academy, a lot of the old guard retiring from their committees, some new faces taking on the work. De Beauharnais will get the recognition he deserves.” He looked at his cock in consternation. “Good God, you are inspiring me once again, Verity. This has to be some sort of record.”
“You are inspiring me too. Will one of those new faces at the Academy be yours?”
“Crouch up,” Oak said, patting her bum. “I have become insatiable where you’re concerned.”
Vera obliged and was treated to a loving by turns lazy and passionate. Her pleasure crested higher with each joining, which ought not to have been possible. She was half asleep, Oak spooned around and half draped over her, when he spoke again.
“I have realized something.”
“That three times isn’t enough?”
“I will never get enough of you, though I might die a premature and happy death making the attempt. What I realized is that I don’t love London.”
Vera rolled over so she could face Oak, all thoughts of sleep banished. “What does that mean?”
“The London I was besotted with doesn’t exist. It’s a place where artists are respected and well paid, where jealousy never intrudes, and patrons are uniformly supportive. That London admits of no stupid schemes, backstabbing, or petty politics. It’s a pretty picture, but only that.”
Vera cradled his cheek against her palm. “I’m sorry. I know what it feels like when a lovely dream is fractured by a less lovely reality. You and London will come to terms, I’m sure.”
“We have come to terms,” Oak said. “My terms.”
A little sadness reappeared through the glow of thorough and repeated loving. “I’m glad, then. London is your dream come true. You deserve to enjoy it, especially now that you’ve sorted out the Academy’s resident troll.”
“I do not love London,” Oak said, shifting over her. “I came to Town thinking to finally, finally find like-minded company, people passionate about art, people who could appreciate me for my talents. I found evil, grasping, arrogant corruption and others willing to enable it for their own gain.”
“You are disillusioned?” A painful process, for a man who sought always to see the truth.
He planted a slow, thoughtful kiss between her brows. “I am less naïve.”
Vera scooted a little, the better to wrap her legs around his waist. Her desire had been slacked—for now—but her appetite for closeness was not yet sated.
“I like that,” she said. “Less naïve. Dirk married a maid of the shires, but I am no longer she, and I like that too. I have made my peace with London, and I wouldn’t mind visiting again, but will you come home to Merlin Hall with me?”
She had grown bold indeed, to ask him so plainly.
Oak left off nuzzling her temple to regard her solemnly. “I don’t love London, but I do love you. You are my dream come true, Verity Channing. Will you marry a younger son with little means but large ambitions?”
“I have never been anybody’s dream come true,” she said, trying to grasp that he had used the word marry. Not a liaison, not a passing fancy when he was on his way back to Dorset. “Do you know what my dream come true