Page 105 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

The realization came with startling clarity.

She wanted him.

She leaned into him, arching closer without hesitation, her body answering his as though it had always known how. She felt the strength of him, the unmistakable presence of him, and though she did not understand every sensation, she trusted him. That trust steadied her more than anything else could.

His fingers threaded through her hair, loosening the careful arrangement, pins slipping free one by one. A fleeting thought surfaced—that she ought to attend to it—but it vanished just as quickly.

None of that mattered.

Not now.

A soft, unguarded sound escaped her as he drew closer, and she felt the shift in him at once—the answering breath, the quiet tension held and then released.

For a moment, he drew back, and she opened her eyes, immediately aware of the absence of him, the loss of his warmth.

Then she watched.

With deliberate care, he loosened his cravat, his movements unhurried, controlled, though not untouched by the same undercurrent that had taken hold of her. She could not look away as he removed his coat, then his shirt, revealing the strong lines of him, the quiet strength that made her breath catch.

Her fingers itched to reach for him—to confirm what she saw, what she felt.

He did not rush. He simply extended his hand, and she took it.

He drew her gently to her feet, closing the space between them once more. His lips brushed just below her ear, soft and warm, and she shivered, her breath catching as sensation followed in a slow, deliberate path along her neck and shoulder.

She did not realize, at first, that he was loosening her gown—that the careful layers were falling away, whispering to the floor—until the air touched her skin.

And yet—

She did not feel cold.

She felt warm.

Alive.

His arms circled her, drawing her close, his touch steady and certain, moving with a quiet reverence that made her heart race all the more. When his hands shifted again, she hesitated only briefly before lifting her arms, allowing him to guide her, trusting him completely.

Still, she closed her eyes.

Not from fear, but from vulnerability.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

She did.

There was no uncertainty in his gaze. No hesitation. Only warmth. Only certainty.

“You are perfect.”

The words settled into her, easing something she had not realized she held. She released a quiet breath, and when he kissed her again, it was gentler, deeper—something searching and sure all at once.

He guided her back until she felt the edge of the bed behind her knees, lowering her carefully. When he joined her, the closeness returned fully—warmth meeting warmth—and something within her shifted again, deeper this time, something she could not name but could not deny. Time seemed to lose meaning.

There was only sensation—only closeness—only the quiet rhythm they found together, instinct guiding where thought could not. She followed him, trusted him, met him without hesitation, without reserve.

And when everything reached its height—when the world seemed to narrow to a single overwhelming moment—she let go.

The stillness that followed was not empty.