Would he also remove his breeches? “No, thank you.”

She was out of her dressing gown and sitting on the bed by the time he stood before her, naked, beautiful, and smiling at her. “It’s up to you, Vivvie. The nightgown can go or it can stay, but be assured, what’s under it now is far more dear to me than what lay beneath it last December.”

She looked away, deprived herself of all that masculine pulchritude in the interests of preserving a smidgen of dignity. “You are entirely too knowing, Mr. Lindsey. I have borne a child and am not—”

He stepped closer, close enough that the unique, soothing, spicy scent of him came to her, and close enough that his groin appeared in her line of sight. He was becoming aroused. This reassured too, but it intimidated a trifle as well.

“You’re not,” he said, tipping her chin up. “You’re not that young woman, and I’m not that man. Did you find me attractive all those months ago, Vivian?”

“Yes.” Intimidatingly so.

“Am I more attractive now? You know exactly the manner of person with whom I consorted, you know exactly how I allowed them to use me, you know what I took coin for, though it was arguably criminal of me to do so and certainly stupid. Am I attractive to you now?”

She did as she had once before, sat on the bed and wrapped her arms around his waist so she could press her face to the place beneath his heart. “If I knew more bad words, Darius Lindsey, I would be saying them to make you hush. You are not a criminal. You are not stupid. Yes, you are more attractive to me than ever. I look at you and lose my wits. I look at you and thank God you indulged in all those things you said—with me.”

Confession enough, apparently. His hand landed on her nape. “Then, you ridiculous, lovely woman, do you think my desire for you could ever be less than consuming? You risked your life to bring my child into the world, Vivian. You are beautiful to me, and you always will be.”

He was holding something back, though Vivian was too muddled to parse it out exactly. She let it go, lest he make an inspection tour of her lactating breasts, the slight belly she still sported, the circles of fatigue more prone to show up under her eyes. His argument could be made in the general case rather than example by example.

It was a convincing argument, she realized. He was dear to her in all his imperfections, and he was honest. The erection rising against the slope of her breast was convincing as well.

“Our son will be hounding you for sustenance soon enough, Vivian. Get under the covers.”

“I like it when you talk like that,” she said, doing as he’d bid. “You haven’t acquired much shyness since last we shared a bed.”

He climbed in after her, the feel of him spooned around her comforting, comfortable, and dear. “I have acquired one son, a far better addition to my treasures. Now tell me how long you can stand to have Leah and Nick underfoot.”

He rubbed her back, he petted her hair, he let her talk and talk, and all the while, Vivian was aware of his arousal pressing against her from behind, warm, smooth, and wonderfully, undeniably hard.

Darius told himself he was taking advantage, desperate, reckless advantage by being intimate with Vivian now, and yet, the dear, exasperating woman would not oblige him by falling asleep. She deserved comfort, and by God, he would comfort her.

She’d had time to heal physically from the birth—Darius had consulted both a physician and a midwife on those particulars—but she had dealt with so much.

The mill wheel of anxiety, hope, and gratitude that was his mind of late came to a halt when Vivian’s fingers found his cock.

He could spend, just from having her touch him, he could spend.

God save him. “You need not trouble yourself with that, Vivian. If you aren’t recovered from your lying in, you have only to say so, and I would not want you to think—” Not think he’d desired her every minute he’d been with her and every minute he hadn’t? “I’m sorry, Vivvie, but William is dead, and we are not, and I just—”

He brushed his mouth over her nape. “Please, Vivvie—for the love of God, say something.” He was glad she couldn’t see his face, though he desperately wanted to see hers, so he rearranged them on the mattress, facing each other.

“Darius Lindsey, I will not allow you to make love to me.”

She sounded damnably determined on that point. Woe unto him who seeks to turn a lady into a lioness, and yet, he could not quite turn loose of her. She had invited him into bed, after all.

“Of course, you won’t.” He managed not to sound as emotionally strangled as he felt. She wanted him in her bed, but she did not want him intimately. This was what he deserved, for getting into so many beds where all that was wanted of him was a casual romp.

While he tried reciting the royal succession in the interests of his composure, Vivian wrested herself from his embrace, pushed him to his back, and straddled him.

God in heaven, she was magnificent. Mother, goddess, lady—and something more than all three rolled into one, and now—now—she was refusing his overtures.

Comfort for her, torment for him. A fair enough bargain.

Her lips grazed over his mouth. “You may not make love to me now, but I should be very pleased to make love to you, Mr. Lindsey.”

The sense of her soft words, emphasized by that sweet kiss, sank in, and joy flooded his being despite the looming difficulties, despite all that remained unsettled.

I should be very pleased to make love to you, Mr. Lindsey.

Very pleased.

For the first time in his life, Darius was going to be intimate with a woman he loved, a woman he adored, and could come to as a whole man, offering himself to her without conditions, reservations, or hesitation.

For a succession of moments, he was content to hold her, and she—wise lady—allowed it. She wore the scent he’d had blended for her. The realization was very pleasing to him, even as the subtle, spicy fragrance wafted into his awareness. Other impressions came to him, impressions he treasured because they marked a moment he wanted always to remember: her body under his caressing hand was different, of course, rounder, softer, and more lovely.

The room had grown cozy, which was good when two people were likely to toss back the covers and make passionate love in the next moments. The hour was well past dark but not late, and that was good too, because the baby—their son, Will—would give them time to pursue their passions at length and at leisure.

Desire for her flared up as she kissed him again. “Will you allow me to make love to you, Darius?”

“You must do with me as you wish, Vivvie. I am your willing slave.”

To be able to say those words, to let them occupy a place of uncomplicated flirtation between him and a woman who was intent on having her way with his person took a weight off his heart, and yet, Vivian shook her head.

“Not slave, Darius. Neither of us should be enslaved to the other, not ever. You are my love, and I am yours.”

“Your love.” The term was ardent, simple, and accurate. The last part of his heart, the part that had been trying to maintain some hold on sense and perspective, to think not of the night’s passion but the cold possibilities of the coming dawn, tumbled into Vivian’s keeping for all time.

She caressed his cock with her damp sex.

“Vivvie, I won’t survive—”

Her smile as she used the end of her braid to tease his nipples was pure female mischief. “We’ll get through this, Mr. Lindsey. You have my promise on that.”

Her promise in exchange for his hands on her breasts. The bargains were improving.

Her breasts, lovely before, were fuller now. Her figure had gone from perfect to the proportions of a goddess, and most spectacular of all, she was allowing him to gaze his fill, to note each change and all that was so wonderfully familiar.