“I have never, not ever, beheld so much beauty at once, Vivian. You are—”

Words failed. He was new at this, at making love as opposed to having relations. Oh, he’d made love to her before—from the first he’d been making love to her—but now she was to make love to him.

She leaned close enough to kiss his cheek. He used her braid to bring her down onto his chest, where he could hold her for a moment and catch his emotional breath.

He was nervous, as anxious as he was aroused, and yet, there was no reason for it. Vivian wanted only to give to him, and he to her. This was not a realization; rather, it bore the luminosity of revelation.

“You mustn’t be too fierce with me, Vivvie. Be careful and tender. There’s time for unbridled passion later.” He prayed there would be, but a man didn’t presume, not when his name was Darius Lindsey, and Thurgood Ainsworthy was lurking like the bad fairy in a child’s storybook tale.

She levered up to eye him curiously. “Because it’s the first time after the birth?”

He answered a question with a question. “I was your first, wasn’t I, Vivvie? Your very first?”

He dreaded her reply—hadn’t ever wanted to ask her for this truth because either answer was fraught with emotional peril.

“You were, and I’m glad you were. Very glad.”

He loved her, he trusted her, and he’d asked for her trust in return. He shifted to lay his hands on the pillow on either side of his head, to be vulnerable. When she laced her fingers with his, he had to close his eyes. “I’m glad too, because this is my first time. Right now, with you. My very first.”

He did not dare open his eyes for fear she was laughing at him. The notion was ridiculous, that he could be unsullied by his past, but she didn’t laugh. She didn’t tease or mock. Darius felt her hand smoothing over his heart like a benediction. “You have the right of it, Darius. We will be tender with each other.”

As many different ways as he’d made love with her the previous year—every way he’d known how to, and a few he’d stumbled upon only with her—this time was different. Vivian kept him on his back, the position in which he had the least to do, except to use his hands, and mouth, and body as he pleased.

He mapped her treasures with his fingers and palms, then again with his mouth. He gave her all the soft words and silly promises; he teased and even tickled, though that came to a halt when she tickled him back.

They were unhurried, and while shadows lurked in the room, they weren’t the shadows of a permanent parting, or of guilt, remorse, or self-loathing. They were shadows many couples faced: the unknown, the challenges lying between them and a happily ever after, the worry any parents would feel for their child.

Vivian straddled Darius’s hips and took his swollen shaft in her hand. “You’ve stalled long enough, my love. I must have you now.” Her eyes had a feline glitter, determination and tenderness combined.

“Then put me where you want me, Vivian. Put me where I need to be.”

Her control was impressive—also damnably frustrating. She braced herself over him, joining their bodies by the merest lazy increments. Darius watched himself disappearing into her heat and felt his sanity evaporating as they became more and more intimate.

“Faster, Vivvie, please.”

She complied, though not by much. From some reserve of female wisdom, she was going to hold back, and hold back, until—

He did not groan, he shouted, the hoarse surrender of a man thrown headlong into pleasures of a nigh terrifying depth. While Vivian rocked and keened with him, Darius felt as if his body were becoming weightless, a pure light that merged with Vivian until they were one incandescent being, without end, without name, without limit.

And very nearly without breath.

As he panted in counterpoint with his lover—his lover—Darius had the satisfaction of realizing she was as wrung out as he was. And yet, they’d been tender—excruciatingly, wonderfully, miraculously tender. A whole new variety of tenderness formerly beyond his ken, one he never wanted to lose his grasp of.

He kissed her temple. “Are you all right?”

She swiped her tongue over his nipple—just the once. Yes. While Vivian fell asleep on his chest, Darius treated himself to another inventory of her person. Her hair was a wonder, thicker and even softer than it had been a year ago. This was supposedly a function of childbearing, though Darius hoped excellent nutrition and adequate rest had played a role too.

Her features were a trifle sharper—he could confirm with his touch what his eyes had suggested—and her breasts were both heavier and more sensitive than they had been before she’d conceived.

What he ought to have done was tuck her in, then leave her alone to catch up on much needed sleep before the nurse brought Will in for a middle-of-the-night feeding. What he ought to have done was blow out all the candles Vivian had left burning—the better to display her wares for him—and slip away.

He was never going to slip away again. If he had the pleasure of sharing her bed again, he would not leave her unless it was after a proper good night. This resolution bore the clarity of a vow, one he made happily to himself and to Vivian—despite all of Ainsworthy’s schemes to the contrary.

He eased their bodies apart, spooned himself around her, and fell asleep holding his lover, the mother of his child.

Vivian cocked her head, regarding Darius over her teacup. “You look different to me.” He’d wanted to accompany her to the nursery for both night feedings, but grudgingly agreed to keep the bed warm for her when she pointed out that three footmen and a nursery maid would see him escorting her through the house.

“I am without my clothes,” Darius said. “One hopes that to be a change from my usual condition.”

He sounded—chipper. Not merely brisk and energetic, but eager for the day, which was both novel and intriguing.

“Are you going to leave me any breakfast at all, Mr. Lindsey?”

“I’ll have another tray sent up when I take my leave of you, but, Vivvie, I must know your position on the question of the day.”

He passed her half a buttered scone and—just when she might have taken a bite—snatched it away and slathered it with raspberry jam.

“Which question?” This time, she took the scone from his hand. “I seem to recall refusing your offer of lovemaking last night.”

And the devastation in his eyes when he’d thought she was refusing him had been heart wrenching. Soldiers too long at war had eyes with that bleak look, women who grieved for their children… “You are asking for my leave to deal with Ainsworthy, aren’t you? It’s why you must repair to Town before the will is read.”

Darius topped up her teacup—the tray was resting across his thighs—and settled back against the pillows.

And everlasting God, did she like the look of him in her bed.

“I will deal with Ainsworthy, with or without your permission, Vivvie. I’d rather have your permission.”

Deal with, when uttered by Darius in those tones, with that light in his eyes, was not a pleasant prospect at all—for Ainsworthy. The day was getting off to a lovely start indeed. “Not the pistols or swords sort of ‘deal with,’ Darius. I haven’t budged on that. I cannot condone killing.”

Nor could she condone any notion that lessened the chances she and Darius might eventually share a future with their child.

He slathered butter on yet another scone—one had to wonder if the kitchen weren’t already privy to the number of the bedroom’s occupants—and looked thoughtful. “I can promise you I will not kill him. He has a wife and a stepson, and they are innocent of his schemes.”

Vivian thought back to Darius’s words from the night before, his eyes closed, his hands clasping hers tightly, “…because it’s my first time.”