Without realizing he’d moved her, Eleanor found herself flat on her belly, Hart positioning her hands so that they stretched out in front of her. He was on top of her, the full weight and length of him on her body, still joined with her. She couldn’t go on with this, and at the same time, she couldn’t get enough of it. Hart had to stop—no, he had to never stop.
His words trailed into groans. His loving rubbed her against the coverlet beneath her, the friction of that driving her wild. She was trapped beneath him, and yet, the fire of him inside her made her feel powerful. She could do anything, anything, because Hart shared with her his strength.
The moment of joy went on, Hart finally surrendering to his. He shuddered, his skin damp, his breath warming her. “My El,” he said as he kissed and kissed her. “My sweet, wicked lass.”
He slid out of her and rolled her over, stretching on top of her and loosening her hands.
“Are you all right?”
Eleanor nodded, breathless. “Perfectly fine, my dear Hart. That was…” She grinned. “Perfectly fine.”
Hart unwound the strip of linen from her and let it flutter to the coverlet. He lowered his head to the pillows beside her. “Thank you.”
He had given her that beautiful pleasure, and he was thanking her? “What for?”
“The gift of your trust.”
She shrugged, pretending indifference. “You are not so bad.”
The sinful twinkle returned to his eyes. “Oh, no? I will have to convince you otherwise.”
Eleanor touched the linen strip. “Is this the kind of thing you like to do?”
“Part of it.”
“There’s more?”
His wide smile sent a hot shiver through her. “Much more, El. Much, much more.”
“And you will teach me all of it?”
Hart’s eyes flickered as he considered. He brushed a warm lover’s kiss over her lips. “Yes.”
Another shiver, excitement deepening. “I look forward to it.”
He lost his smile, a frown pinching his brows. “When I thought I’d lost you… When all I could see was the explosion and you disappearing behind it…”
He was shaking. Eleanor cupped his face, smoothing her thumb through the beard she was beginning to like. “Don’t think on it. We came through, both of us safe. Thanks to Ian.”
“Ian, yes. He’s lived through terrible things, and he deserves… so much.”
“Don’t worry. He’s happy now. He has Beth and his children. I’ve never seen him so happy.”
“I know. Thank God for Beth.” Hart caught her wrist, kissed it. “And thank God for you. I love you, El. I can never explain how much I love you.”
His heart was in his voice, the gruff tones he used only when emotion got the better of him. That happened so rarely that Eleanor treasured it.
“I love you too, Hart. Forever.”
Hart nodded. “Forever, El.” He let out his breath, body shuddering as he relaxed beside her. He pulled a crumpled quilt over their bodies, and Eleanor snuggled down with him in the comfortable nest. The room grew quiet, peaceful.
“I hope you’re happy, Ian,” Hart muttered.
“What?” Eleanor blinked open her eyes. When Hart did not respond, she poked him. “What did you say?”
Hart chuckled, the maddening man. “Nothing. Go to sleep.”
Eleanor kissed him again, and did.
Hart lay in the stillness of the room, watching Eleanor sleep, his mind full of what had just happened.
Eleanor had sweetly surrendered to him, and he’d experienced something beyond price. The two of them had become one, whole, complete. Hart had never felt that with any other person in his life.
Always Hart was alone, seeking to dominate so that his loneliness would not be used against him. Eleanor had smiled at him tonight in surprise and delight, completely trusting. Not seeking mindless pleasure for her own sake, but believing he would guide and protect her through their journey together.
Looking at her now, her face so serene, one curl snaking across her cheek, Hart knew he’d found peace. He’d just now let his dark needs fill him without check, without fear. Because Eleanor had been there to guide him.
With her help, he’d let his needs surge into the joy they were meant to be. Not Hart desperately seeking to forget in numbing pleasure, or Hart taking charge to remind everyone, including himself, who was master.
Hart had been loving a woman, showing her what joy could be. He’d been loving Eleanor.
He’d moved from the hell of the tunnels to the purgatory of the boat, where he’d come face-to-face with the realization of what was the most important thing in his life. Not power, not money or might, not controlling everything around him.
Eleanor.
He remembered how the warm thoughts of her, even when he couldn’t quite form them, had sustained him in the tunnels. His first thoughts when he’d woken again, free of the darkness, had been of her.
All that mattered was Eleanor, and the child she now carried inside her.
Hart spread his hand over her warm abdomen. She never moved, sleeping on.
Hart’s body loosened, and he dropped into profound sleep, curled into her warmth.
The return of Hart Mackenzie was greeted with dismay in some quarters and relief in others. England read of Hart’s survival in their morning newspapers, shook heads, and said, That family is quite unbalanced.
Reeve got his money, more than he’d dreamed. So much that Reeve decided to quit London and take his family to live in a cottage on the southern coast.
At Kilmorgan, Hart rejoined his family to great joy, and also to scolding. The ladies were the worst. Hart barely escaped from them, taking refuge in fishing with Ian.
David Fleming came to Kilmorgan, eager to have Hart take the reins of power again. They couldn’t lose, David said. Hart could hold the nation in the palm of his hand, make it do whatever he wished.
Everything he’d always wanted.
“It’s up to you, old man,” David said, lounging back in a chair, a cheroot in one hand, a flask in the other. “I don’t mind stepping aside. I’d prefer it. What do you want to do?”
Hart looked up at the Mackenzie ancestors that marched along the walls of his huge study, from Old Malcolm Mackenzie, with the sneer that had put the fear of God into the English, to his own father, who glared at all who crossed the threshold.
Hart looked into the eyes above the beard, at the mean glitter that the painter had managed to capture. Behind those eyes was a man who’d plotted to kill his own son.