rush of primitive sensation blended with an almost unbearable intimacy.
And that intimacy, that bond of trust that made them engage in such an act, was too much. He gently tugged at her hair, drawing her up to him again.
She stared down at him, her glistening lips parted, her eyes as dark as the night outside. He clasped her hips, spinning her down to the mattress as he drove inside of her.
They watched each other as they moved together, finding each other's rhythm, learning what brought pleasure. Will felt he would drown in her eyes, fall into that darkness and be lost forever.
Their fingers entwined, pressed flat to the bed as their movements grew faster and faster, their breath ragged. Eliza cried out, her body writhing beneath him, her legs tight around him, holding him to her, in her.
And he, too, cried out in his release, the blood roaring in his head. He knew only her, her scent, her body, and the desperate pleasure of their joining.
He fell to the pillows beside her, his head on her shoulder. He pressed his face to the curve of her neck, inhaling the essence of her. Her breath whispered over him as she wrapped her arms around him tightly.
How very alive she was, his Eliza. Alive and vibrant, as wild as the Irish land she loved so much. But he so much feared that in the stormy days to come, one—or both—of them was doomed.
As if she read his dark thoughts, her arms tightened even more, pulling him into her as she kissed his cheek softly. At the window, the black light had softened at the edges, heralding the dawn.
"It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear,'" she whispered.
Will smiled at her, twining one of her long, dark curls around his finger. "It was the lark, the herald of the morn___'"
"More light and light it grows.'"
"More dark and dark our woes.'"
He kissed her once more, lingeringly, gently, before climbing from the warm haven of her bed. He gathered up his discarded clothes as she watched him, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around her.
"I warned Anna against reading too many romantic novels," she said. "But perhaps Shakespeare is the real danger."
Will laughed roughly, pulling on his shirt "I don't think we needed poetry to inflame our passion."
"No. We needed only to see each other again."
"Speaking of which..." He paused in reaching for his coat "Can I see you tonight?"
She hesitated, her gaze sliding away from his. "Not tonight"
"You have a previous engagement I'm sure."
"Yes."
"Lady Mount Clare's schedule is no doubt busy, indeed. A ball, the opera?"
"My schedule is not so busy as all that! But I am engaged with friends tonight"
"Friends," he said slowly. He could imagine what sort of "friends"-—United Irishmen.
Eliza bit her lip. "And tomorrow I promised Anna I would take her to the draper's to shop for feathers for the queen's birthday at Dublin Castle. No doubt I will see you mere. All of Dublin must be seen to attend the birthday."
'That is not the sort of 'see' I meant," he said, leaning over the bed to kiss her lingeringly. To remind her of the storm of their passion just barely spent.
She smiled, gently touching his cheek. "Perhaps tomorrow night I will send you word. Are you at your family's town house in Merrion Square?"
"Nay, I moved to lodgings in Castleton Street. My family's house is far too gloomy for me, I. fear. Good night, Eliza."
"Good morning, Will."
He hurried to the window, unlocking the casement and lowering himself down to grasp the thick growth of ivy clinging there.
"I grow too old for this," he muttered as his well-exercised muscles gave a twinge. Too old, indeed, especially after a night of passion. But it was thrilling, too, he had to admit The subterfuge of being Eliza's lover at last
Thrilling—and dangerous.
Chapter 8
And I call this meeting to order," Mr. Boyle announced, banging on the table with his gavel.
Eliza took her place at the table, her notebook open before her as she
And that intimacy, that bond of trust that made them engage in such an act, was too much. He gently tugged at her hair, drawing her up to him again.
She stared down at him, her glistening lips parted, her eyes as dark as the night outside. He clasped her hips, spinning her down to the mattress as he drove inside of her.
They watched each other as they moved together, finding each other's rhythm, learning what brought pleasure. Will felt he would drown in her eyes, fall into that darkness and be lost forever.
Their fingers entwined, pressed flat to the bed as their movements grew faster and faster, their breath ragged. Eliza cried out, her body writhing beneath him, her legs tight around him, holding him to her, in her.
And he, too, cried out in his release, the blood roaring in his head. He knew only her, her scent, her body, and the desperate pleasure of their joining.
He fell to the pillows beside her, his head on her shoulder. He pressed his face to the curve of her neck, inhaling the essence of her. Her breath whispered over him as she wrapped her arms around him tightly.
How very alive she was, his Eliza. Alive and vibrant, as wild as the Irish land she loved so much. But he so much feared that in the stormy days to come, one—or both—of them was doomed.
As if she read his dark thoughts, her arms tightened even more, pulling him into her as she kissed his cheek softly. At the window, the black light had softened at the edges, heralding the dawn.
"It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear,'" she whispered.
Will smiled at her, twining one of her long, dark curls around his finger. "It was the lark, the herald of the morn___'"
"More light and light it grows.'"
"More dark and dark our woes.'"
He kissed her once more, lingeringly, gently, before climbing from the warm haven of her bed. He gathered up his discarded clothes as she watched him, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around her.
"I warned Anna against reading too many romantic novels," she said. "But perhaps Shakespeare is the real danger."
Will laughed roughly, pulling on his shirt "I don't think we needed poetry to inflame our passion."
"No. We needed only to see each other again."
"Speaking of which..." He paused in reaching for his coat "Can I see you tonight?"
She hesitated, her gaze sliding away from his. "Not tonight"
"You have a previous engagement I'm sure."
"Yes."
"Lady Mount Clare's schedule is no doubt busy, indeed. A ball, the opera?"
"My schedule is not so busy as all that! But I am engaged with friends tonight"
"Friends," he said slowly. He could imagine what sort of "friends"-—United Irishmen.
Eliza bit her lip. "And tomorrow I promised Anna I would take her to the draper's to shop for feathers for the queen's birthday at Dublin Castle. No doubt I will see you mere. All of Dublin must be seen to attend the birthday."
'That is not the sort of 'see' I meant," he said, leaning over the bed to kiss her lingeringly. To remind her of the storm of their passion just barely spent.
She smiled, gently touching his cheek. "Perhaps tomorrow night I will send you word. Are you at your family's town house in Merrion Square?"
"Nay, I moved to lodgings in Castleton Street. My family's house is far too gloomy for me, I. fear. Good night, Eliza."
"Good morning, Will."
He hurried to the window, unlocking the casement and lowering himself down to grasp the thick growth of ivy clinging there.
"I grow too old for this," he muttered as his well-exercised muscles gave a twinge. Too old, indeed, especially after a night of passion. But it was thrilling, too, he had to admit The subterfuge of being Eliza's lover at last
Thrilling—and dangerous.
Chapter 8
And I call this meeting to order," Mr. Boyle announced, banging on the table with his gavel.
Eliza took her place at the table, her notebook open before her as she
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