Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Agreement

Loren

As suspected, she didn’t make him wait.

She popped off the settee and minced her way to him, that beautiful arse swaying, her lion’s eyes firing.

“May I have a word with you, your grace?” she demanded in the form of a request.

“You may call me Loren, Satrine, as you’ll be my wife in mere weeks,” he replied.

She stopped at his side, ignored what he said, and invited. “Father’s study?”

She didn’t wait for his answer, she continued into the hall.

Loren gave himself the pleasure of watching her arse moving for long moments before he cast his eyes through the room, catching Maitland smirking and his father beaming.

Then, he followed her.

She stood with her hand on the door and swung it closed when he cleared it.

He turned and opened his mouth.

She lifted a still-gloved hand, palm out his way.

“I get to go first this time.”

He crossed his arms on his chest and murmured, “By all means.”

She drew in a big breath that made her glorious chest rise.

She let it out saying softly, “I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you how indebted I am for your assistance. Mother and Maxie are free and safe and we’re all together again. And I honestly don’t have the words to express what an honor it is that you would even consider continuing to care for me, and my family, by making that sacrifice. But allow me to assure you, Mother and I have been going it alone for some time. We’re used to it. She has Maxie…er…back, and as long as we’re together, we’ll be fine.”

“Even an enemy of the king does not lose hold on his possessions once he’s convicted of breaking the laws of the land,” Loren replied.

“I’m…sorry?” she asked.

“He will be tried. He will be convicted. He will serve a term in prison. And he will be fined, likely heftily. However, he won’t be in prison for the rest of his life and will come out in possession of everything he had when he went in, save the fine that is to be paid. And while he’s incarcerated, he has rights over those possessions.”

“All right,” she said quietly.

“That is, should he wish to turn his wife and daughters away with nothing, he could do that.”

Her lovely, expressive face registered understanding before her mouth did with, “Oh boy.”

“Indeed,” he agreed.

She stood with that for a moment before squaring her shoulders and stating, “That’s all right. Mom and I have been in worse pinches.”

This was interesting news.

“You have?”

“Father didn’t exactly keep us in the lap of luxury. He was miserly with our care. It didn’t matter. I had her and she had me. We survived. We’ll do it again.”

Gods, she was something.

And, perhaps, this was an explanation as to why she persisted in attempting to do everything without pulling a bloody cord to call a servant.

“Satrine—”

“You’re very kind, Lord Remington—”

“Loren.”

“—but I’ll take it from here.”

No.

She wouldn’t.

He had never in his life met a woman so poised and spirited, so in possession of a singular depth of feeling, with a sense of humor and open naturalness to her personality.

She was herself at all times.

One-of-a-kind.

And he would have her.

“You’re contracted to me. You, personally, have no say in that matter.”

She shook her head. “I’m not, Maxine is.”

“Maxine is incapable of bearing the terms of the contract, the same cannot be said for you.”

Her brows knitted in consternation. “But, it wasn’t me who was promised to you.”

“No, it was a daughter of the Count of Derryman, which you are.”

Her face scrunched up in frustration.

Gods, he wanted to kiss her.

“I’ll be reading this contract,” she declared.

She’d be doing nothing of the sort since he was lying through his teeth.

He was also going to have her.

And nothing, not even she, was going to stand in his way.

“We barely know each other,” she stated.

“My father met my mother a week before their wedding, was in her presence thrice, and he fell madly in love with her and still mourns her passing.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you saying you’re falling in love with me?”

In lust, that deed was done.

In love, they’d see.

“You’re soft, yet strong.”

“Sir,” she said urgently as she began moving backwards.

That was because he was moving toward her.

“You’re cunning and clever,” he went on, moving wide to herd her from the door.

“Lord Remington.”

“Loren.”

“I—”

“You dress impeccably.”

“I didn’t pick my clothing.”

“I don’t care.”

“Ummmm…” She drew that out until she hit a chair in front of her father’s desk, corrected the wrong way, and presently, she was pinned against the desk with his body.

“I like looking at you,” he murmured to her mouth, one of the many things on her he liked looking at.

“Your grace.”

He lifted his gaze to hers and growled, “Loren.”

“Oh my,” she whispered, her chest rising and falling rapidly, brushing against his own.

“You’ll forgive my brazen language, I’m sure,” he said. “But you’ve also got an arse I’m fairly certain was made for my hands.”

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Mm,” he purred.

“My family is currently a mess,” she reminded him.

“Nothing like stability to sort that,” he retorted.

“I know nothing of Hawkvale. At all. I didn’t grow up here.”

“And that matters?”

“My sister—”

“Yes, let’s talk about Maxine. If your father cuts you off, which I feel certain he will, who will pay for her care?”

“Shit,” she let slip, an odd word, perhaps improperly used, but since, either way, in Hawkvale they had its equivalent, it was not one he didn’t understand.

“Indeed,” he replied.

“I’m not sure a strong marriage is formed on the foundation of a woman who needs care for a head injury.”

“I’ve seen them formed on less.”

“Where I come from, you marry for love.”

“Fleuridia has these fanciful notions, but that doesn’t mean they’re unsound.”

“Do you have a response for everything?”

“Do you have any real, solid reason not to wed me?”

That stymied her.

He grinned.

She watched his mouth form it.

Fuck, he needed to kiss her.

“Satrine.”

Her eyes drifted up to his.

And then she destroyed him.

“I don’t want you to feel beholden to me,” she whispered. “What you’re offering is more beautiful than words can describe. And I’m grateful for it. But years pass, and thoughts inevitably form. As do regrets. You’re a fine man, so very lovely and protective. You deserve to marry for something as fine as you. Not a woman who needs your money and protection to take care of her family.”

“You’ve just described every aristocratic marriage in the realm, save the king’s, and that was arranged by a malevolent she-god in hopes of bringing a plague to the land.”

“Wh-what?”

“The troubles.”

“Oh, yes. Those.”

He spanned her hip with his hand.

Held her eyes.

And whispered. “Marry me.”

Her body melted partially into his.

“God, that was sweet and hot and romantic. You’re like, impossible to refuse,” she mumbled.

“Then don’t refuse me.”

She studied his throat.

“Satrine.”

Her gaze shot to his.

“Make me one promise,” she demanded.

“What is it?”

“You’ll never hate me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Just…promise.”

Loren was an excellent judge of character.

One might even say expert.

So he had utterly no qualms answering, “I promise.”

“Right then, let’s do it.”

Bloody…yes.

“Sealed with a kiss,” he murmured, lowering his head.

“Oh God, if you’re as good of a kisser as I think you are, I’m about to die,” she said, watching his mouth fall.

With that mouth against hers, he caught her eyes and warned, “Prepare, sweeting. But rest assured, when I’m done with you, I’ll revive you.”

She mewed a mew he felt in his cock and arched into him automatically.

He slanted his head and took her mouth.

She opened her lips, accepted his tongue, then sucked it in deeper.

Bloody hell.

He knew it.

Magnificent.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up, deep into his body.

She wound her arms around his neck, holding fast, and opened herself further.

No surprise, she gave. She gave it all.

And all of it was her.

Sweet and tart and generous and warm and tangy and heady.

Before what was happening in his cock made him take it too far, he tore his lips from hers, used his hand at the base of her head to tip it back, and ran his nose over her chin and down her throat.

Her scent was as intoxicating as she was.

Yes, by damn, he’d made the right decision.

And she had too.

“I’m not feeling revived, Loren,” she gasped to the ceiling.

He lifted his head, righted hers, and smiled down at her, her swollen lips and her sultry eyes, but ignored the discoloration under the left one.

“Floating?” he asked.

Her dazed eyes narrowed. “Gloating?”

“That happens when my fiancée presses so close when my mouth is on hers, it’s like she’s trying to absorb me.”

“Warning, my lord, it doesn’t matter how handsome you are, arrogant is not a good look.”

Snatching her ever closer, he roared with laughter.

“Ugh, he’s smug. The worst,” she complained, pushing with no real strength at his shoulders.

“Feel revived?” he asked.

“I’m wearing a hat to our wedding.”

She wouldn’t.

She’d give him anything he wished.

That was who she was.

He knew it to his soul.

It was why he chose her.

So he could give that back.

“We’ll be happy, Satrine,” he promised.

A shadow passed over her face before she covered by quipping, “Whatever you say, dukeling.”

“You think that’s a cut, but you could say practically anything, still pressing your body to mine, and I wouldn’t care a whit.”

She tried to pull away.

He kept her close.

“You said no backing you in a corner,” he remarked. “You made no demands about a desk.”

It was then, he triumphed.

Because her beautiful eyes grew huge.

And then…

For the first time since they met…

Holding her in his arms…

He got to watch as she dissolved into laughter.