13. Chapter 13

Chapter thirteen

"An angel’s wings may soar, but a wife’s feet must remain firmly planted on the earth, lest she lose the strength to walk beside her husband." From The Polite Companion: A Lady’s Guide to Social Grace

A nne caressed Inês’ soft, downy head of white-blond hair as her daughter suckled at her breast. Light from the hearth flickered over Pedro’s form as he laid Pedro II into the cradle with a deliberate tenderness that always made Anne’s heart squeeze. His golden skin glowed in the firelight, and his hair, loose and radiant, cascaded down the side of his face, brushing against his broad shoulder. A familiar warmth unfurled in her chest at the sight—pride, love, and that thrill she felt in the presence of her ruthless warrior.

Inês’ mouth slowed, then went slack. Anne traced her rosy cheeks, smiling as Pedro took the baby from her arms. He cradled Inês with practiced ease, his brows softening and a shadow of a smile ghosting over his lips. The moment was as fragile and perfect as glass.

The room held a serene silence as Pedro placed Inês beside her brother, their tiny forms nestled together under a quilt. The soft, even breaths of their children were a balm, and Anne savored the rare closeness of having all her loves under one roof. The air smelled faintly of the rosemary oil she had dabbed onto the crib’s edge, mingling with the smoky undertone of the hearth.

Anne reclined against the pillows, feeling the day’s weariness melt as Pedro turned to her. She met his gaze, a thrill sparking in her as his expression shifted from fatherly devotion to an unmistakable hunger.

Pedro settled behind her on the bed, his solid frame pressing against her back. His lips traced the slope of her neck, leaving a scorching path down to her collarbone and between her breasts. The heat of his mouth contrasted deliciously with the cool air that prickled her exposed skin. Anne arched instinctively, a deep sigh escaping her parted lips.

“It’s time to stop breastfeeding the twins,” Pedro murmured, his voice husky and warm, brushing her skin like velvet. He nuzzled the hollow of her throat. “Pedrinho is a strapping boy. And Inês is stronger now.”

He was right, but there was a comfort in this bond, an unspoken tether to the tender infancy of their children. And she sensed Pedro knew that, too. “Perhaps after New Year’s Eve.”

He tugged her until her spine was flush against his chest, and with his sword-wielding hand, he massaged her lower back with vigorous strokes that pulled an unladylike groan from her. His breath tickled her neck, stirring loose tendrils of her hair. The heat of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of her camisole, and the tension in her muscles dissolved.

“You have to stop carrying them the whole day, Anne. Pedro weighs too much for your delicate arms.”

Anne smiled, warmth blooming in her chest at the pride in his voice for their little prince. Already, she sensed in the boy all the light that shone in Pedro and vowed, with an ache deep in her heart, that he would never have to learn the same darkness.

“Why do you think Beth was absent from dinner this evening?”

She felt the pause in his touch, a moment of hesitation before his fingers resumed their slow, deliberate path. He massaged her buttocks, and heat coiled low in her belly.

“Is it relevant?” His tone was detached, but she caught the flicker of something shadowed beneath it—a guardedness that only surfaced when he spoke of politics.

“Do you think she and Mr. Sandeman will—”

“We should do all in our power to avoid such an alliance.” His voice iced over, each syllable crisp and measured.

Anne turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. The shift brought her chest close to his, the thrum of his pulse betraying his tension.

“Why?” She reached up, tracing the pleat that had formed above his nose.

“Boyd Sandeman is ambitious. He rose from nothing to one of the largest players in the wine business. I don’t trust him with such power. If he combines with Croft, he will be too big. It is not in Portugal’s best interests.”

Anne kissed the corner of his mouth. The moment his breath hitched, she felt a small victory bloom within her. “Ah, so that is why you so readily agreed to join Griffin here this Christmas. The Duke of Almoster is at play.”

His eyes softened, the glint of calculation yielding, as his thumb brushed an arc against her hip.

Anne knelt by his side, her fingers slipping under his silk robe. His scent enveloped her as she kissed his neck, the taste of his skin making her pulse quicken. She took her time, trailing her lips down slowly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch, betraying the iron control he always maintained for everyone but her.

She brushed her nose against his puckered nipple, then trailed her mouth over his warrior’s chest, taking care to love his scars, accepting all that he was.

Pedro’s head fell back, his eyes closing.

Anne smiled, her lips teasing his navel. “Do you think we can stop love?”

“Ana,” he said, his voice dripping with a warning she loved to ignore.

Her fingers worked the buttons of his Cossack trousers, and she reveled in his lusty groan when she freed his erection. She rubbed the golden length slowly, pausing at the base.

He sucked in a breath. A golden prince, a ruthless warrior, coming undone as she placed the head over her lips.

“You know I’m terribly romantic, Pedro.”

She held his kaleidoscopic eyes as she took him in her mouth.

He caressed her hair, still torn between allowing her to give him this pleasure and demanding more.

“Too romantic, Ana. You must trust me that economic considerations should — Ah.” His words trailed away when she swirled her tongue, sucking softly.

Anne loved this, his sultry taste, the smooth head against her tongue, his sounds, even how naughty it made her feel when he called her angel—a fallen angel.

When she felt his abdomen tense, she released him from her mouth and found his heated gaze. “Love and business don’t have to stay separated.”

He tugged her atop him, her legs straddling him.

She accepted his erection, taking him in deep inside her sheath. Her hair fell down over her breasts like a curtain and pooled over his chest.

Moaning, she held to the headboard and rolled her hips slowly, invitingly.

“I fail to see your logic.” Pedro’s lips hovered so close to hers his breath ruffled her hair. The edge in his voice softened, though his brow stayed furrowed.

“You say that he is too ambitious. Alone, he will continue pursuing only business. If he marries Beth, then he might settle and be content with what he has. What if love changes him?”

She caressed the stubble along his jaw and then allowed her fingers to slip into his golden hair because what could be more glorious than caressing Pedro’s hair while she had him deep inside her?

She searched his eyes, those intricate shades of green and gold that always seemed to hold an unspoken storm.

Her rhythm faltered as pleasure coiled low in her tummy, and she dropped her head back, a moan escaping her lips.

Pedro held her waist, grinding her against him. “Do you believe love can change him?”

“It changed you,” she whispered on his lips.

“You are very wise, Ana.” His voice softened, carrying a note of reverence that made her heart flutter.

“Are we in agreement, husband?”

“We will see.” He captured her mouth in a kiss.

He tightened his hold on her, his arms closing around her back, bringing their chests flush together.

Anne cried out as a sweet, ravishing climax overtook her. Pedro flipped her over, his hips moving in and out of her with the force of an Atlantic tempest.

Anne laced her arms around his neck, and accepted him all—his strength, his ruthlessness, his light and his darkness—she craved all.

Their mingling breaths warmed the space between them, a fire creeping through their veins as their hair, golden and light blonde, intertwined and formed a delicate veil, shielding them from all else.

He came with a breathless cry, his essence pouring inside her.

The world faded, and they existed within their dome, where nothing could shadow their love.