Chapter 18

Dear Larkin,

I'm not sure you'll get this in time, but I'm in a bit of a fix. Actually, Vi and I are in a good deal of trouble…

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Leo Hunt (Son of Alice and Nathanial Hunt) to The Hon'ble Larkin Weston (Son of The Right Hon'ble Solomon ‘Solo' and Jemima Weston, Baron and Baroness Rothborn).

24 th July 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

For the rest of his days, Hamilton would remember the first sight of his bride as she walked towards him. Whilst he would do nothing so daft as to swoon on his wedding day, he had to admit that for a moment there his knees had felt decidedly odd. He had known from the start that his Clara was a beauty, despite the modest and not always entirely flattering gowns she wore and the simple knot in which she arranged her hair. Today, however, in a dress so fine it was worth every penny of the small fortune it had cost him, sparkling with the diamonds he had gifted her, and with her hair in a becoming, if complex, style that flattered her lovely face, she was simply breathtaking.

"Ye are a lucky devil, and there's nae doubt about it," Lyall murmured to him as Clara made her way down the aisle.

"If I am dreaming, dinnae wake me," he replied, shaking his head. "How the devil did I manage it?"

"Never mind that, just don't muck it up," Lyall said with a grin.

The rest of the service was a blur in his mind, his emotions and thoughts a tangle of joy and anticipation that made concentration impossible. He supposed he'd spoken his vows and given the correct responses for Lyall hadn't stepped on his foot or called him a numpty, but somehow they were back at Rochford House, sitting at the wedding breakfast, surrounded by friends and family, and he could not quite recall how it had happened.

The lavish breakfast had been extravagant and delicious, and now the guests were relaxed and the champagne—and Hamilton's best whisky—was flowing as the noise in the room rose by the minute.

Hamilton turned to his bride, who was pink with pleasure and laughing at something his father had said to her. He reached for her hand under the table, and she turned to him, her eyes sparkling.

"Have I told ye how bonnie ye look?" he asked, feeling strangely breathless, for looking upon her seemed to knock the air from his lungs each time.

"You have," she said with a laugh. "So many times I have lost count, and I shall become impossibly conceited if you keep on."

"Like me, eh?" he said with a grin.

"Worse than you!" she exclaimed, making him laugh.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as he murmured close to her ear. "This is the best day of my life, Clara, and I cannae wait for it to be over so I can be alone with ye."

She darted him a shy smile, her cheeks pinker than ever, but she did not seem the least bit anxious or uncertain, which was reassuring.

"We can't leave yet," she said, before adding a question that lifted his heart higher still. "Can we?"

Hamilton grinned. "Aye, we can."

"Are ye needing a hasty exit?"

Hamilton looked past Clara to see his father regarding him with amusement. "Aye, can ye help?" he asked, knowing his father would understand and create a diversion if he could.

"Never say I dinnae do anything for ye," the earl said, shoving back his chair and getting to his feet. He'd made good inroads into the excellent bottle of whisky Hamilton had given him and was in high spirits, which boded ill for the guests. "Away with ye then," he added, before walking to the centre of the room.

"Quick," Hamilton said, hustling Clara towards the nearest door.

"What? Why?" she asked in confusion.

Hamilton grinned at her as he ushered her out of the room. "We've got to save ourselves, love. Da's about to sing."

Clara laughed merrily, the sound wrapping itself about Hamilton's heart as he took her hand and towed her up the stairs. Rochford House was a large place, and their bedroom was on the opposite side of the festivities, so the sound of merriment dimmed and finally faded away as Hamilton led her along the endless corridors.

"What a beautiful house," she said, staring around her with wide eyes as they walked.

"I will build ye one just as fine. Better, even," Hamilton promised. "I've already an architect working on the plans, but ye must look them over and see if everything is how ye would like it. I want it to be perfect for ye."

"You are spoiling me," she protested, gazing at him in wonder. "I had no expectation of such… such…" She threw up her hands, shaking her head, apparently lost for words and Hamilton stopped to pull her into his arms.

"I will spoil ye, I want to do so. I want ye to have the best of everything, to have the happiest, most perfect life I can give ye."

She stared up at him, reaching up to cup his cheek with her hand. "You only need to love me to do that, Hamilton," she whispered, the words sinking into his heart and making it ache with happiness.

"Aye, well, I intend to do that too," he said gruffly, desire and anticipation thrumming beneath his skin as the delicate scent of roses teased his senses. "Come, lassie, hurry. If ye keep looking at me that way, we may not make it to the bedroom."

"Hamilton!" she exclaimed, so scandalised that he roared with laughter. "You are dreadful," she scolded him, but he noticed she was laughing too, though she tried to hide it.

Finally, they arrived at the lovely guest suite his sister had prepared for them, and Hamilton led her in, watching her face with pleasure as it lit up.

"Oh, what a beautiful room," she breathed as she walked through an elegant sitting room to the bedroom, taking in the lovely pale green floral wall hangings, gold framed pictures and luxurious velvet curtains and upholstery. Though it was the middle of July, it was still Scotland, and the suite of rooms was large, so fires burned in the hearths, warming the temperature to one that would be pleasant to enjoy naked.

Georgie had filled their bedroom with roses, as Hamilton had requested, and the sweet scent drifted around them, lush and intoxicating. Clara went to one of the lavish displays and breathed in, closing her eyes and sighing.

"I'm dreaming," she said happily.

"I thought so too, when I saw ye coming up the aisle towards me," Hamilton admitted. "For a moment I was honestly terrified I might wake up."

She turned to look at him. "Truly? You're really happy?"

Hamilton went to her and took her in his arms. "How could ye think otherwise?" he asked, touching her cheek with reverent fingers. "I have wanted ye since the first moment I saw ye, when ye woke me in the schoolroom."

She smiled at him, clearly pleased by the admission. "Why were you there, when you and Malcolm have clearly always been at odds?"

He shrugged. "Malcolm was too drunk to work but I couldnae leave the boys without someone to school them. I'm nae the greatest teacher in the world, but better than none at all."

Clara stared at him and then reached up, framing his face with her hands. "You are a good man, Hamilton Anderson, the best man I have ever known, and I am so very, very proud to call you husband."

Oddly, Hamilton found his throat felt grow tight upon hearing such words and so he simply took hold of her hands and turned his face into each, kissing the palms.

"Then let me make ye my wife, Clara," he said, his voice gruff.

"Yes," she replied simply.

Hamilton swallowed, the anticipation that had been building all day threatening to drive him to distraction, but he only smiled at her and turned her around, striving to at least appear calm. He didn't want to frighten the poor girl by pouncing on her, though he was sorely tempted. His nerves were fraught. Over a month of celibacy—and the nightly dreams of his bride with which his imagination had furnished him—had his patience strung tight as a bowstring. He could only pray he would not act like an impetuous boy in his haste.

He moved to unfasten the tiny pearl buttons that marched down her spine and discovered his hands were trembling. With a soft laugh, he reached for the silver flask he'd hidden about his person, took a fortifying swallow, and tried again.

Clara looked over her shoulder, her expression perplexed.

"Is there a problem?"

"Nae, lassie, I'm only muttering curses against dressmakers who want a new husband to lose his mind."

"There are an awful lot of buttons," she admitted with a choked laugh. "It took forever to do them up."

"It will nae take forever to undo them," he promised her firmly.

It took a good deal longer than his fraying nerves liked, however, but finally the dress sagged to the ground. With more haste than skill, he undid petticoats and too many confusing layers until only her shift, corset, and drawers remained.

Clara peered over her shoulder at him again, smiling uncertainly.

"I think I'm winning," Hamilton said with a shaky laugh, never having felt so nervous about bedding a woman in his life.

Get a grip, ye numpty , he told himself. Yet unwrapping his virgin bride set him on edge, with a reverence he had not expected. He wanted everything to be perfect for her. He tugged at the corset strings, reminding himself he was a man of experience, and he'd had no complaints so far, but that didn't seem to help. Especially when the corset fell, and Clara turned to face him. The shift was still moulded to her shape where the corset had held it tight to her skin, and the fine cotton did little to hide the dark shape of her nipples, and the lush, high breasts they ornamented.

It took him a moment to recall his plans for their wedding night, but Hamilton gave himself a mental shake and took her hand.

"Come, lassie, I want to show ye something."

Clara followed him as he led her through the bedroom to a door that opened onto an opulent bathing room.

"Oh, my word!" Clara exclaimed.

He knew very well that they did not have such a thing at the vicarage. She would have made do with a jug, bowl and a flannel most of the time, a dip in the tub before the kitchen range being a good deal of work for her and Mrs Macready to prepare.

Hamilton went to the bath and put in the plug before turning the ornate gold taps and Clara gave a squeal of delight as water poured into the tub. Steam rose from the hot tap, and she gasped as she hurried forward and ran her fingers under it.

"Hot water!" she breathed, looking quite overwhelmed.

Hamilton laughed. "Aye, and an indoor water closet too," he said, which was quite indelicate, but her eyes grew round all the same. "And we'll have this in our home too, love. So ye can bathe in hot water whenever ye wish to."

"How decadent," she said, watching with interest as he poured scented oil into the bath and the room filled with the heady perfume of roses.

"My favourite," she said, smiling at him.

"Mine too, now," he replied with a swift grin. "I thought ye might enjoy a bath in hot water now, and that… well, I might help ye bathe, if ye have nae objection."

She turned pink at the question but shook her head. "You're my husband now, Hamilton, you must do as you wish."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "Nae lassie. That's not how it will be, and dinnae make out like ye would allow it to be, either. Ye will tell me plain if ye dinnae like something, just as ye always have, and it doesnae matter if that is in the kitchen, the garden or the bedroom. Ye will talk to me and tell me ‘ no' if something doesnae suit ye."

"How stern you are," she teased him, but there was a warm light of approval in her eyes that did much to settle his nerves. She was no milk and water miss that he might accidentally crush. She was Clara, strong and fierce and ready to do battle when the need arose.

Hamilton laughed and reached for the little ribbon tie that gathered the neck of her chemise, giving it a tug. "Can I take this off ye now?"

To his surprise she shook her head, and he wondered if she was suddenly overcome with modesty. He ought to have known better as she undid the little ribbon tie at the neck herself and began slowly lifting the shift, revealing her lovely legs an inch at a time. Hamilton stood watching as his bride was revealed to him in torturously slow increments. She paused as the first hint of dark curls appeared and he made a sound of protest which made her grin broadly.

"Have mercy," he croaked, which made her laugh and tug the shift over her head, casting it aside with abandon. His mouth went dry as he looked her over, his gaze alighting on her splendid breasts.

"Heaven be praised," he whispered in awed tones.

"Hamilton," Clara protested, smothering a choked laugh. "I'm sure that's blasphemy."

"It is nae, for I am quite in earnest," he said, gazing at her in wonder. "I would fall to my knees in thanks to God for having given me such a gift, and that's the truth. In fact, I shall do just that. Let me see the rest of ye, love, before I run mad."

Hamilton knelt before her, tugging down her drawers with more haste than he intended. Forcing himself to go slowly, he took his time, running his hands up her stockings, aware of the fine material sliding beneath his palms. He paused to stroke the fine skin of her inner thigh and leaned in to press a kiss to the dark triangle of curls, hearing her swift intake of breath.

"Ye liked it when I touched ye here," he said, gazing up at her.

She nodded, biting her lip as he toyed with the soft thatch tickling his fingers back and forth. "I liked it too, I liked hearing yer pleasure, Clara. I hope to hear a good deal more of it too. Not only tonight, but for the rest of our days and nights. I intend to love ye often and well, lassie."

"I don't think I shall have anything to complain about then," she replied, making him smile as he heard the tremor of nerves in her voice.

"I promise ye shall nae, and if ye have, ye must tell me at once, aye?"

"Aye," she replied, and he chuckled, and then just gazed at her for a long, silent moment until he saw her shiver. Rousing himself from his trance, he helped her to step into the bath. Once she was settled, he bent and kissed the top of her head. "I'll be but a moment, I'll just get rid of some of this getup. I dinnae want to accidentally stab my bride with this blasted sword," he said gruffly, not wanting to leave her but thinking she might want a few minutes to herself.

"Have I told you how splendid and handsome you look in all your finery?" she said before he could leave. "I was so proud when I saw you waiting for me in the church. I thought I would burst."

Hamilton grinned at her. "Aye, ye did, but ye can tell me as much as ye like. I did think I looked well, though. The Anderson men have fine legs, ye ken," he said, twitching his kilt to give her a flash of his knees. "Dinnae pretend ye have nae noticed," he added, waggling his eyebrows.

"Dreadful, dreadful man," Clara said, laughing helplessly.

"I speak nothing but the truth," he said airily as he went into the bedroom, removing the sgian-dubh from his sock and unpinning the huge brooch on his chest. With as much speed as he could muster, he removed everything but shirt and kilt and hurried back into the bathing room, rolling his sleeves up as he went. He stopped just inside the door, committing the picture before him to memory.

Clara lay back in the bath with her eyes closed, her body and face flushed from the heat, tendrils of dark hair falling about her face and curling in the damp air. The oil scented water clung to her skin where her body broke the surface, glistening and making her appear like some beguiling water nymph, come to tempt him down into dark water. He'd go without a second thought, he decided, moving to kneel beside the bath.

Her eyes flickered open as she realised he was back, a slow smile breaking over her lovely face. "This is bliss," she said with a sigh.

"I'm glad," he said, amused by how quickly she had taken to such decadent treats. "But I'm going to make it even better," he added, aware there was a wicked note in his voice.

She regarded him sceptically but said nothing until he showed her the cake of soap in his hand.

"Oh," she said, swallowing visibly. "I… I can do that myself, you know."

Hamilton bit back a laugh at her obvious confusion. "Dinnae fash, lassie. It's my duty to care for ye now, as yer husband, ye ken. So, will ye let me do so?"

"If… If you want to, certainly," she said. "It's only Mrs Macready and Flora never mentioned that… that you would," she added hesitantly.

"Aye, well, I'm glad they gave ye the basics, I suppose, but I reckon they'll have left a good deal out that we shall explore together."

"Like washing me."

"Aye, exactly." Hamilton lathered the soap in his hands and then frowned as a thought occurred to him. "They didnae frighten ye?"

She smiled at that and shook her head. "No. They were very kind, though Flora made me blush terribly," she added with a laugh.

"Not as much as I shall," he promised her, leaning in to press his mouth to her lips.

She welcomed his kiss, far more practised now as she slid her tongue against his, welcoming him to explore further. With reluctance, Hamilton drew away, eager to touch what was so tantalisingly displayed before him.

Moving slightly behind her, he slid his soapy palms over her shoulders and arms, forcing himself to wait and revelling in the feel of her slick skin. By the time his hands coasted over her breasts, his cock was clamouring for attention, and the sound of her quick intake of breath did nothing to ease its plight. His own breathing was hardly steady either, and not for the first time he congratulated the Scot's race for wearing kilts, so his straining body did not have to suffer the confines of breaches. He sighed, caressing and squeezing the delicious swells, delighting in the feel of the hard buds of her nipples as they tightened at his touch.

"Oh, that's blissful," she said dreamily.

"Aye," Hamilton replied, in perfect accord with the statement. "Lord, but ye are perfect," he whispered, nuzzling into her ear and nipping at the lobe.

"Not in the l-least," she stammered. "I have knobbly knees," she said sadly.

Hamilton raised his head, staring at the knees before him, which looked as smooth and lovely as the rest of her. "Ye have rocks in yer heid if ye think that. I never saw such pretty knees, and I have an excellent pair of my own by which to judge," he added, for the sole purpose of making her laugh.

It worked, and she slanted a look up at him. "You really do," she admitted.

"Aye, my da says Ma married him purely on account of his knees."

She burst out laughing at that, which made his hands slip on her glistening skin and her soft parts wobble enticingly. "She did not!"

"Aye, it's true! I swear it. Ye ask her yerself," he told her, suddenly distracted by having found her belly button. He wriggled a finger inside and she squealed, doubling up.

"No! No!" she protested.

"Ah, ye are ticklish," he said with satisfaction. "That's interesting."

"I am and you are not to tickle me," she said, trying her best to sound fierce and failing utterly.

"Whatever ye say," he murmured in her ear, licking the outer shell and watching shivers race over her skin. He fell silent then as his hands coasted lower, sliding into the little thatch of curls. He cupped her with his hand, a possessive sense of delight stealing over him. "I remember that night, when I touched ye for the first time? I have thought of it every night since, much of the daytime too. Do ye think of it too?"

"I could hardly forget such a thing," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt sleeve, for she had turned her scarlet face against his arm. "And yes, of course I have thought of it."

"I remember every moment, every caress," he said, his voice growing hoarse. "I remember how ye came for me so prettily. Do it again, lassie. Show me how ye like my touch."

She did as he asked, rewarding him by spreading her legs wider and raising her hips, seeking his touch and sighing with pleasure as he happily gave her what she wanted. Hamilton groaned as he slid a finger inside her, feeling her soft flesh closing around him and imagining how it would feel to lose himself in her. The impatience to do so was a sore temptation, but he was not about to rob either of them of pleasure of anticipation, so he continued to touch her slowly, carefully, knowing they had all the time in the world. His free hand toyed with her breast, pinching her nipple gently and caressing the plump swell that fit his hand so perfectly. Clara responded to his touch without reserve, making his heart soar with the trust she put in him, with the simple pride of knowing such a woman loved him.

"That's the way," he urged, kissing her temple. "Give yerself over to pleasure, to me."

She did, taking him at his word, crying out and convulsing under his touch as the water around her rippled and sloshed against the sides and she clung to his arms, making his shirt sleeve sodden, not that he gave a damn. The sight of her taking her own pleasure was the most marvellous thing he'd ever seen in his entire life. Hamilton leaned over the bath, capturing her mouth, kissing her hard and deep, mad with joy and lust and need as the desire to pull her from the bath and take her there and then on the tiled floor was temptation beyond bearing.

He was breathing as hard as she by the time the waves of pleasure subsided, his body aching with need. "Come then, mo leannan . Out ye get, or I shall have to climb in with ye and it will be a bit of squeeze, I'm afraid."

He helped her up, holding her tightly, for she seemed unsteady on her feet, a fact that did nothing to hurt his masculine pride. Towelling her dry gently took a while, however, as he had to stop and kiss each beautiful part of her, especially his new favourite view of her.

Sitting on his knees behind Clara, he could do nothing but exclaim in awed tones. "Love, ye have the most perfect arse. Truly, it is close to a miracle, I reckon."

Clara buried her face in the towel, laughing helplessly as Hamilton kissed first one cheek, then the other. "Splendid," he said, sighing happily, stroking and squeezing the plump curves and rubbing his face against them like a cat. He reached one hand forward, stroking again the place between her thighs as her breath hitched and he touched her gently, aware she would be sensitive still. The desire to put his mouth there and lick was a fire in his blood, but he did not trust himself to do such things until she was safely in bed, and he was in no danger of taking his bride on the bathroom floor.

He took some time ensuring this part of her was quite thoroughly dried, before he could drag himself away, but he wrapped her in a heavy satin dressing gown—part of her wedding trousseau—and led her back to the bedroom.

The covers were turned down, and he watched with pleasure as she shed the robe and then turned sideways, lifting her arms to the pins in her hair.

"I think this is my favourite view," he said, anticipation growing as her hair loosened, for he had been longing to see it undone. "I can see all the best bits at once."

She slid him an amused glance and then his breath caught as her hair cascaded down her back, long enough to brush the curves of her splendid backside. Giving him a coquettish smile that did odd things to his heart, she slid into bed, shivering as she did so.

"I'll be there to warm ye, lassie, in just a moment," he promised her, heart thudding with expectancy of what was to come, undoing his kilt and casting it aside before dragging the shirt over his head. He moved towards the bed, with no thought in his mind but making love to his wife, and then paused, arrested by the look in her eyes.

Hamilton knew very well he was a handsome, well-made fellow, but never in his life had he felt so much pleasure in that fact as now. Clara's eyes glowed with delight, growing dark as her gaze travelled over him from head to foot, lingering on his arousal with obvious fascination. She stared with unashamed interest, a fact which not only pleased him but boded well for the coming night.

"How magnificent you are," she said, a breathless note to her voice that made his arousal leap with anticipation.

"Aye, I am," he said, for the sheer pleasure of watching her shake her head at him. Grinning and unabashed, he went to the bed and slid beneath the covers. Hamilton reached for her, overwhelmed by his good fortune as her cool, silken skin met his.

"Goodness, and how hot you are," she exclaimed, stroking her hand over his chest. "I shan't be cold in the winter, at least."

"Not if ye stay close," he agreed, silencing any further comments by taking her mouth, kissing her deeply, pulling her close to him as his hands explored. She was pure delight in his arms and joy sank deep in his heart as she responded eagerly to his touch, pressing closer and exploring his body in turn.

He lay still as she shifted to her knees, gazing down at him with interest before reaching out a hand and toying with the hair on his chest.

"There's a map," he said with a wry grin. "Just follow the path to the most interesting places."

She gave a little snort, which delighted him, but did as he suggested, trailing her fingers from the hair on his chest, along the line that arrowed down his belly to his arousal. It twitched and jerked as her hand grew near and she looked at him in surprise.

"It's impatient for yer touch," he told her, amused at the delight she took in this information. His amusement turned to panic as she wrapped a hand about him, holding him firmly and for a dreadful moment he feared he would not last above five minutes as sensation rocked him to his core.

"How do I touch you?" she asked curiously, staring as his erection pulsed in her grip.

"Slowly," he croaked, hardly able to catch a breath. "Stroke," he suggested, thinking that had been a stupid thing to say as she did just that and his mind turned to treacle. He groaned and crossed his arms over his face.

"So smooth," she said in wonder. "Does that feel good?"

"Mmmmhmmm," he said desperately, hardly daring to breathe. He let her explore him for a few moments more, swallowing a groan as her fingers tickled and stroked.

"My turn," he said, moving to sit up and startled when she put a hand to his chest and pushed.

"I'm not finished yet," she said crossly, taking hold of him with both hands now.

No, but he very nearly was.

"Enough!" he exclaimed, grabbing hold of her and pushing her down, climbing over her before she dismantled his plans for the night and his sanity.

"I'm going to kiss every inch of ye," he told her firmly, putting the words into action at once, starting with her forehead, her nose, her lips, and working his way down. He spent a long, lingering time over her breasts, biting gently on her nipples, licking the sweet swells and filling his hands with her softness. He painted pictures across her belly with his tongue, making her laugh and shiver, and bypassed the little thatch of curls for the moment, moving down her lovely legs to kiss her toes. That made her squeal again and kick, almost doing him a mischief.

"Dinnae be doing that, or it'll be the shortest wedding night in history," he said, laughing at the mortification in her eyes. "Ye daft thing, I'm only teasing ye," he said gently, kissing his way back up and this time turning his attention to the sweet place hidden in her curls with exquisite tenderness.

"If ye liked the touch of my hand, I think this will be a pleasure to ye," he told her, giving her a wink before he ducked his head and ran his tongue over the most private part of her, revelling in the sweet, tart taste of his bride.

Clara gasped, clutching at the bedsheets and squirming beneath him.

"Stop wriggling," he protested, laughing as he raised his head to see her gazing down at him with fiery cheeks.

"I can't!" she exclaimed. "N-not when you're doing… th-that!"

"Do ye want me to stop?" he asked her, all innocence.

"Certainly not," she replied tartly, laying back with a huff.

Chuckling to himself, Hamilton reapplied himself to the delightful task of making his bride squeal and thrash about and generally lose her mind. He held her hips firmly, keeping her still as she gasped and protested and demanded more all at once. It was a rewarding exercise and when she came apart, muffling her shouts by pulling a pillow over her face, Hamilton considered it time very well spent.

Deciding he'd been quite patient enough and his bride thoroughly prepared, he found his place between her thighs, nudging into the tender cove he had dreamed of possessing for what seemed like an eternity.

"I'll try to be careful, to—" he began, the words turning into a groan as the soft heat of her surrounded him, welcoming him inside. It was bliss of the purest kind, deeper than he'd ever known it before as they joined their bodies and their futures together.

"It's all right," she said, stroking his back, for all the world as if she was gentling him. "I know. I know."

Yet she stiffened when he pressed home, pushing all the way inside and he waited there, allowing her body time to grow used to him, the most excruciating, marvellous torture he'd ever experienced. The scent and feel and knowledge of her surrounded him, his body and his mind and he lost himself in pleasure. He kissed her, using his hands to soothe her once more and letting out a sigh of relief as her body relaxed. She moved with him then, tilting her hips just so, urging him deeper with such eagerness the pleasure of it almost undid him. Her breath was hot, fluttering against his skin, the soft sounds of pleasure she made so arousing he did not know how he managed to continue, forcing himself to pause at intervals to steady his resolve and not blow apart with the sheer joy of it.

"Hamilton," she whispered, her arms going around his neck, clinging to him and giving herself to him so sweetly and fiercely he knew he would never forget a moment of this night. "I love you."

Her voice, giving him the words that sang through him, settling in his heart to reside there until his dying breath, rang in his ears as he loved her, giving all of himself to her as she had done for him. The climax, when it came, shattered him, a pleasure deeper and more complex than anything he had ever known overtaking him, body and soul, until he knew he had been changed by the experience, remade into a man who would love only her until the end.