Kathryn Smith (41 page)

She stared at him for a good long moment before kissing him soundly on the mouth. “There is no need. I trust you.”

Her words struck him deep inside, even deeper than her declaration of love, because they meant so much more where the two of them were concerned.

“Even with your valuables?” He said it as a half joke, wanting to lighten the mood before he did something stupid, like weep.

She pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder. Her lips brushed against his skin. “With my heart. You alone possess it.”

He hugged her as fiercely as he could, but it still wasn’t anything compared to the band of pure love that encircled his chest.

“You have mine as well.”

Silence fell between them, and he did not mind. He was content just to hold her, until sleep finally took hold of them both, and even then, he held her still.

Wynthrope left Moira’s early in the morning, but he returned later that afternoon, finding her in the library.

He kissed her soundly, marveling at how she responded to him. Her lithe body molded itself against his as she melted against him. One kiss and he was already hard.

“Shall we play a game of chess?” he suggested, breaking their kiss.

She looked as though she wanted to throttle him. “Chess? You want to play chess?”

Clearly his wanton queen had something else on her mind. He had noticed that the house was curiously quiet. Had she sent everyone out so that they might have some privacy? “Yes, I do,” he replied, fighting the urge to chuckle. “Shall we?”

Somewhat sullenly, Moira nodded.

“I will set up the board,” he offered, going to the table where they used to play. “I assume you have no objections to me playing white?”

“Play whatever you like.”

He grinned as he prepared the table for play. To know that she wanted him that badly, that her lust for him was as great as his for her was a heady realization.

He made one final adjustment to the pieces and then turned, holding his hand out to her. “Come play.”

She did as he bid, her lower lip still pouty as she took his hand and allowed him to guide her to her chair.

She wasn’t the least bit interested in the game. He could tell from her posture and the set of her expression as they took their seats. He made the first move—a simple relocation of a pawn. It wasn’t his pieces that mattered.

Sighing, obviously resigned to not having her way, Moira looked down to decide her own move. And then she froze. Wynthrope watched her, his breath caught in his throat.

She picked up the black queen, lifting it to eye level. The golden ring around its neck gleamed in the sunlight. The large emerald set in the gold shimmered and twinkled.

“Marry me.” His voice was a rasp in the silence.

She stared at him, her mouth agape.

He took the queen from her trembling fingers and lifted the ring from it. Then, he took Moira’s left hand in his and poised the ring around the tip of her finger. “Say the word and I will be at your command forever.”

Moira nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes. But I do not want to command you.”

The ring slid easily over her finger, coming to rest at the base with perfect snugness. He had been right about the size—perfectly right. He released her hand, even though he was reluctant to let her go. That she didn’t want to command him didn’t matter—he was her servant till his dying day.

She bolted out of her chair and came around the table. He barely had time to shove away from the table before she
launched herself into his arms, covering his face with kisses that made him laugh with joy. She had said yes!

Her exuberance had them sliding out of the chair to the carpet, landing in a twisted heap with her skirts tangled around them. He was on top of her, feeling the sweet softness of her yield against him.

“I love you, Wynthrope Ryland,” she whispered, her face aglow.

His heart caught at the words. His suspected it always would. “I love you, Moira Tyndale.”

They shared a grin before their lips met. And as Wynthrope Ryland made love to his fiancée on the carpet beneath the little chess table, he realized that while there was pleasure to be had in stealing a heart, there was infinitely more joy in one that was freely given.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

IN THE NIGHT
. Copyright © 2005 by Kathryn Smith. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Microsoft Reader February 2007 ISBN 978-0-06-136222-4

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