The Rogue's Proposal (29 page)

She grasped the root of him between tight fingers, circling him, gliding up and down
concurrently with her lips tightened into a round O of pleasure as they moved over
him. Up and down. Tight and hot and wet.

He groaned as hot waves of sensation undulated from his cock and through his body.
She set the rhythm with her long slides up and down him, but he needed control. He
locked his hand in her hair, stopping her, then he thrust into her mouth and hand.

She took him. Deep, soft, wet. So sweet and hot and carnal. She relaxed over him,
allowing him to set the pace, keeping herself open and accepting of whatever he demanded
of her.

He loved that so damn much about her. He loved her strength and her loyalty. Her passion
and her intelligence…and her acceptance.

This was the woman he wanted to be with. Forever.

“I love you,” he murmured, pumping into her mouth. “I love you, Emma.”

She couldn’t respond, couldn’t reciprocate, couldn’t repeat the words back to him.
His bollocks drew up tight against his body, and sensation coalesced at the base of
his spine. He was going to come.

With a harsh gasp, he pulled her off him. Seed dribbled from the tip of his cock.
When she bent down, he allowed her to lick it off, closing his eyes at the near painful
pleasure of it.

“I…need to…be inside you,” he ground out.

He lay back on the bed, dragging her along with him. She scrambled up onto the bed.
She was still wearing her nightgown, but he knew from experience she was naked underneath.

“Ride me,” he commanded huskily.

She settled over him, her knees on either side of his hips, her hot, slick center
sliding over him. She was ready for him. Taking him into her mouth had aroused her.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she gasped.

“You won’t,” he promised. “Take me inside you. Now.”

She reached down to guide him. They both groaned as the steely length of him penetrated
her lush body. “God, Em. You’re so wet. So tight,” he murmured, closing his eyes to
the onslaught of sensation.

Her body swallowed him in a hot sheath, and when she leaned forward, the hard points
of her breasts brushed against him through the fabric of her nightgown. When they
moved over his own sensitive nipples, he gave a low growl of approval. He clutched
her buttocks in his palms, lifting her up and slamming her down over him. Even though
he was on the bottom, she surrendered control.

She cupped his face in both her hands, sinking her fingers into his hair, and gave
in to his movements. She tightened over him, and he ground up into her, stroking her
most sensitive places with his body.

She grew tighter and tighter, releasing tiny whimpers whenever he buried himself the
deepest. God, how he loved the sweet little noises she made.

And then her body clamped over him, and she came in a hot, tight rush, her channel
undulating over his cock. Damn. The pleasure—it was too much. He pumped furiously
inside her, then exploded into her, giving a hoarse shout as he did. “Emma!”

His body released its seed in hot ropes. It went on and on. Luke had no control of
his wild, frantic thrusts as he poured himself into her, as pleasure overwhelmed him
in crashing waves.

She slumped over him—even that slight movement making him shudder. Her weight was
distributed over his body, slung across him, but he felt no pain in his gunshot wound.
Further proof that he was almost healed.

They lay still, both trembling occasionally in the aftermath.

Finally, she murmured, “You came inside me.”

He turned his face, his lips brushing over her ear. He kissed her there. “Yes. Is
that all right?”

She pulled back slightly so she could look at him. He gazed into her beautiful eyes.

“Yes, Luke. It is more than all right. I…” Blushing, she averted her gaze.

“You what?”

Her breath whispered against his neck. “I hope you will come inside me every time.
It’s…”

“Erotic?” he asked.

“Yes. So erotic. And…so much more.”

He understood. They had been together so many times, but never like this. Coming inside
her was a statement almost stronger than any vow. It was a silent promise he made
her. A commitment. A guarantee that she belonged to him, and he would take care of
her, no matter what. He hoped she understood all that. He believed she did.

There was a knock at the door.

Blowing out a breath, Luke called, “What?”

“Your family is here, sir,” Baldwin said.

“All of them?”

“Yes,” Baldwin confirmed dryly. “All.”

“Very well. Show them into the drawing room. We’ll join them there in a few minutes.”

It took a while longer than he’d expected. Emma dressed him carefully, paying special
attention to his cravat, chewing her lip in concentration as she attempted to get
every fold just right. A smile tugged at his lips as he sat docilely, allowing her
to fret over him.

Then she called in Delaney to help her dress, even after he’d insisted he could serve
her in return. He only relented when she promised him she’d give him that privilege
when his bandages were off for good.

Finally, bathed, dressed, and combed, they entwined arms, and Luke rose from the chair
he’d been seated in for the past half hour. Again, his wound pulled but it didn’t
hurt. Still, he tugged Emma tight against his body. He liked her close. He wanted
her close forever.

His family awaited him in the drawing room: Trent and Sarah, Esme, Sam, and Theo and
Mark. They all stood when he and Emma entered, and Mark began to clap. They all joined
in the applause, and Luke found himself blushing and embarrassed.

“Good God, I’m not a child,” he grumbled. “I’ve been walking for over a quarter of
a century, after all.”

“Oh, Luke,” Sarah said, her smile reaching her blue eyes as she clasped her hands
together over her expanding belly, “it is so good to see you up and about.”

Trent came and clapped him on the back. Sam helped him onto the sofa. Theo, the youngest
of his brothers, dark-haired and still retaining that air of boyish innocence, asked,
“Does it still hurt?”

“Not at all,” Luke assured him.

They all settled in with tea and sweet cakes the cook had prepared, chatting comfortably
among themselves. Luke gazed at them, from Esme, the youngest of them all, to his
brothers and Sarah and finally to Emma. She gazed at him with what could only be described
as adoration in her eyes.

It was fitting. Because he damned well adored her, too.

For the first time, they were all gathered together. He’d wanted this. He’d planned
it.

He and his siblings spoke of their mother with far less tension than they had in the
past months. Emma had told them everything Morton had told her, and they no longer
had that black cloud of her possible death hanging miserably over them.

“She’s all right,” Esme said. “I truly believe that.”

Everyone agreed. There was still the matter of finding her and Steven Lowell, but
to Luke it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His mother
was alive. He just hoped that wherever she was, she was happy.

“I would make it a personal mission of mine to find her,” Sam said. “If only…” He
sighed, glancing toward the window that looked out over Cavendish Square.

They all knew what he meant. Tomorrow he was leaving on yet another mission for the
Crown, he’d told them, and he’d no idea when he’d be returning to London. To abandon
that mission to find their mother would be considered nothing short of an act of treason.

“We’ll keep looking,” Trent assured him.

“Always,” Mark agreed, and Theo nodded.

“But she’s alive,” Luke said. “That’s what matters. And I hope this gypsy man is what
she wants.”

Mark shrugged. “Our mother is so whimsical. Perhaps it’s what she wants for now. But
I wouldn’t be surprised if she came wandering back to Ironwood Park one of these days,
full of apologies for making us worry.”

Esme made a low growl in her throat, and all eyes turned to her. “If she does, I do
believe I shall throttle her.”

“You and me both!” Theo agreed.

Luke laughed as the odd image of his two gentlest siblings—Esme and Theo—throttling
their mother invaded his mind. They all joined him in laughter. Even Trent.

When the laughter began to die down, Luke took a steadying breath and rose, shocking
everyone silent. Emma gave a small gasp as his body separated from hers.

He raised his hand, asking for quiet, even though everyone was already staring at
him. “There’s something I need to say. I want all of you to listen and to hear me.”

Suddenly his heart was beating so fast his vision went blurry. He blinked hard and
calmed himself. He’d do this. For Emma and for himself. And for hell’s sake, he refused
to faint.

It was his only chance at happiness, and he needed to grab on to it with both hands
and hold it tight.

Emma gazed up at Luke, confused. He stood over her, looking tall and handsome in a
tailcoat that hugged his broad shoulders and an embroidered waistcoat and snowy cravat
that she had worked so hard to tie just right. A part of her had wanted to show his
family how very perfect Luke could be. And he was perfect, standing over her. He looked
so hale and strong, too—the paleness of his skin over the past three weeks replaced
with a flush of color.

She smiled up at him, waiting. She didn’t know what he wanted to tell all of them,
but pride bloomed in her chest at the sight of him. He was confident, healthy…and
virile. Right now, there was no hint of that sullen, angry man whose face his family
had seen too often.

This was a man who made her proud. And she knew he’d made his family proud, too. None
of them could stop talking about how he’d gone after Roger Morton. About how he’d
leapt in front of her. How he’d taken a bullet for her. How he’d saved her life.

In their eyes, he was a hero. In her eyes, he was
everything
.

He looked down at her, and their gazes locked. He reached down with one hand, gesturing
for hers. She raised it, and he clasped it in the hard strength of his fingers.

“Emma,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “I need to do this here and now, with my entire
family to bear witness to it.”

A frown drew her brows together. “What…?”

He squeezed her fingers. “Two months ago, I was a lost, wandering soul. I didn’t know
who I was or where I belonged. And then I met you.”

Her breath caught.

“You were kind but firm. Gentle but resolute. And so very beautiful. At times I wondered
how you could be real.”

“Luke,” she began, her voice a reedy whisper, but he raised his hand to stop her.

“You really are my angel, Emma. You’ve helped me to find my way. You’ve taught me
how to be a man. How to love.”

As Emma stared up at him, the room seemed to shrink. His surrounding family members
faded into the background, leaving only Luke. Only his firm grip on her hand, the
expression of devotion on his face, the clear look of unadulterated love in his blue
eyes.

“I love you, Emma,” he murmured. “When we are together, I am”—he drew in a shaky breath—“a
man who is whole again. Who is complete.”

Very slowly, carefully due to his injury, he lowered himself to one knee. He brought
his other hand up so he was clasping her one hand in two of his own. “I know I am
difficult. I am changeable and moody and temperamental. I am not an easy man to live
with. You know this—you’ve seen all of my darkness. But you have pushed me toward
the light. You make me want to be a better man. Moreover, you make me believe I can
be that man.

“I will never stop loving you, Em. Since the first moment I saw you, you have been
the only woman for me. That will never change. You bring me peace. You bring me light.”

He bowed his head, brought her hand close, and pressed soft lips against her knuckles.
Then he looked back up at her, his crystalline blue eyes shining.

“Be mine, Emma. I want you.” His voice rasped as he spoke. “For the rest of my life,
and yours. Be my wife.”

For a few seconds, silence filled the room. That last word,
wife
, resonated over and over inside Emma’s head.

Be his wife.

She slid forward, off the sofa and onto her knees before him, her skirts belling around
her.

“Yes,” she whispered. There was no hesitation, no second thought, no concern or insecurity.
Unlike in her first marriage, this time she knew her heart. Luke had become as essential
to her as her next breath.

She looked up into his handsome face, into those compelling eyes. “I love you so much,
Luke. I want nothing more in this world than to be your wife.”

“Em…” he choked out. He released her hand and wrapped his arms around her, pulling
her against him. She held him tight, her breaths short and rapid, her heart pounding
in a staccato rhythm against her breast.

Luke’s wife. Luke, in her heart and in her life…and in her bed, for the rest of her
life. She raised her face toward him. He captured her lips with his own in a tender,
possessive kiss.

“Mine,” his kiss said. “Mine. Forever.”

And she was. His. Forever. He was right—it wouldn’t be easy. They hadn’t solved all
their problems completely, not his nightmares or his tendency to run or drink. But
he’d showed her that he was willing to work, willing to make adjustments…and try.
She had a feeling that that was what people in love did. Make compromises, change,
grow.

Hearing movement from somewhere beyond, Emma jolted back to the present. She jerked
backward, heat slamming into her cheeks. She’d completely forgotten about Luke’s family.

Luke kept her pressed tightly against him as he glanced over his shoulder. Mortified,
she peeked up, but all she saw were smiling faces.

She blinked at them as they gathered round: the Duke of Trent and his wife, Sam, Mark,
Theo, and Esme. Sarah and Esme helped Emma stand as the brothers crowded around Luke,
helping him to his feet as well.