Page 21 of Raked Away in September

Tamsin leaned in, her gaze intense and supportive. “I feel the same way. I want to give our children love and affection. I want to take an active interest in their lives.”

Rowan felt a surge of something powerful, a sense of partnership with his wife he hadn’t known was possible. “People will say we are eccentric. They will call it unfashionable to be so... involved.”

“Let them,” Tamsin said with a defiant little tilt of her chin that made him want to kiss her then and there. “I don’t care what anyone thinks if it means our children grow up knowing they are loved.”

He couldn’t even imagine what that would feel like, but he wanted it for his future children. He wanted little girls with Tamsin’s kindness, beauty, and sweetness, who were confident in their own value. He wanted boys who didn’t bottle up every emotion and look to fill an emptiness inside with dangerous, reckless pursuits as he had.

Rowan reached out, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. “I didn’t realize I’d married such a rebel,” he murmured. “But I like the sound of that. You’ll have to teach me, though. I know very little about how it feels to be loved.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. It felt like weakness, and he’d been raised to never show that. But that’s what they were talking about, wasn’t it? Making certain his own son never knew a lack of love and affection.

“Oh, Rowan,” she whispered, tightening her fingers around his as a charged moment passed between them. “That breaks my heart.”

He cleared his throat and pulled his hand back, feeling suddenly far too vulnerable. His parents hadn’t loved him—of that, he was certain. But he’d turned out all right, hadn’t he? He certainly didn’t need love now.

But as he stared at the beautiful woman next to him and thought of her cradling a child to her breast, he felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He wanted that.

Could she ever love him? Was he deserving of such a sentiment?

He feared he was not. He’d never known love, but he’d never given it, either. He wasn’t certain he was capable of loving anyone.

She seemed to sense that her questions had rattled him, and she smoothly changed the subject. The remainder of the meal passed in a comfortable haze of shared ideas. They drifted from the weight of family legacies to the lighter fare of the London literary scene, debating the merits of the latest Jane Austen novel with a fervor that made Rowan forget the world beyond the library doors. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she disagreed with him—a sharp, bright intelligence that was far more intoxicating than any wine. The women he usually associated with never disagreed with him or challenged him in any way.

When the last of the claret was finished, Rowan stood and guided her once again toward the pair of chairs by the hearth. The fire had settled into a steady, rhythmic pulse of orange and gold.

“Tamsin,” he said softly, his voice echoing in the quiet room. He stood before her, the warmth of the fire at his back and the heat of her gaze before him. “I find myself wanting to kiss you again. May I?”

Tamsin looked up at him, her cheeks flushed. “Yes,” she whispered.

He didn’t lean down to her. Instead, he sat in the large wingback chair and reached out his hands. “Sit with me? On my lap?”

Her eyes widened, but she hesitated for only a heartbeat before she awkwardly settled against him. The soft silk of her gown rustled against his wool breeches, and the scent of lavender and warm skin filled his senses. When he pulled her close, she let out a small, shaky breath and looped her arms around his neck.

“I never knew that being close to someone could feel so nice,” she whispered.

“Oh, my darling, you have no idea how nice it can be,” he replied, his voice husky with need. He couldn’t wait to be naked with her, seated deep inside her. He sensed it would be like nothing he’d ever known before. He already felt a protectiveness, a sense of belonging, with this woman that he’d never known was possible.

Hugging her tightly, he leaned in and pressed his lips tenderly to hers. The kiss began as the ones before had—slow and searching—but it quickly deepened, replaced by a sudden, hungry friction. Rowan’s hand moved to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in the loose curls of her hair as he tasted the sweet, lingering heat of her. She met him with a surprising fervor, her body leaning into his as if she were trying to close every remaining inch of distance between them.

When he finally drew back, they were both breathless as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Rowan’s heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

“Tamsin,” he rasped, his thumb tracing the swollen line of her lower lip. “I don’t want the night to end here. Might we go upstairs? I would like to share a drink in your room—to talk more, and perhaps... to take this further.”

He saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes and tightened his hold on her hand. “I meant what I said last night, and I will say it again now. You decide what you are comfortable with, Tamsin. At any moment, if it becomes too much, if you wish to stop, I will. I will leave your room with a smile and a kiss on the brow and not a word of complaint. I want only what you are willing to give.”

Tamsin searched his face, her gaze probing his as she looked for signs that she could trust him. Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her. She leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I think that I would like to have that drink,” she whispered. “I am not ready for this evening to end, either.”

The fact that she hadn’t dismissed his request out of hand heightened his arousal almost unbearably, but he knew not to get his hopes up too high. She wasn’t ready yet, and he didn’t want to press her too far. If he wanted her to trust him, to give herself willingly, he needed to give her the time she needed. All she’d asked of him was patience, and he would grant her that, even if it killed him.

Rowan stood, lifting her easily as he rose before setting her on her feet. He kept his arm around her waist as they left the library and began the long walk up the stairs toward their private rooms.

The door to Tamsin’s bedchamber clicked shut behind them, so loud in the silence that Tamsin jumped a little. The room was bathed in the flickering amber of a dying fire, the shadows stretching long across the soft rug. Tamsin’s heart felt as though it were a bird trapped in the cage of her ribs, fluttering with a frantic, rhythmic energy.

He’d said he wanted to take things further, and she had absolutely no idea what he meant by that.

“Wine,” she murmured, more to fill the silence than out of thirst. Her hands trembled slightly as she poured two glasses from the decanter on the sideboard. “I think we both might need it.”