And when he was deep within her and she was watching his face, losing herself in his eyes as he was buried in her body, he began to speak softly.
"I'm not going to apologize, Theo. I'm not responsible for your grandfather's plots, but he knew perfectly well that Stoneridge and the title are nothing without the estate. And he wanted his son's blood to inherit his estate. If it had been divided among the four of you, it would have been almost impossible to administer. An estate can't have four owners and still prosper. This was his way of resolving all those conflicts. I'm no better and no worse than the next man, Theo, and I promise you that no man worth his salt would have turned his back on such an opportunity."
He ran his flat palm over her face in an all-encompassing caress that was also an assertion of possession. "Particularly when the prize was a wonderful, passionate gypsy."
His words punctured Theo's world of self-absorbed arousal as they'd been intended to, but she was too far up her mountain, too close to the peak, for them to send her all the way back to the bottom and the cold, clear lake of reality.
He watched her expression, the faint protest forming in her eyes, and he began to move, stroking gently within her, stoking the fires of passion again, feeling her tighten around him, the deep translucent glow appearing on her skin as her pleasure built.
"This is what's important," he said. "It's been like this between us, Theo, from the first moment. I felt it even before I knew who you were. Even when you were resisting me, you felt this, didn't you?"
She closed her eyes as if to hide her responses from him, and he chuckled softly. "False pride, gypsy. There's nothing wrong with admitting it. Tell me, Theo. You felt this, didn't you?"
Her tongue touched her lips, and her head moved in slight but definite affirmative.
"Open your eyes, love," he insisted, withdrawing to the edge of her body, holding himself there, watching the mobile features beneath him. Her eyes shot open and were filled with the surprised wonder that always flooded her, as if every time the sensations were unique.
Slowly, very slowly, he sheathed himself within her again. Her loins leaped against his thighs and her internal muscles rippled around his flesh. He stopped her mouth with his own, stifling the cry of joy that had no place emerging from the sunny library on a Wednesday morning.
He fell heavily upon her under the surging torrent of his own climax, forgetting that her arms were still pinned beneath their bodies, and for a moment, still lost in sensate bliss, Theo wasn't aware of the discomfort.
Finally he rolled sideways, gathering her to him, holding her head against his chest, stroking her hair, as the violent pounding of his heart slowed.
Theo lay still against him, her numbed arms and hands prickling as the blood flowed into them again. Her body was deeply at peace, brimming with fulfillment, but her thoughts were as torn and disheveled as her clothes.
His words replayed in her head. He wouldn't apologize for manipulating and deceiving her, because according to his view he'd had no choice. He was telling her that Stoneridge couldn't have survived with four owners. The estate manager in her acknowledged that truth, but she would have kept the management of all their inheritances in her own hands… wouldn't she? If it was up to her sisters, of course, she would have. But they would have husbands… strangers who might have different ideas.
She had a sudden image of herself, a crabbed spinster, squabbling with her sisters' husbands, sowing family dissension over a meadow.
She stirred in his arms, a restless movement of acute mental discomfort, and Sylvester traced the line of her turned cheek on his chest. "Let's hear it, my love."
"You've taken so much from me," she said in a low voice, pushing up against his chest so she was sitting sideways beside him. "By trickery. How can you expect me to pretend that didn't happen?"
"You've lost your independence," he said consideringly, "but marriage has taken that from you, Theo, not I – and you agreed to this marriage of your own accord."
"I believed I would be benefiting my sisters by marrying you, and that wasn't the case."
Sylvester sat up. "No, it wasn't," he agreed evenly. Her hands were making impossible knots in her lap, and he took them between both of his. "Listen to me. When I first came here, I intended to marry one of you. I assumed it would be Clarissa because she was the elder. Your mother said very firmly that Clarissa and I would not suit." A slight smile touched his lips, and his grip tightened on her hands. "I certainly wouldn't dispute that. But you and I, Theo, do suit."
"When did you decide that?"
"From the very first," he said, releasing her hands and taking her chin. "From the first curse you threw at my head, gypsy." He laughed softly, running his thumb over her mouth. "Such a tempestuous, fiery, combative creature you are. And I wouldn't have you any other way."
She wanted to believe that. Oh, how she wanted to believe it.
"If you'd wanted me for myself, why didn't you simply tell me the truth and court me for myself?"
Sylvester shook his head, and a flash of exasperation appeared in the gray eyes. "My dear girl, be realistic. A Gilbraith taking over your beloved manor! You'd have laughed in my face and sent me about my business without a backward glance."
He stood up and refastened his britches, looking down at her as she continued to sit amid her ruined garments.
"You may have lost your independence, Theo, but so, to a large extent, have I."
Theo looked doubtful. "I don't see how that works. It seems women give up everything and men simply gain everything." She rose to her feet, gathering her tatters around her.
Sylvester ran a hand through his crisp curls and over the back of his neck. "One day I hope that you'll feel you've gained much more than you've lost," he said finally.
Theo, her hand on the key in the lock, paused as if she would say something; then quietly she unlocked the door and left.
A heavy silence fell like a pall at her departure. Sylvester poured himself a glass of madeira and sat in a chair beside the hearth, where a copper jug of golden chrysanthemums blazed in the place of a fire. He'd won a victory, but it was hardly conclusive, and he'd used a weapon he'd promised himself he wouldn't use against Theo again. He'd sworn he would use her passion only for their shared pleasure. But surely there was a greater good to be served here…
"Lady Belmont, my lord." Foster spoke from the library door, and Elinor entered, her face shaded by the wide brim of her straw hat.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, ma'am." Stoneridge moved forward, hand outstretched in welcome, wondering what would have happened if his mother-in-law had arrived half an hour earlier to find her daughter behind a locked door in the throes of passion on the library floor. Knowing Elinor, she'd have slipped quietly away, and they'd have been none the wiser. The thought brought a flicker of amusement, lightening his somber mood.
"I trust I'm not intruding," Elinor said pleasantly, taking his hand.
"Not at all," he said. "Theo is upstairs, I believe. Foster will let her know you're here. May I offer you a glass of madeira?"
"Thank you." Elinor turned to the butler. "I'll go up and see Lady Theo in a minute, Foster. There's no need to disturb her. I wish to have a word with Lord Stoneridge first."
Sylvester raised an eyebrow as he turned to the decanter, wondering what could be behind this tete-a-tete. "Ma'am." He placed a glass on the small table beside the chair where Elinor had seated herself.