His hands grazed her waist, then the curves of her breasts, with such tenderness, it was as if she were something to be worshipped. She couldn’t bear it. She was too impatient, too close to crying that he should make her hope like this. Pulling his face back to hers, she kissed him again, clumsily, and fumbled to undress him. His buttons were too-complicated puzzles. His belt clattered too loudly on the floor. Every barrier between them was cumbersome, destructible, as she searched for his bare skin. He let her do it patiently, his eyes hungry and wanting.

At last, she succeeded, her hands splayed out against the solid warmth of his chest. The moment she removed everything between them, Hal pulled her against him as though he couldn’t bear being apart from her a moment longer than necessary. His weight settled over her, everywhere they touched hot and aching.

His usual confidence faded as he stared down at her. In its place was something strange on him. Nervousness. She couldn’t reassure him, really. Not when her heart thrummed against his with equal parts anxiety and anticipation. She brushed his hair back from his face.

“You’re certain?” he asked.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” she said. “I want you.”

Hal sighed, a ragged sound. Surrender.

He was gentle—everything between them sorry, then yes, there, then wait, until at last it settled. As she lost herself in the darkness of his eyes, she realized something she’d known for some time. It was one of those inarticulable, unquestionable truths of the universe, glimmering in the depths of his wonderstruck gaze. Hal Cavendish was hers, and he would do anything she asked of him. And she would do the same.

He was so impossibly still, and she swore she was flying.

“You’re not hurting me,” she whispered hoarsely. When he kissed her, she tasted his relief like a sugar cube pressed onto her tongue. No, he couldn’t hurt her. Not on purpose.

Afterward, Wren stayed awake long after his breathing slowed. It was a vigil her body demanded she keep. She couldn’t rest until she made sure he wouldn’t be taken from her again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Wren jerked awake from a nightmare. But when she opened her eyes, it was only to a darkness muffling her like a quilt drawn over her head. The soft shadows were dappled by the faint glow of lamps outside the window. Her breathing evened out, even as her stomach churned.

I’m in the abbey, she told herself. I’m safe.