With This Kiss: Part Three by Eloisa James Read Free Book Online Page B

and that was all it took. He would roll on top of her.
    This night they didn’t say a word, and yet he didn’t tuck her underneath him. Instead, he lifted her so that she was poised above him. She fumbled, learning this new way of making love, thinking about the fact that he was not protecting her. Not afraid for her.
    Colin thought about the same thing, though neither felt the need to say it aloud. He felt free to allow the person he loved most in the world to sit on him, pale, lovely breasts glazed by moonlight, her head thrown back.
    He wasn’t afraid.
    Grace was his, and life was good.
    And he wasn’t afraid.

 
    Epilogue
    Ten years later
    Arbor House
    B y late summer, Portia was almost nine and the rest of them were a little or a lot younger. There were many children, a whole tribe of them. That’s what their mamas called them. A pack of wolves, their papas said.
    That August they rocketed about Arbor House, all the children whose grandfathers had been pirates, though Portia felt that she was the most important. Both of her grandfathers had been pirates, and her papa had also been a fierce sea captain. What’s more, she was the oldest of all of them.
    She had the sea in her blood, and sometimes, if she lay very still at night, with one ear pressed into her mattress, she could even hear the sound of waves.
    If that wasn’t the sign that the sea was in her blood, what could it be?
    But now August was coming to an end, and pretty soon everyone would have to go back to their homes because no one lived at Arbor House, except in the summer. Mama said (and Grandmother agreed) that the house had grown old from being battered by too many children.
    Portia loved Arbor House with a passion, and she meant to live there when she grew older. The back garden was full of half-wild barn cats, and there were nettles in the fields that smelled like black currants. Her mother spent her days painting by the lake instead of tucked away in her studio.
    And her papa was always there, too. This summer he had taught her how to shoot a bow and arrow, and how to tie a slipknot. She didn’t really want to live on a boat, but those skills would be useful in case she ever capsized at sea and landed on a desert island. Portia liked to plan ahead. Her mother said that she inherited that from her grandmother, the duchess.
    This particular afternoon Portia had organized her troupe of eight—all the children who had learned to speak—to put on a play she had written herself. It was a very patriotic play, in which the queen (played by Portia) would quell the rascally pirates (played by the boys), with the help of her sister, who happened to be her twin. Twin or not, Portia was eleven minutes older than Emily, and liked to think that those eleven minutes were very important.
    All the parents had gathered in the courtyard, ready to watch the play. Four mamas sat together, laughing, wearing gowns of strawberry pink and pale green. Portia’s papa was leaning against the wall, talking to his father, who used to be a pirate, but was now an earl. There was a lot of champagne being poured.
    She clapped her hands, but she couldn’t get her audience to settle down until her father finally barked at them.
    The play opened with Edmond, who, at two and a half years old, was as fat as a pigeon, and had rather a waddle. Portia knew it was just his nappy, but even so, she was glad that he was her cousin and not her brother. Edmond was supposed to start the rebellion by shooting an arrow at the queen, but of course they couldn’t give him a real weapon. So he ended up throwing a twig in the air, then picking it up and giving it to his mother.
    Portia had to explain what had just happened—an assassination attempt followed an attack on Her Majesty’s Royal Navy (the entire fleet ably represented by Emily). It wasn’t easy to be a playwright when her actors couldn’t remember their lines or shoot arrows properly. She had grown used to narrating the story,