Page 80 of Cold November Rake

You told me that if I wanted you to come for me, I must stay still for more than two months together. Very well. I mean to stay still in Bergen.

My aunt and I have been discussing where we might spend the summer, and she told me of an old friend of hers, Mrs. Krohg, a merchant's widow with a house on the wharf. Mrs. Krohg speaks very little English and my aunt even less Norwegian, yet they have written to each other for years in a mixture of German, French, and little drawings, and seem to understand one another perfectly. Her direction is enclosed.

We sail from here in May and plan to be in Bergen from June until the middle of August.

But if you decide to come and see me, I shall adjust the dates to suit your arrival. Only say the word, and tell me the name of your ship, so I may look out for its sails.

Your wife,

Temperance

[No sketch. The margins are full of crossed-out lines.]

Mine," he breathed.

He claimed her with his mouth, with his body, with his eyes.

She was his.

Utterly. Completely. Body. Soul.

And he was hers.

She was also spent.

She hadn't known what the word meant until now. She had bedded her husband a number of times since she had come home, but this... it had never been like this.

Every inch of her was so sensitive that the lightest touch might have made her cry out. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and her body felt liquid, boneless, remade. She felt as though she had been to heaven and had not yet found her way back.

When she finally lowered her eyes to her husband, still kneeling between her thighs, he was looking at her, his gaze dark with hunger.

She had found her release. His mouth glistened with the proof of it. He had not found his.

He wiped his mouth with one finger and then, never breaking her gaze, brought it to his lips and licked it clean. Heat scorched her from her cheeks to her toes. She could scarcely believe what he had just done, or what she had allowed.

A sound escaped her, half gasp, half whimper, and her thighs tightened around nothing.

He rose to his feet in one fluid motion and drew her down from the desk. Her knees nearly gave way, and his hands at her hips were all that held her upright.

She leaned forward for a kiss; instead, he spun her around until her back pressed against his chest, and she felt the hard length of him against her bottom through his breeches.

His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

"You feel that?" he rasped and thrust his length against the seam of her buttocks. "This is what you do to me."

Then he lowered his head and bit her gently where her neck met her shoulder.

She gasped.

"You turned me into a ravenous animal, and I have no regrets."

A moan escaped her, her head falling back against his collarbone.

His teeth scraped her skin, his tongue soothed the place, and his beard pricked her, until it was all too much and nowhere near enough.

She raised a hand and ran her fingers through his hair, holding him to her. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, and his hand slid up to cup her breast.

Her nipples ached for him. His thumbs circled the peaks through the silk; she arched, pushing her breast firmer into his grip.