He was kneeling on the floor in front of her, and he was kissing her so intensely that he thought for a minute that she was going to overbalance and fall with him to the floor. He wanted her, he realised, he wanted so badly to feel her, but not so much that he forgot to be gentle with her. She deserved better than clumsy manhandling. Nevertheless, he pulled his mouth away from hers with difficulty.

"Grace," he panted- he hadn't realised he was breathing so heavily, he'd forgotten about breathing, "Will you let me-…" he began to ask her again, but he was too afraid to continue. The drink had fortified him, but obviously not to that extent.

She watched him closely as he spoke, watched every expression that passed across his face.

She leant back in towards him and kissed him as deeply as she knew how. Where drink had failed to fortify him, her kiss succeeded.

"Grace, will you come to bed with me?" he asked her softly.

For a moment she said nothing. Then, reaching down to where his hand rested cautiously on her knee, she took his hand in hers, and stood, pulling him up to stand with her as well. She led him back towards his quarters.

She moved swiftly but for a moment when she had to pause to open the door. Half-turning back to him, she whispered over her shoulder to him, "I love you."

She was so seductive in that moment, her eyelids heavy with a mixture of all kind of things- happiness, exhaustion, lust- that, in spite of his will to be gentle, he could not help but lean forwards and capture her lips again. But she let out a moan of pleased surprise, turning fully into his arms, allowing him to embrace her, to push her through the doorway.

They stumbled towards his bed, clinging on to one another, reluctant to part even for the necessity of removing one another's clothes.

"Grace," he murmured as his hand slipped between the buttons at the front of her dress, "I love you. Let me make love to you. Please."