by Cheryl Holt
She'd had a crisis in her relationship with her parents, but it would pass. The Fosters would regroup and continue on as they had been. It was British tradition, the stiff upper lip for which they were all so renowned.
"I love you," he admitted, hurling the words like an accusation.
"Yes, you do," she agreed, not appearing any happier about the pronouncement than he was, himself. "But you're forgetting something." "What is that?"
"You're the child of an earl, and I am not," he tersely reminded her. "You are the prized daughter of one of England's premier families, while I am merely the illegitimate bastard of a dead Scottish commoner. Since the day we met, it's all I've ever heard from you. Don't prance about now as if it doesn't matter. I know you better than that."
Stunned by his remarks, she paused, then went over and flopped down on the bed, burrowing under the quilts. She studied the ceiling, fuming, ruminating, but not looking at him.
He wanted to rush over, to take her in his arms and offer comfort, but he didn't dare. He desired her so much, and the least bit of physical contact would make him behave like a moron, so they tarried, unable to move or speak, a void as wide as an ocean separating them.
"Ian Clayton," she finally grumbled, "you are an idiot."
"I won't argue the point."
"You said I'm forgetting something, but aren't you forgetting something, too?" "What?"
"I'm not an earl's daughter. I'm not anyone, at all." "You're Lady Caroline Foster, only daughter of the Earl of Derby. You'll never be anyone else." "Weren't you listening at the church?" "Well... yes."
"My father is not the Earl of Derby."
"It was a small group at the wedding. There was no one present who would repeat the truth."
She scoffed. "Someone told, and the gossip has spread. It's all over London."
"I didn't know. How awful for you."
"All these years, I've strutted around with my nose up in the air, certain I was better than you, being so horrid to you because of it. But the joke was on me. It was all a lie."
What a dolt he was! In the weeks he'd been sequestered in Scotland, he'd rarely thought of her. He hadn't wanted to feel sorry for her, so he hadn't let himself recognize that the pedestal upon which she'd been balanced had been shattered into a thousand pieces.
What did the change portend? Where did it leave them?
A spark of hope flared in his chest. She turned toward him, her blue eyes poignant. "Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?" "I already have."
"Thank you. It is more than I deserve."
He was inching to the bed, his feet carrying him directly where he should not go. He kept on until his thighs were pressed against the edge of the mattress, and he gazed down at her, so filled with affection that he worried he might burst.
She reached out her hand, and it hovered there, a lifeline, a tether, to the only thing he'd ever truly wanted. Dare he grab it? Dare he hold on?
He reached out, too, and he linked their fingers, the gentle touch connecting them, locking them together, sealing their fate.
"I have nowhere to go," she murmured. "Please don't send me away."
"I won't. I can't."
"I want to marry you," she proclaimed again. "I want to be your wife and have your children. Won't you let me?"
Two visions flashed—of the lonely, detached man he'd always been, and of the complete and contented man he could be with her by his side. He sank down next to her.
She was offering him a family to cherish, a home where he would always belong. He would be part of the whole, one of many. He'd have children to care for and a wife to love. In the past, he'd maintained that he didn't want any of it, that he didn't need any of it, but he'd been fooling himself.
He bent down and kissed her.
"I love you," he said, meaning it.
"I love you, too."
"I don't know how to be a husband."
"Nor do I know how to be a wife, but I suspect we'll figure it out."
"I suspect we will, too. Will you have me, Caro? I'm not much of a catch—"
"You're right about that!"
"—but I will protect you and watch over you, and I swear that I will love you till my dying day and beyond."
"Yes, I'll have you, Ian. Till my dying day and beyond."
The vow reverberated around the room, joining them more fully than any wedding ceremony ever could. "So it's settled?" she asked. "Yes, it's settled."
She blew out a heavy breath. "For a minute there, I was nervous."
"I can't deny it: I'm the thickheaded oaf you always accuse me of being."
"Yes, you are, but I'll make it my lifelong goal to save you from yourself."
"I can't wait."
How lucky he was! He smiled, and she smiled, too, and she tugged on his hand, drawing him closer.
"Now that the formalities are over," she said, "I was wondering...."
"About what?"
"It's frightfully cold in here."
"Yes, it is."
"I would pay a fortune to anyone who agreed to climb under the covers and help to warm me." "I know just the man you need." He chuckled and started unbuttoning his shirt.
Table of Contents
Start
