The Rogue Who Rescued Her

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by Christi Caldwell


  And Martha was nothing but miserable.

  Because she missed Graham.

  Missed him, even as he sat across from her now on the opposite bench of the same carriage that now escorted her home.

  To her new home.

  He was home. Tell him that…

  Graham, however, remained engrossed in the file on his lap, the same folder he’d read for the past forty-five minutes and handful of seconds, while she sat there watching him, with nothing to say when words had always come easy for her with him.

  Of course, then he’d wished to talk. Since they’d left Fitzmorris’ office, Graham had… retreated in every way a person could retreat. She’d not seen him again until he’d helped her into his carriage loaded with her belongings and climbed in across from her. “I—”

  “You needn’t thank me, Martha,” he interrupted, not even lifting his head. Studying. Reading.

  And then scribbling something on that page with a small pencil. He turned another page.

  “Will you…” Talk to me. Say something. Look at me. And she found the latter wasn’t enough. Graham didn’t look up. “Spend the holiday with your family?” she finished lamely.

  This time, he did look up.

  “F-Frederick mentioned your mother paid you a visit, that she asked you to come home for the holidays.” To the house party and the flawless lady his family had handpicked for him.

  “Did he… mention anything else about my mother’s visit?”

  “No.” Martha balled her hands, thinking of the words that must have been uttered about her. She’d become a source of contention between Graham and the mother he’d spoken of so affectionately.

  “I still haven’t decided. There’s always tension when I’m with my family.” For the first time since they’d been at Hyde Park, before the world had turned upside down, Graham smiled. “They’re a stubborn group.” A stubborn group she wouldn’t meet, the mother he’d spoken of so affectionately and the brother he’d once been both rival and friends with. Graham went back to his work.

  Martha stared down at her lap. She had no right to ask anything of him. She had no right to bare her heart to him and offer that gift to him now, not when she’d rejected his offer in the past. But she needed to anyway. She needed him to know that she believed in them and wanted a life with him—if he wanted one with her—and she’d not resent him for turning her away now. “Graham,” she blurted. “I…” The carriage hit a dip in the road, and she caught the bench to keep steady.

  “We’ve arrived.”

  They were here.

  Her new home.

  Frederick and she…

  Peeling back the curtain, Martha peered out. The frosted window blurred the view of it, and she pressed her palm against it until the warmth had melted the sheen… and then stared out.

  She wanted to cry.

  The white manor house, with its green door and a small frozen lake, was… perfect. It was… so blasted perfect. Except, it wasn’t. Because he wouldn’t be there. Martha swiped her hands over her eyes.

  “You’re crying,” he observed with such tenderness underlying his words that she cried all the harder.

  “I-I am,” she croaked. “Because it is lovely. I-it really is. And I-I am going to s-sound most ungrateful when I-I have no right to ask you for anything more or a-anything at all,” Martha managed between tears. She brushed at them in frustration. “I want to be with you.” Through her misty vision, she met his gaze.

  His throat moved. “Martha—”

  “I-I know we’re of a different station and I’m likely to only bring scandal to… to whomever is in my life, but… I love you, and… th-that is all.”

  A smile grazed the corners of his lips. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “No, that is not at all!” she exploded, needing to say everything. She had concealed and carried everything these past years: her marriage, her children, her secrets. Graham had helped free her from the restraints she’d imposed upon herself. “I don’t want to live here. I don’t want to stay hidden from the world, Society’s dirty secret.” She pressed a hand to her breast. “I don’t want my children to be hidden.”

  Graham leaned across, resting his head against hers. “I don’t want your children to be hidden anymore, either.”

  “I kn-know that.” Her voice quavered. “You were the one who opened my eyes to all that was wrong with sending them away.” He had been outraged on behalf of Creda and Iris when she’d shared their existence with them. In that annoyance on her daughters’ behalf, he’d been far braver than Martha had ever been. Life would be hard, and no doubt ugly oftentimes, for her children. “I want to face all of it, Graham… with you… because with y-you at my side, I can do anything and be anything… and—”

  Graham kissed the remainder of that vow from her lips. It was an achingly beautiful kiss that asked for nothing, but gave all, warmth and tenderness. “Oh, Martha,” he whispered against her mouth. “You always could do anything and be anything. It never had anything to do with me.” He cupped her cheeks, wiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. “But I want to be there at your side, so you don’t have to be ‘everything’… alone. Please, ma—”

  She hurled herself into his arms. “Yes,” she sobbed.

  “Marry me,” he finished anyway. “Let me be a husband to you and a father to your children.” Her body shook with the force of her tears. “And know that any struggle we face will ultimately be fine as long as we are at one another’s side. Together.”

  A knock sounded on the carriage door.

  Martha caught Graham’s hand as he reached for the handle. “I don’t want to live here… unless you’re here with me.”

  His brow furrowed, and then understanding flashed in his eyes. “You think this is your home.”

  “Not unless I’m here with you.” She looked out the window to where Frederick now played in the snow. “With us,” she amended.

  “This isn’t the property purchased for you, Martha.”

  Martha angled her head. “It is not?”

  His lips twitched. “It is not.”

  “What…?”

  Wordlessly, he held out his folder.

  She looked at it questioningly and then back to him. Martha opened the leather folder, and her heart did a little leap. “Mrs. Munroe’s,” she whispered. “It is their school.”

  “I thought we would stop here first, so you might decide whether you want Creda and Iris to remain behind, or whether you are ready for them to come home… with us.”

  He’d sought to rescue her daughters, two little girls he had never before met, and reunite their fractured family.

  “I imposed,” he said uneasily. “It was again not my place. Just as I should not have gone against your wishes regarding Hyde Par—oomph.”

  Martha had dropped the folder and launched herself at Graham, knocking him into the side of the carriage. “I love you,” she cried. She kissed him and willed all the emotion, all the love she carried for this man into that embrace.

  Breathless, Graham was the first to end the kiss. “The other business,” he murmured, rescuing the folio from the floor and handing over the officious scrap. “Will you marry me, Miss Martha Donaldson?”

  Her hands trembling, Martha accepted the marriage certificate, the offering of his name and respectability, and a testament to his willingness to stand beside her through the scandal and anything that came.

  She struggled to bring his beloved visage into focus through the tears. “I will marry you, Lord Sheldon Graham Malin Whitworth.”

  Another knock sounded at the carriage door. Graham held out his hand. “Shall we, Miss Donaldson?”

  With a smile, Martha nodded.

  Martha stared at that gloved palm and slipped her fingers into his.

  Hand in hand, with Frederick skipping off ahead, Martha and Graham started for Mrs. Munroe’s … and Creda and Iris… and the rest of their future—together.

  The End

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