Luhaunt took a step backward.
Rowen’s head went on Wynne’s chest, searching for a heartbeat. “Just wake the hell up, Wynne. Wake up. Please.” His voice cracked, broken. “You cannot leave me now, Wynne. Not when I just found you. I need you to wake up, Wynne.”
“He is right.”
Rowen looked up.
Violet knelt, looking at Rowen, her hand going to Wynne’s forehead. “You are right. My daughter is not gone. Not yet. She will fight. She has always known how to fight, this one. She has her grandfather’s spirit.”
The same smile as earlier still lined Violet’s face. But her eyes looked focused.
Violet stood, looking down at her daughter’s prone body. “She will fight. She just needs a guide.”
Rowen dragged his mouth to Wynne’s ear, his hand cradling her head as he pulled her up from the ground, crushing her to him. His voice went harsh, demanding. “Listen to me, Wynne, listen. You can do this. Just follow my voice. I am right here. Wake the hell up, Wynne. Take a breath. It does not need to be big. Small. Just a little breath. Tiny. That is all.”
His palm pushed on her back. Hit her lungs. “Get these working. You can do this. Just a little breath, Wynne. One to start with. Just one. And then you can open your eyes.”
Hand moving between them to her heart, Rowen pressed. “Your heart will beat. Your breath will come. Just fight it, Wynne, fight it. You can do this. You need to come back to me. You need to fight for me.”
Rowen gripped her body even harder. “God, Wynne, please. You need to be in this life. You need to come back to me. To marry me. To bear our children. To die when we are old and you are in my arms. Not now, Wynne. God, not now. You need to do all of that in this life. This is where you need to do it, Wynne. This life. This one.”
The tiniest shudder.
He felt the breath start before Wynne’s body jerked. She sucked in air over his shoulder, only to be consumed by a fit of vicious coughing.
It racked her body, her spasms fighting Rowen until he set her on the ground. She curled onto her side. For every breath she gasped, five soot-filled coughs heaved back out of her body.
Minutes went on, but Rowen didn’t care. Wynne was moving. Her body convulsing in pain against the suffocating smoke in her lungs. But moving. Alive.
Rowen patted her back through it, one hand on her shoulder, holding her as steady as he could against her body jerking to clear her lungs.
When the hacking eased, her breath raspy, Rowen pulled her torso upright. Holding her shoulders for stability, he went in front of her to see her face.
Still fighting against the wheeze in her breath, Wynne cracked her eyes at him. The whites of her eyes were stark against the soot covering her face.
“My mother?”
“She is here. Safe.”
It took her dazed look several seconds to focus on Rowen.
“You found me.” She had to hack the stilted words out.
Rowen’s face broke into a wide smile. “I did. I got your message.”
“You should have—” Her words stopped, her head dropping as a set of coughs overwhelmed. When she caught her breath, she looked up at him. “You should have left.”
“I could not.” He slipped one arm around her back to hold her up, moving the other to her face. His thumb dragged across her cheek, smearing a clear line through the black soot. “Life or death, I am not leaving your side, Wynne.”
She stared at him a long moment. So long, that fear suddenly clamped onto Rowen’s chest. What if she would not have him? What if he was too late? Her eyes—he could always read what was in her mind, her heart, but in that moment, he saw nothing. Could read nothing.
The yelling, the fire across the street drew her attention, and her head swung, looking past the carriage at the fiery destruction. The fire now consumed the adjacent house as well.
Her eyes went to her leg with the shackle. “The clamp…off.”
Rowen’s head fell. “Yes. We need to leave this place.” He picked her up, going to the carriage.
Luhaunt and Violet followed.
{ Chapter 28 • Worth of a Duke }
The dowager had made a huge fuss, demanding Wynne get into a bath—even before Rowen had a chance to get the clamp off her ankle.
So Wynne was dunked, clamp and all, into a tub. Rowen hadn’t had the energy to fight the duchess, even though he knew Wynne needed the clamp off her leg.
Waiting in the hallway, leaning on the wall, Rowen had heard her coughing through the ordeal, still hacking out all of the soot in her lungs. He had taken a moment to wash his own face and arms at a basin in the room across the hall, and had poked around until he found a simple white linen shirt to change into. As long as he heard Wynne’s coughs, he wasn’t overly worried.
The dowager stepped out of Wynne’s room, followed by two maids. The maids disappeared down the hallway.
“How is she?” Rowen asked.
“She is doing well. I have her in bed.” The duchess pointed at the tools in Rowen’s hand. “She is rather annoyed at me. She wants the shackle off. Can you do so with those?”
“It is what I have been waiting for.”
The dowager harrumphed. “Fine. I will go to oversee her mother.” The duchess moved down the hall.
“Duchess.”
She turned back to Rowen.
“Thank you.”
She nodded, a tight smile on her face. With a swish of her black skirts, she continued on.
Rowen opened the door, poking his head into the room.
Wynne was on the bed in a chemise, propped up by pillows with the coverlet half covering her body. Blond hair still wet, it was pulled over her right shoulder. Her clamped left leg sat out on the spread, the chain and plate piled neatly on a rag next to it.
“May I come in?”
She smiled when she saw him, her hand outstretched. “Yes, please, and tell me you can get this shackle off.”
“With luck.” Rowen breathed a sigh of relief. Her smile was a good sign. He grabbed a wooden chair and brought it next to the bed, setting it by Wynne’s leg. “First, how is your hand?”
Wynne lifted her bandaged hand, white cloth wrapped thick around the palm. “It will survive. It will be a while before I can paint again.”
Rowen nodded, setting the few surgeon tools Luhaunt had delivered to him onto the bed. Long and skinny, the two silver probes would hopefully be enough to pop the lock on the clamp.
“May I grab your leg?” There was a time when he would have just picked up her leg without asking—Wynne was his and there was no other possibility in his mind. But right now, he needed to be extra cautious.
“Yes.” The smile on her face wavered.
Rowen’s hand went under her chemise and slid around her shin, lifting her leg and setting it in his lap. He spun the metal around her ankle to get the lock on top. It had a fat keyhole, and Rowen slipped both of the probes into the lock, digging for the pins.
He worked in silence for a few minutes, poking around. He could feel Wynne’s eyes on him the entire time.
“I did not know you possessed such a nefarious skill.”
Rowen had one probe on a pin and didn’t want to lose it, so he kept his eyes on the lock. “I have had the occasion to learn.”
“You are not going to tell me when that was, are you?”
“No.”
“Rowe, is my nose crooked?”
“What?” He didn’t look up.
“My nose—the duchess would not let me look at it. But I think it broke and it is crooked now. It is hard to see my own nose without a mirror.”
Rowen looked up, scanning her features.
He hadn’t noticed it before—there was too much soot on her face and his eyes had been downcast since coming into the room. Whereas once the bridge of her nose had been perfectly straight, there was now a slight bump.
His stomach churned.
Slowly his eyes met hers. “Will it bother you if it is?”
“Does it bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Her head fell, crestfallen.
Rowen would be smiling at the simple fact that he could read her again—would be, except he realized he had just inadvertently hurt her.
“Wynne, I am bothered because I am sitting here, working on a damn lock that held you captive, looking at a bump in your nose that could have only gotten there with a great amount of pain.” His voice shook. “So yes, I am bothered by it. Furious that I did not save you from that. But it does not mar your beauty—your beauty does not come from a straight nose—it never did. If anything, it gives you character.”
She looked up at him, eyes shining. “Character?”
Rowen went back to finagling the lock. “Yes. Character.”
The lock sprung free. Rowen quickly threaded out the lock from the clamp, opening the shackle. The raw, red skin beneath it made him pause, and he touched her ankle lightly.
Wynne laughed, lifting her leg and flexing her foot. The laughing turned into a cough that took a few moments to control. “Rowe, this is—I had thought never to get rid of it.”
Rowen gathered up the shackle, chain, plate, and wood shards and went to the door, throwing them into the hallway.
Wynne leaned forward, rubbing the rough area on her ankle. “Rowe, are you leaving?”
He turned to her, standing in the doorway. “Do you want me to?”
“No. But you have barely looked at me.” She sank back onto the pillows. “You are mad at me?”
Rowen walked to the bed, sitting heavily into the chair. “I am not mad at you, Wynne. Far from it. But there are things we need to discuss that I am trying to avoid.”
Her face went somber. “Such as?”
Rowen leaned forward in the chair, his forearms resting on his knees. He had to say it, get it out before he could not utter the words. “Wynne, if you want to stay here and live with the duchess. Not marry me. I would understand.”
She jerked upright. “What are you talking about? You no longer want me?”
“God, no, Wynne.” He grabbed her unbandaged hand. “It is me. I am not…deserving of you. I sent you into this. And you have paid a terrible price.”
“Ridiculous. How did you send me into this?”
Rowen shook his head. He didn’t want to dredge this into the light, but he truly had no choice. “Wynne, after you found me here in London…I had finally started to believe—believe that fate had decided I had suffered enough. That I was actually worthy of your love, your trust. But then the second I came to accept that belief, fate took you away.”
Her hand turned in his, clasping his fingers. “You had nothing to do with Vutton taking me, Rowe.”
“No—but I did not know how to protect you. So instead of doing just that, I drove you away. I let you leave my house. And then I followed you for days—and you did not go near the shop, so I thought you had dropped the matter. Left it to me.” He sighed. “Fate tested me, and I failed. The second I stopped watching was the moment you decided to go there. And then you were gone.”
Her head shook against his words. “I was stupid, Rowe. You told me to stay away from the gallery, and I did not listen. That is not your fault.”
“No, it is, Wynne. I should have told you the full danger. Everything I suspected. I did not trust you with that.”
“It does not mean I would have listened.”
“The fact remains, Wynne, that I let you go. I let you take that first step away from me. And then I was too late—I failed you. I could not save you in time.” His hand went to her ankle, tracing the red ring around her skin. “That I let this happen to you.”
His thumb went to her face, gentle on the bump in her nose. “And this. You sent me the signs, and it took me too damn long.”
His hand dropped from her face. “You deserve a better man than me. A man that never would have let this happen to you.”
“Rowen, stop. You found me. You saved my mother—and me.” Wynne scooted forward on the bed, pulling her hand from his fingers and settling it on his neck. “Through all of what happened to me, I trusted in you—you, Rowe. I trusted that you would find me. That you were looking for me.”
Rowen’s eyes fell closed, his head shaking. “What you had to go through.”
“Rowe, look at me.”
He opened his eyes, only to see the flecks of blue in her hazel eyes glowing bright.
“You are worth whatever it took—fighting the devil himself—to get back to. You are the one that kept me strong. That I stayed alive for. You. You do not know how badly I wanted to just shut my eyes and slip away. How I almost did.”
Her hand moved up, cupping his jaw, fingers curling against the dark stubble on his skin. “But then I knew—deep, in my soul—that you were coming for me. That you were looking for me. That I could not disappoint you. You are worth everything I have in this life—and any other. You, Rowen.”
The weight of a thousand stones lifted from his chest. Wynne’s words were secondary to the love that shone in her eyes.
His hands cradled her face, thumbs catching the few tears slipping down her cheeks. “So you will marry me? Birth our children? I will get to experience every day the magic that you create in the world?”
Wynne nodded. “I want nothing more than to marry you, Rowe. Carry your babies. Wake with you. Wrinkle with you.”
“I was hoping you would say that. I—”
A short knock on the door interrupted his words. The dowager opened the door, walking into the room.
Rowen dropped his hands from Wynne’s face, but he grabbed her unbandaged hand again, capturing it between his palms.
“You will need to leave now, L.B. Wynne needs to rest.”
“Duchess, while I agree Wynne does need to rest, I have a differing plan.”
The dowager stepped closer, facing Rowen and wedging herself the best she could between them. “I do not care what has transpired, L.B. I will not allow you to stay in this room with Wynne overnight. She is an unmarried woman under my eye. You are a fool to think I would allow it.”
“I would never ask you to bend your morals, Duchess,” Rowen said dryly. “Has Lord Luhaunt returned?”
“Your friend? No, I do not think so.”
“Did I hear my name?” Luhaunt appeared in the doorway. “I apologize for just coming up, but know that your butler did his best to dissuade me, your grace.”
The dowager’s eyes narrowed at Luhaunt. “He clearly did not do his best.”
Luhaunt shrugged. “Rowe, I arranged what you asked for.”
“Excellent.”
“It will be exorbitant,” Luhaunt said. “If we wait until morning, only slightly exorbitant.”
“We do it now,” Rowen said and leaned sideways to see past the duchess’s skirts, finding Wynne’s face. He squeezed her hand. “Marry me? Right now? I do not want another hour to pass where you are not my wife.”
A moment of shock crossed Wynne’s face, only to be replaced by a smile that went impossibly wide. “Yes.”
“No.” The duchess threw her hands between them. “This is not at all proper, L.B. It is the middle of the night. I will not allow it. There is not even a proper license.”
“You do not get a say in the matter, Duchess. Lord Luhaunt has roused the clergy at the church a block away. And I do have the license. I had it weeks ago.” Rowen didn’t take his eyes off of Wynne. “I do thank you, though, for the proper bath Wynne got in preparation.”
“No, no.” She stomped her foot. “I will not allow it.”
“Then you can stay here, Duchess.” His eyes left Wynne to look up at the dowager. “But I do believe Wynne would want you to witness this, as her friend.”
Rowen stood. “And I would like you to witness this, as not only the dowager duchess, but as my lone relative.”
The duchess’s gaping mouth closed, silenced. She took an uneasy step away from the bed, nodding.
Rowen tilted his head to the d
uchess. “Thank you.”
Wynne squeezed his hand and he looked down at her, his head tilted to the door. “We can leave this second—you will need a dress, of course. Are you ready? I will carry you so it is no extra strain on your lungs.”
A twinkle appeared in Wynne’s eye. “You will carry me with the proper care?”
Rowen smirked. “Only the most proper, Wynne.”
She nodded, her face reflecting his mirth. “You are the one beyond compare, Rowe. Yes. A thousand times over. Yes.”
Heart bursting, Rowen looked down at his almost-wife. Sudden disbelief that he had actually arrived at this moment shook through his body.
Fate had finally done it.
Finally shown him exactly what his life should be.
Finally given him exactly what he needed.
Finally decided he was worthy of this woman.
And he could now spend a lifetime proving it.
{ Epilogue • Worth of a Duke }
Wynne sat in the rocking chair, eyes on the bright green vistas of the Notlund pastures. A warm breeze tickled the hair on her forehead. Spring was upon them, and Wynne was lost in the calmness of the moment, eyes half-closed, both wanting Rowen to finish quickly with the horses, and wanting him to take his time.
She looked over at the painting, just started, under the wide roof of the porch. It had been days since she had worked on it—the luminous greens of the spring leaves and grass were too gorgeous not to paint—but seeing the dowager married and packed had been far more important.
Rowen had the small building up the hill from the stables built for Wynne soon after they arrived back at Notlund. He wanted her to have a painting studio close to the stables, as she had once too often dragged her painting supplies through the woods to the area.
Large and cozy, even in the winter, her studio had soon become her favorite spot at Notlund. She could paint inside or outside, and could easily access her horse to go exploring. Plus, seeing her husband throughout the day was a delightful bonus.
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