After The Storm (31 page)

Raking his fingers through his hair, he sighed softly. “I realized I couldn’t possibly marry Sally. Not when I am in love with you.”

“In love with me?” She snorted, even as her heart skipped a painful beat. “Is tha’ a fact, mon? Well, ye have quite a funny way o’ showing it.”

She smoothed her chemise down, back over her knees. Hugh made no move to halt her, but instead caught her hand in his to aid her as she eased down from the table.

The smashed crockery would wait, there were more pressing matters needing her attention.

He stepped back to allow her room to move by him, and she took advantage of it. Her nerves were all jangled, her thoughts made no sense, and he didn’t help matters as he limped over to her vacated chair and sank into it. His hair was almost dry, curled at his temples, and his eyes were still heavy-lidded. Between that, and how his still-unfastened breeches sat just at his hips, he exuded a masculine sensuality that very nearly weakened both her knees and her resolve. It was far too difficult to remember why she was angry, when he appeared so damn tempting.

“Why are you here?” she demanded, as she stood before the fire and faced him, arms folded over her chest.

He straightened his maimed leg with a grimace. “The truth is I’ve come to beg your forgiveness. To prove to you I am not a complete jackass after all. A bit slow on the uptake, perhaps, and perhaps most unworthy of your forgiveness, but I had to try.”

She frowned. “Speak English, mon. English
I
might understand.”

He gazed up at her, and smiled ruefully. “I should never have said what I did before we parted in the woods. I hurt you and that is most unforgivable. I am deeply sorry.”

He took a deep breath and she found herself holding hers as she waited for him to continue, anticipating his next words with a pounding heart. The pounding slowed, though, when he remained silent, twisting to stare moodily into the fire.

He exhaled heavily, turning back to her. She clenched her hands, ignoring the pain of her fingernails as they bit into her palms. He shook his head, his voice only just above a whisper. “I had to come here, Randi. I couldn’t leave things as they were. I should never have allowed those heated words to be the last I spoke to you. A war hero-” he chuckled mirthlessly, “-a war hero who was too afraid to speak his true feelings.”

The resumed pounding in her chest sent blood throbbing through her temples, and her mouth was dry as she murmured, “And what
are
those true feelings?”

“I love you.
That
is what I should have said.”

Though her heart rose with those words, she leaned toward him as if she hadn’t heard him quite right. “What was that you said?”

Hugh rose slowly from the chair. She held her breath again and her head spun as he took a step toward her. “You heard true, Randi.”

“Ye came here tae sweep me up and pledge undying love for me, have ye? After all that happened? After how ye simply tossed me aside?” Anger and hurt, unexpected but very real, burned up from her belly to spill through her veins as she gaped at him in disbelief. “And what did ye think I’d do? Say all is well and tha’ it doesna matter?”

He flinched, but stepped up to close the gap between them, and caught her by the wrist. Her first instinct was to pull away, but he surprised her by slowly sinking onto bended knee. His pain became hers as he grimaced at the weight on his crippled knee, but she didn’t urge him to rise. She stared down as, in a clear, throaty voice, he replied, “I daresay, I hope you will accept my proposal.”

She was going to faint.

No. She wasn’t.

Yes, perhaps she was after all. Those words were the last she expected to ever hear from him. She glanced down at the large hand folded over hers, and then she looked back up at his face as she breathlessly whispered, “What?”

“Marry me, Randi.” His thumb caressed hers, a sheepish smile pulled at his lips, and the swoon threatening to consume her rose again as he continued, “Allow me the rest of my life to make up for how I left things. To make up for the terrible mistake I made.”

“Marry you?” She snatched her hand from his to throw both into the air. “You are a cad, Hugh Montgomery! A scoundrel and the puirest excuse fer a mon I’ve ever seen. You think you might show up here, in the middle of the night, tumble me on a
table
, of all places, and I’d simply declare my undying love for you and throw myself into your arms with a cry of
Yes
? After what you said and did? You
are
mad!”

With a groan, he rose to his feet, using a small, three—legged table for support. “I deserve no less. I am all of those things and more. I am a coward, so afraid of disapproval I sacrificed you, rather than myself.”

“Aye. Ye did.” Why couldn’t he have made this declaration upon their return to Thorpeton Hall? Why hadn’t he the courage then? Why had he chosen the easy way out?

And why the devil hadn’t she tossed him out of her house yet?

She sighed as she stared at him. Because she loved him. She was furious with him, but also very much in love with him. A terrible combination, to say the least.

As if sensing a thaw, he stepped closer to her again. “I know you loved me that night, Randi. Not even thirty minutes ago, you loved me. Do you deny it?”

“At the moment, I dinna even
like
ye verra much,” she muttered, unable to move, even as he slid an arm about her waist.

“Well, that makes two of us, then.” His voice dropped to a husky growl. “For I dinna like me verra much, either.”

She couldn’t help her chuckle. His burr was far too elegant to be anything but amusing. “Ye’re a terrible Scot.”

“True. But I’m one hell of an Englishman.” He slid his other arm about her and drew her close. “I love you, Randi. And I will spend the rest of my days persuading you to have me as your husband. Tell me how to make you mine, love, and I will do it.”

As he spoke, he leaned in to brush his lips along her neck. His lips were warm and gentle, his kisses tickled more than they teased, and her resolve melted away. She held off her giggles as long as possible, which was about ten seconds.

“Hugh…stop…”

He dipped closer, stroked teasing lips upward before he caught her left earlobe between gentle teeth. “Ahh...sweet, I love how my name sounds on your lips…”

“No…wait…” Her head spun as he brought one hand up to cup her left breast and his thumb stroked over her nipple. Her insides seemed to upend, setting free those blasted butterflies to send her blood scorching through her veins.

“Marry me, Miranda. And let me love you from now until time ends.”

Oh dear…he did have a golden tongue in addition to those talented hands. His breath was hot on her neck as he moved down and spread kisses into the valley between her breasts. He nudged her chemise aside, until finally, it spilled over her shoulders and poured from her to pool at her feet.

The fire was hot on her bared skin, but not nearly as hot as his lips. Still, there were more serious matters to discuss. She broke away. “No. We’re not going to do this again. We will talk first.”

Hugh groaned, his breath rough and ragged on the slope of her shoulder. However, he nodded. “As you wish.”

She shuffled back, then crouched to tug her chemise back up, and straightened, tying the ribbon firmly. “First, I need to know…you said you had very little choice in the matter of Lady Sally, that you were expected to wed her.” She hated speaking Sally’s name, but it was unavoidable. She had to know why he changed his mind.

His forehead creased as he drew his brows together, and he busied himself by refastening his breeches. “I never loved Sally, but when I met you, my eyes were opened. I’d have been miserable if I married her.” He paused a moment as if choosing his words. “I have spent my entire life doing what was expected of me,” he said, finally looking up as he folded his arms over his chest. “And now, I shall do what
I
wish. I need no approval. I carry no guilt. And I’ll not make another foolish decision.”

He sighed again, a long, drawn-out, weary sigh. “And I’ll not ask a third time, love. Will you marry me or shall I find another duchess?”

She ignored his sigh
and
his ultimatum. They were meaningless until she knew the truth. “Do you truly mean this?”

A hint of anger flashed through his eyes and he glowered at her, scowling as he replied, “How can you ask such a thing of me? Do you know what I have done?”

He was growing angry, but since she was
already
angry, it mattered very little to her. Did he think he’d say he was sorry and all would be well? “What you’ve done? Oh, forgive me, Your Grace, but you’ve done precious little. So your mother will be disappointed. How terribly you must suffer for that.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” he snapped as he unfolded his arms and clasped his hands behind his head, the picture of frustration. She heard a quiet groan before he looked at her again. “What do you want? What do you wish me to do? To say?”

“The truth!” Her shout echoed through the nearly empty room, surprising both of them with its reverberations.

His shoulders relaxed, and his scowl faded into an expression of sheer exhaustion. “The truth is I never should have allowed anyone to believe I gave a damn about Sally. I should have thought, and decided, for myself and dealt with the consequences.” His gaze met hers and his voice grew stronger. “The truth is I fell in love with you when we first danced, when you smashed my feet flat.”

“Then why did you lie to me the morning after the storm?” Tired confusion replaced her anger. How could he profess love when he rounded on her the way he had?

“When you spoke of my brother I was angry and hurt, if you must know, and because I’m a stubborn fool I didn’t see, didn’t allow myself to see, you were feeling the same way. With good reason. I was wrong. Terribly so, it seems.” He crossed to the door, where his greatcoat lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Lifting it up, he continued, “If you wish me to leave, I will. But know this; I will go to my grave regretting having destroyed what we have.”

She sank onto the edge of the green leather chair “
What we have?
There is no
what we have
.”

Draping his coat over his arm, he walked back to stand before her, and crouched down beside her chair with only a hint of a groan. In the light of the fire, Hugh appeared to have aged since his arrival. The silver threads woven through his dark hair seemed thicker, and the shadows beneath his eyes seemed darker still. “Just say the word, Randi,” he murmured and gestured to the door. “And I will take my leave.”

She picked at a small cut in the chair’s arm. “Now, I did not say you had to go,” she muttered, not looking at him, but concentrating on the tear. “Nor did I say there couldn’t be a ‘what we have’.”

His coat hit the floor with a dull
whump
, and his hand came down to close over hers, stilling her fingers. “Will you allow me the opportunity to make things right?”

“Only if you promise not to muck it up again.”

His laughter was soft as he lifted her hand to brush his lips over its back. “I cannot promise that, but I will do my damnedest to avoid it.”

****

The fire popped as a log shifted. It was warm on her back as she lay in Hugh’s arms. Never had a floor been quite so comfortable—and she considered herself to be quite the expert.

Hugh made love to her there, after freshly stoking the fire. Or rather, she made love to him, as he brought her down astride him, to spare her more discomfort. Awkward at first, she soon became too caught up in bliss to care very much.

Afterward, they lay together, and she told him all of what had happened since that morning in the woods. He held her as she cried when she recounted Arabella’s confession, and then, exhausted, she sank into him, where she dozed peacefully until dawn.