Cheryl Holt (39 page)

“You
have
been an ass,” she agreed.

“But I don’t mean to be. I’ll mend my ways. I swear it.” He was terrified that she’d send him packing, so he hurried on. “After my brother—” He simply couldn’t utter
almost killed you
, so he swallowed and started over. “After I was injured, I was too enfeebled to contact you. Then, when I was more recovered and considered it, I was too ashamed.”

“I wrote several times,” she divulged. “When I was at the hotel.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know. I never received a single letter.”

“The housekeeper responded for you. She claimed you were fine.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I waited and waited, but you never asked for me.” She glanced away. “I thought you didn’t need me.”

“Not need you? Are you mad?”

“You never said anything.”

“I’m saying it now.”

“But. . . but why?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No.”

“I love you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” Her trembling increased, and he rubbed his palms up and down her back, trying to comfort, trying to warm and soothe. “I’ve always loved you. I think I knew it from the first, but I was too stubborn to realize it.”

She studied him, searching for prevarication, and she murmured, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. Are you supposing I’d travel all this way on a lark?”

“No, but I’m scared to believe you.”

“Why would you be?”

“I can’t imagine why you’d love me.”

She blushed, and he could sense her self-doubt, her apprehension. She’d been on her own for ages. Perhaps she couldn’t conceive of anyone loving her. She was so silly.

“Give me another chance, Ellen. I’ll prove to you that my sentiments are genuine. Let me show you the kind of husband I can really be.”

She mulled and fussed; then she acknowledged, “I never wanted an annulment.”

He exhaled a heavy breath. “Good.”

“I want to be your wife. I want to build a life with you.”

“I’m so glad.”

“I’ve been awful, too, but I didn’t intend to be. Events happened so fast, and I couldn’t slow the momentum so that I could reflect and make the right decisions.”

“All is forgotten and forgiven.”

“And that . . . that blasted letter you found in my desk?”

He tensed, fearing she was about to declare her eternal devotion for another. “What about it?”

“I was writing it to you.”

“To . . . to me?”

“I composed a hundred versions of it, but I couldn’t figure out how to . . . to . . .”

She flung herself into his arms, and he hugged her tight.

“Yes, yes,” she begged, “allow me to stay with you. Don’t force me to go on all by myself.”

“I won’t, Ellen. You’ll never be alone again. I’ll always be by your side.”

“I love you,” she finally confessed. “So much.”

“I know.”

“Let’s start over, and this time, let’s do it differently. Let’s do it better.”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “We absolutely will.”

“We have to set some rules before we commence.”

“Such as . . . ?”

“You have to sell the property in the country where I was . . . was . . .”

“I already have.”

“I don’t want to ever see Lydia. Or your brother. I understand that they’re your family, but—”

“You’ll never have to see either of them. I promise.”

“And I wish you would try to be civil to James. I realize he can be difficult, but I need the two of you to get on. For my sake.”

“James and I will manage just fine. Don’t worry about us.”

“I insist on having many children.”

“I hope we have a dozen.”

“I’ll expect you to be a true husband to me. I’ll expect you to be faithful.”

“Which shall never be a chore. I give you my vow of fidelity.”

Could she actually presume he would desire another woman over herself? Her confidence was so low, her trust in him so tentative. He would have to spend several decades demonstrating how much he cared. She was everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d ever needed, and he’d have to dote on her, would cherish and spoil her until she was positive his affection was sincere.

“Come with me.” He took her hand and led her to the alcove, where he scooped up her deck of cards.

“What are you doing with those?” she queried.

“You won’t be needing them anymore.”

“I won’t?”

“No. You’ll be much too busy.”

“With what?”

“With loving me.”

He escorted her to the fireplace and tossed the cards
into the hearth. There was a fire burning, and it quickly devoured the stack. He watched until they were beyond salvaging; then he turned to her and smiled.

“Now then, I’ve never been in this house before. How about a tour? With you as my guide. I’m especially interested in the location of your bedchamber.”

“You are, are you?”

“Yes, so don’t dawdle. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“Suddenly,” she said, smiling, too. “so am I.”