“She has taught me so much, mamma. She helped me learn what it was to be unafraid.”
His mother clicked her tongue. “Do you want a governess or do you want a wife?”
“I want a partner, an equal. She’s all of those things, and more. So much more.”
His mother walked to him. She possessed an imposing beauty, yet beneath the cool hauteur of her exterior, one glimpsed a tempestuous, passionate being.
“If it is amore,” his mother said, “vero amore, then that is all I truly wish for you, figlio mio. And when the time comes, any whey-faced English family who will not wed their sons to my daughters, how do you say, can go hang.”
The pond’s surface reflected the midnight sky, a shard of moon floating atop an expanse of liquid ebony. At this late hour, the water was no doubt hold enough chill to steal Cecilia’s breath, but that would presume that she had enough breath left after hours of weeping.
Before walking out to the pond tonight, she’d glanced at herself in the small mirror perched atop her washstand. She’d never been one of those women who cried prettily, with a single crystalline tear tracing down a smooth cheek. Instead, her nose was red, her eyes were swollen, and her entire face was mottled.
It only meant that she possessed strong feelings. Some days she was grateful to feel as much as she did, but tonight, with her heart open and ragged, she wished she could have been the porcelain ornament her father had wanted her to be.
Yet denying how she felt about Owen, and what it meant to give him up, was a grave and terrible wrong. He had been—no, he was the best part of her life because he’d rejoiced in every part of her.
She would have to learn to live with the pain of not having him as hers. She might survive, but it would be a hard and barren existence.
There was no breeze tonight, and the pond’s polished surface remained unbroken. Had she the physical strength, she’d take one final swim in it, regardless of the water’s temperature. But she was limp with exhaustion, so she remained seated on the banks, immersing herself in memories of her and Owen frolicking in the water, and how they’d spoken of their innermost selves in the secret depths of a summer night.
She ought to get up and leave, go back inside and prepare herself for the next chapter. Yet she remained where she was, too tired and too weighted with sorrow to do anything beyond wishing that the world was a different place, and that history had been kinder. They were futile wishes, but that didn’t stop her from making them.
She stiffened at the sound of the rustling grass behind her, then moved to rise.
“Don’t go,” Owen said. He approached slowly, as if wary that she might bolt like a doe. “Can we just…sit here, together? I won’t do anything without your express permission.”
What was one more injury in an already mortally wounded heart? She lowered herself back to the grass, and after a moment, he eased down beside her. The night kept him mostly in shadow, but she knew his form anywhere—especially in the dark.
“Didn’t expect to find you out here,” he murmured into the silence.
“This place is special,” she said softly. “It’s where I first saw you when you had returned to Tarrington House as the new duke.”
“Spying on me as I swam.” There was a smile in his voice.
“It wasn’t spying. I accidentally saw you.”
“And didn’t draw attention to yourself,” he teased, “or look away. A myth in reverse—Diana watching Acteon.”
Only when her cheeks ached did she realize that she, too, was smiling. It was always so good between them, so comfortable and full of potential.
Her smile fell away as bitter truths confronted her.
“That myth didn’t end well for Acteon,” she said quietly. “Torn apart by his own hounds.”
“Cecilia—”
“I have something for you.” She held out a folded piece of paper before he could say anything more and completely obliterate her with his beautiful soul. “It’s for the duchess, in fact, but if you could give it to her, I’d be most grateful.”
He took the paper from her. “What is this?”
“My resignation.” She had written the letter in the gamekeeper’s unlocked cottage, surrounding herself in wonderful, tormenting memories.
He hissed, as if in pain. “No.”
“I cannot remain here any longer.” It was an agony to keep speaking, to tell him what she had to, but there was no alternative.
“Sir Kenneth is gone,” he objected. “The whole party left this afternoon. There’s no danger.”
“The danger is living beneath your roof, knowing that you’re so close, but completely out of reach. It’s like living just beyond the boundaries of Paradise, looking in and seeing what’s been lost. I’m a strong woman,” she continued, her voice catching, “but not strong enough to endure that kind of pain.”
“Where will you go?”
“It will be far from here, I know that much.”
His hands were suddenly on her shoulders as he knelt in front of her. The shadows concealed his expression, but even in the dark she felt the intensity of his gaze.
“Marry me,” he said, those two words reverberating with strength. When she said nothing, only stared at him in stunned wordlessness, he went on, “Be my wife, and we’ll never have to be apart.”
Her heartbeat was a thunderstorm within her. “Impossible.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he said fiercely. “It can be you and me forever, all you have to do is say yes.”
Hope was a terrible, monstrous creature within her, threatening to devour her. “You’re so young,” she said, mostly to remind her of all the obstacles between them. “You haven’t truly dedicated yourself to the bride hunt and finding your perfect duchess.”
“I’ve already met my perfect duchess,” he said hotly, “and she’s right here in front of me.”
God, how she wanted so much to reach for what he offered. Yet— “What about your mother and sisters? The scandal of marrying the governess? There will be a scandal. If the Whelans talk—”
“Whelan and his wife will be made to understand that if they don’t keep silent, I’ll buy up their debts and dun them into oblivion.”
She gaped at him. “Would you do that?”
“I’m a duke.” His smile was pure, cold arrogance. “I’ll do as I bloody well please.”
Pressing her fingers to her lips, she said in half horror, half admiration, “You inhabit that role so completely now.”
“You gave me that strength. And I will use it to face anyone with how I feel about you.”
“What of the duchess? Neapolitan mothers are fierce in defending their children.”
“And their sons are fierce in defending the women they love.”
She inhaled sharply. Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly? Surely his love couldn’t be hers, could it?
“None of it matters,” he went on. “All of my oaths and promises and vows mean nothing unless…” He swallowed. “Unless you love me, too.”
Shaking, she brought her hands up to cup his face, feeling the delicious abrasion of his stubble, and the dampness of his cheeks. He was kindhearted, and loyal, and both his mind and his heart contained profound depth. And she was important to him, truly important.