“You haven’t asked,” I repeated.
His expression darkened with something beyond desire. “I would ask you in a heartbeat. I didn’t want to rush you into anything.”
The joy that blossomed before began to bloom again. We’d talked so much over the last few months about what we wanted in life, I had no doubt that our wants and needs aligned. Lachlan never thought about having kids, but now that he’d found me, he seemed eager to get started on that whenever I was ready. Being a decade older than I was, I knew he didn’t want to wait too long, so we wouldn’t. We’d travel a bit first, and then we’d start a family.
I could see it playing out in my mind.
And it was more gold than I ever imagined I’d mine from my life.
With Lucy’s trial hanging over us like a dark cloud, the thought of planning beyond that filled me with the kind of anticipation I didn’t realize both of us needed.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” I promised him. “And you know when I make up my mind about something, I don’t fuck around.”
Lachlan smiled, a smile I’d never seen on him before.
It erased every shadow in the back of his eyes, every cynical line between his brows.
It took my breath away.
As did his next words. “A man should plan a proposal better than this, and I promise there will be a grander one with a ring and all the traditional stuff … but I can’t leave this bed without asking now. Without knowing I leave it with a promise. Robyn Galbraith Penhaligon, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
I bit my lip to stop the stupid girlish squeal from escaping and nodded frantically.
Lachlan laughed. “Was that a yes?”
“Yes!” I yelled and then escaped his hold and grappled him onto his back. I peppered his face and chest with kisses and said, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” feeling him shake against me with laughter.
And I didn’t care about a ring or him planning a romantic dinner or whatever people were supposed to do when they proposed. All I cared about was this feeling. This laughter and joy between us that came from deep within our very souls.
Epilogue
LACHLAN
For a moment as Lachlan contemplated his companions, he smirked at the thought of what the tabloids would do to get their hands on a shot of his stage office right now. He would have used his real office, but it was too small. Instead he’d shut the door of this one, with one of the footmen, Gerard, standing guard outside in case a guest came knocking.
It was a rare occasion when he had all of his board members in one place.
Wesley, Luther, and the newly appointed board member Marci Robbins sat in casual relaxation in his suite of chesterfield chairs around his coffee table.
If it had been up to Lachlan, he would’ve spent the entire week in bed with Robyn after she agreed to marry him. But the day after, unfortunately, was this scheduled meeting with the board.
Not just to discuss the five spaces that had opened up on the membership list but to look over candidates he wanted to interview to help him manage the estate. Now that he and Robyn planned to marry, travel, then settle down, he needed to start training someone to take over whenever he wanted to be with his family.
Still reeling with contentment, Lachlan was afraid to say he’d missed half of what the board members had said in the last fifteen minutes. He hadn’t known a person could reel with contentment. It had always sounded like such a tepid adjective before now. But, in fact, Lachlan discovered contentment was far more powerful than mere happiness. Happiness could still be tinged with anxiety and insecurity because, in his experience, it often came hand in hand with fear—fear of losing it.
Being with someone like Robyn made it impossible to let fear of the future dictate his future.
“I think Murphy is a wild card.” Marci’s exquisite, upper-crust English accent cut through his reverie. “We would be better with Davina Dunhaven. Her reputation is stellar.”
“All of your candidates are women.” Wesley smirked at Marci, deliberately trying to ruffle her feathers. “Your feminism is showing, Robbins.”
“Oh, heaven forbid.” She widened her eyes in mock horror. Then she nudged Luther. “What do you think?”
“I agree about Murphy.” Luther nodded. “But I think Taron Mathers is a better option.”
“Because he’s Cockney like you?”
He flashed her a bright white grin. “No, love, because he’s Lachlan ten years ago.”
It was true. Taron Mathers was a young, up-and-coming action star, but he’d proven he had bigger acting chops than just his ability to throw a believable punch. “He’s better than me.” Lachlan leaned forward and moved Taron’s photo forward. “He has my vote. He’ll bring a youthful credibility to the club.”
They’d just agreed on their first new member when a knock sounded on his office door. “Come in.”
He straightened when Mac strode in, expression unusually tense. He didn’t acknowledge Lachlan’s guests, which wasn’t like him. “Sir, may we speak in private?”
Lachlan always chafed when Mac called him sir, but now it felt worse since they were actually going to be family. Last night, Robyn called her father while Lachlan called his siblings to tell them they were engaged. Mac was happy for them, stopping by the house this morning to congratulate them. And while they joked about Mac becoming his father-in-law, it was actually bloody weird.
Though not weird enough to stop Lachlan from marrying his daughter.
At Mac’s strange tension, Lachlan excused himself and strode out of the room with Mac to find a private corner in the main reception. “What’s going on?”
Mac heaved an exhale. “I’ve just called Robyn up from Eredine’s studio.”
She’d gone there to join Eredine’s class that morning. Ery had grown distant with everyone since Lucy’s betrayal and refused to talk about it. Lachlan was frustrated and beyond concerned at this point, but Robyn insisted on patiently worming her way into Eredine’s trust. Arrochar, being closest to Ery, had agreed that it was the only way to play it. She needed time, and all they could do was show her they weren’t going anywhere while she processed what had happened.
“What’s going on?”
“Security was called out to the gates. By Regan Penhaligon.”
Jesus Christ.
Lachlan scrubbed a hand over his face. “She’s here?”
“Jock’s escorting her cab up to the castle as we speak.”
Lachlan strode toward the main entrance, and out of his peripheral, he noted Wakefield hurrying across the room to get to the door before he could. He nodded at the man as Wakefield pulled one of the doors open to let him and Mac pass.
The gravel kicked beneath his feet as he saw the vehicles approaching up the long drive.
Movement caught his attention, and he turned to see Robyn jogging up the path from the direction of the studio. He and Mac hurried to meet her.
“My sister?” she asked Mac without preamble as Lachlan pulled his fiancée into his side.
Mac nodded. “Got visual ID. Definitely Regan.”
Robyn exhaled a deep breath, eyes glued to the cab as it followed a Range Rover.