Page 59 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“The west wing caught fire,” he said gently. “You were locked in. I think the smoke made you pass out. But you’re all right now. You’re all right, my love.”
Owen looked into her eyes. He thought the servants had stepped back, giving them space to speak, but he couldn’t have minded less if they’d all gawped at them. He didn’t care. He’d spent so long caring about things that didn’t matter, and now he had found out the only thing that really did.
“I love you.”
She gazed into his eyes, disbelief showing on her face. It seemed as though she hadn’t understood him, and he cleared his throat, wondering if he should say it again. He would shout it as loud as he could if she needed him to. The whole world ought to hear him say it.
She started to laugh. A sound of pure joy rang out and Owen felt bemused at first, but she looked so beautiful that he couldn’t help laughing too. She took a breath in.
“Owen,” she murmured. “I have been wanting to tell you for so long. I wanted to read you a poem I wrote to say it. I love you.”
“You do?” Owen gaped.
“Yes! Yes, you foolish thing,” she said with a teasing laugh. “How can you not know that?”
“I didn’t,” he replied, amazement making him sit rigidly in place.
“Well, it’s true.” Ophelia said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I love you, Owen Beckworth. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, Ophelia. My dear.”
She looked into his eyes, and he could see tears there and she wrapped her arms around him, and he held her close.
Across the lawn, the smoke rolled from the house and the sound of a beam collapsing cracked the air. Owen didn’t care. He sat on the lawn and held Ophelia and knew that he had found what was really precious.
Love was all that mattered.
Another beam collapsed, the flames glowing. Owen looked up briefly and saw the physician on his horse, and, with him, acart loaded with buckets and men.
“The fire brigade.”
He felt his heart soar.
He lifted Ophelia tenderly in his arms and together they stood and watched as the parish fire brigade ran to their work. He felt dazed and listless and the only thing that mattered to him was the woman in his arms, who he had just told he loved.
And who loved him.
He kissed Ophelia gently on the lips and they stood and watched as the fire brigade attempted to put out the flames that raged through their home.
Chapter 22
Warmth enveloped Ophelia and she opened her eyes. She was in Owen’s arms, and someone had draped a blanket around her. She looked up at Owen and he looked down at her, his gaze gentle.
“Shh, sweetheart,” he said softly. “It’s all well. You’re safe. The carriage is here and we’re safe.”
“What...?” she murmured. She wanted to ask him what carriage was there, but she was too tired, and her voice came out like a whisper.
She shut her eyes, drowsily, and felt the steady motion of Owen walking, the crunching sound of the grass under his feet drifting to her even as she fell asleep.
“I’ll just settle you here,” Owen murmured as she woke up again. She felt something soft under her and then a slight jolt, and then Owen called up to the coach driver.
“Drive on. To Alford House, if you please.”
Ophelia frowned, wondering why they were going there, but then the exhaustion took her again and she shut her eyes, falling asleep to the soft, swaying motion of the coach. She could smell smoke and even though they were not close to it, the crackling roar of fire was still in her ears.
“Shh. Shh, Ophelia. It’s all right. We’re here.”
Ophelia opened her eyes to find herself looking at Owen. He frowned, his gaze troubled, his expression clearing as she looked up at him.
