Page 134 of For a Scot's Heart Only
“I’ll restrain myself today, if you promise that I’ll be the man to make you laugh all the days of your life.”
“That’s quite a promise. Are you sure you can deliver?”
“Quite so.”
She smiled weakly but her eyes glowed with undeniable affection. “No more standing shilly-shally for us.”
“No.” He brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. “We are decided, you and I.”
This was the moment his tabby cat sauntered intothe room, as one does when one is a cat. He leapt up on the other side of the bed and proceeded to lick one of his paws.
“It’s Mr. Fisk.” She was delighted to see the cat until she focused on what was behind him. “Where am I? And what time is it?”
She tried to sit up, but it was obvious every part of her ached. Thomas went to the window and drew back brown wool curtains. Subdued sunlight poured in, a reminder it was autumn and storms were coming.
“You’re in my bedchamber in Southwark, not far from Vauxhall Gardens, and it’s a few minutes past noon.”
“I see.” Miss Fletcher was curious, taking in somber browns paired with more somber browns.
He opened another curtain and went to the fireplace to stir the coals. “I suppose you’ll want to redecorate.”
“It’s very... brown, but we can fix that.”
Mary craned her neck this way and that, as though she was already changing the decor. He poured a coffee for himself, thrilled at her acceptance of what were profound changes. They were going fromyouandItousandwe. He contained his joy, so as not to frighten her too much, and held up the pot with a silent offer.
“No, thank you. I’ll practice sipping water for a few hours first.” She folded both hands on the coverlet, and he expected to see her do that for decades to come.
Miss Fletcherwouldeventually become Mrs. West. It was only a matter of time—and, he suspected, amatter of one carefully worded proclamation of love. His siren was cagey when it came to that four-letter word, but the time had come to be firm. To put feelings to words as a man does when he’s found the woman who will share his name.
He went back to his place by the bed, the steaming cup in hand. “We keep talking around what is important to us both.”
Her chest rose and fell gently. Even pale and recovering, she was pretty. Her braid a heavy rope, her mouth tender.
“We ought to say what we mean.” Bold words but her voice was barely above a whisper.
“There is something sacred about love. Once given, you can’t lose it or give it back. It’s yours forever. And you, Mary Fletcher, have my undying love.”
His voice had thickened with emotion. Questions were brimming in her eyes. The glittery tears, however, took him by surprise. With some effort, she sat up. Her lips pressed a wobbly line as though a tidal wave of words was coming, and they needed some organization.
“I may muddle this, but I want you to know—no, you deserve to know—that I have only loved one man in my life.” Her watery gaze pricked him. “It’s you... I love you, Thomas.”
“And I love you,” he said softer this time.
A hiss of inward breath, and she absorbed this.
“I can’t begin to say all the things that—that I know are inside me, yet I don’t even know what they are myself.” She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve because great silvery drops had begun to flow. “Does that make me a ninny?”
“I think it makes you a woman in love.”
She sniffled. “But I’d wager you are far better at expressing yourself... at making sense of your emotions, while I am quite ill prepared.”
He set his coffee cup down. “I’ve been on the receiving end of your messages and...” He leaned forward and folded her hands with his. “We get along just fine. Why else would I devote myself to a lifetime with you?”
“Because of love.” Her cheeks puffed an exhale.
Whatever Mary did, it wouldn’t be done in half measure.
“What about last night?” she asked. “The gold we lost and your family’s shipping legacy? And—and the countess?”
