Page 67 of To Woo and to Wed
This surprised a laugh out of him—not a polite chuckle but areallaugh, one that lit up his face and that made her laugh in turn.
“I don’t know why you are constantly accusingmeof being on theverge of dropping down to one knee, whenyouare the one who recently asked me to act as your fiancé. Perhaps I should be the one who is skittish.” There was a faint note of teasing in his voice, a lightness that was so rarely evident in his conversation, and it made Sophie’s chest ache to hear. She had thought—had feared—that the weight of the guilt they shared, over all that had happened seven years earlier, would be an insurmountable obstacle to any future they might have had. Now, however, she realized how much lighter she had felt, these recent weeks, having someone to discuss those events with—someone who had experienced the same pain and guilt that she had. It gave her an inkling of what a future between them could be like—one in which they helped each other lay those ghosts to rest—and she liked the thought of it far too well.
She did not mind his sternness—she loved it, because it was so integral to who he was—but the small hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth now was so terribly dear.
Hewas so terribly dear. To her. He always had been—which frightened her as much now as it had seven years ago, as she’d stood at the door of his father’s house, waiting to hear whether he was alive or dead.
And, she realized in a rush, had he not accused her of this very thing—of fear—just a few days earlier? She had laughed it off as she made ready for bed that evening, offering Fox one-word answers about the evening as her thoughts had churned in her head.
“You’re right,” she said, and she still felt so startled by this realization that she didn’t know what else to say—how to begin to confront the enormity of what she now knew to be true. How to proceed now that she’d acknowledged it.
He, however, was not privy to her thoughts—and indeed seemedwrapped up in his own. “You know, I have never wished to be wanted solely for my title, or my fortune,” he said quietly. “But it’s something I resigned myself to, long ago—the possibility that I might marry a woman who only wanted me for those things, who saw me less as a man than as a prize. And who am I to complain about such an arrangement, when it is no worse than what most women of thetonsuffer when they make their debuts on the marriage mart? But,” he added, and his gaze on her was piercing, “I found, to my surprise, that there is something I minded even more.”
“Oh?” Her voice was hoarse.
“Beingnotwanted, on account of my title. By the only person I’d ever truly wanted—and who I knew wanted me. But just not badly enough.” These last words were spoken even more quietly—so quietly that she had to lean forward in order to hear. She felt them like a knife slipped through her ribs.
“And I thought, after all this time, I’d resigned myself to it—to the reality of us. That there never wouldbean us. But these past few weeks have reminded me of what existed between us—whatstillexists.” He stood and began to pace the length of the drawing room before her, his steps slow. “I do not know how to convince you that I do not care if you bear me no sons, or ten. I do not know how to convince you that you matter more to me than my father, or a house, or a piece of land—that I would weather any threat from him, if it meant that I could be with you. I do not know how to convince you that I would do whatever is within my power to protect your family—your sisters—from any damage he might do. All I can do is tell you that I have never lied to you—nor have I ever made a promise I have been unable to keep. And I promise you now, I am prepared to do whatever it takes to marry you.”
His back was to her now, he facing the empty fireplace. Sophie wasdimly aware of the sound of birds chirping outside, carriages rattling past in the square. It was as if she’d briefly forgotten the rest of the world existed, and now it was seeping back into the room.
He turned. “I paid my father a visit the day before yesterday, and informed him I’d have all of Rosemere’s account books sent to him.”
Sophie blinked. “You—what?”
“The account books,” he repeated slowly. Evenly. “So that he might sell the property—or do whatever he damn well pleases with it. I’m not sacrificing you for a bloodyhouse, Sophie—not when you already made that choice once.”
She opened her mouth to protest, and he raised a hand to quiet her. “I understand—I do.” He took a step toward her, and stopped, swallowing. “I just don’t want to make the same choice again now.”
Sophie rose and stepped toward him, weighing her words. She reached out a hand to him. “You were right, the other evening,” she said quietly. “I was—Iam—afraid.” She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid you’re willing to give up too much for me, and that you’d regret it someday. I’m afraid we’d marry, and you’d find yourself without the estate you’ve cared for all these years, without an heir to carry on the ducal line—with only…”
“You?” His voice was low, amused. His grip on her hand tightened. “There is noonlywhen it comes to you, Sophie.” He tugged on her hand, drawing her toward him. He stood, framed by sunlight against the window, so beautiful that it made her throat ache to look at him. “I have the rest of it now—I have Rosemere; if I wanted a young wife who could bear me ten children, I’ve no doubt I could find one this very evening. But I don’tcare, because I only want you—and I don’t have you.” He cast a wry glance at Sophie’s hair, still mussed from their interlude on the settee. “Not in the way that matters, at least.” Hereached a hand out, slowly, to cup her cheek, his palm warm against her skin. “I love you, and the only future I want is one with you in it. Please tell me what I have to do to make you believe me.”
Sophie closed her eyes against the intensity of his gaze, pressing her cheek into his hand. And she realized that shedidbelieve him. He’d just shown her he was willing to give up the very thing she’d been so afraid of him sacrificing for her—and she realized, too, that it was notherdecision to make. It was not her right to tell him what he should or shouldn’t give up for her. She was so afraid of him regretting it, being unhappy, because she loved him—shelovedhim—but—
But nowshewas the one making him unhappy. His father would always be there—would always disapprove. Might or might not try to make his disapproval known in other ways; might or might not try to make their lives more difficult than they needed to be.
But in this moment, it was Sophie who was choosing unhappiness for them—and she didn’t wish to do so for a single moment longer.
She opened her eyes. “I love you, too,” she said softly, turning her head to press a soft kiss into his palm. She stepped forward, reaching up to rest her hands against his chest. “I love you, and I am tired of allowing your father to dictate how we live our lives, and I just want—I just want—I just wantusto decide for ourselves!” She was, she noticed vaguely, growing rather angry. She was standing here, having just told her beloved that she loved him, and yet she wasstillthinking about hisbloody fatherand it was—
Honestly, extremely annoying.
West looped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and Sophie tilted her head up for his kiss. “I never knew escorting a lady home from the solicitor could be so momentous an occasion,” hemurmured against her mouth, and tilted her head back to allow him access to her jaw, and the long line of her throat.
Sophie huffed out a laugh, closing her eyes against the sensation of the warmth of his mouth at her neck—
And then his words registered. And her eyes flew open. And a small smile began to tug at her mouth.
Because suddenly, she had a very, very good idea.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sophie supposed, after twenty-seven years’acquaintance with the Viscountess Wexham, she should no longer be surprised by the extent to which her mother obsessed over every detail of a party. And surely the occasion of the engagement of not one, buttwoof her daughters would aggravate this existing tendency to a degree that bordered on absurd.
This was why, one week later, Sophie found herself standing in the ballroom of her parents’ Mayfair home, listening to her mother opine at length about how many candles wastoomany candles.
“We want to look well-lit, not vulgar.”
