Page 16 of How to Enchant a Viscount
Her breath hitched, and for the first time since he had entered the room, the anger in her gaze wavered. “A coward?”
He nodded, his throat tight. “I woke up with you in my arms, and for the first time in my life, I had no idea what came next. I have never—” He swallowed. “I have never wanted anything more than I wanted to stay. And that terrified me.”
Maeve stared at him, her lips parted slightly as though she were searching for words. He prayed that he could make her understand. Brooks exhaled, forcing himself to go on. “I told myself that I did not need anyone. That I would never let myself care beyond what was convenient. And then you…” He shook his head. “You changed everything.”
A tense silence followed. He reached into his coat and pulled out the journal. Maeve’s gaze dropped to his hands, and it was only then that she glanced at him with something other than anger. Brooks took a slow breath and held it out to her. “You left this at the pond.”
She hesitated before reaching for it, her fingers brushing against his as she took it. The moment of contact sent a jolt through him, and he saw the way her breath caught, the way her grip tightened around the leather cover. Maeve traced her fingers over the initials on the journal, her expression unreadable. “You did not read it?”
Brooks shook his head. “It was not mine to read.”
Something in her eyes softened, just for a moment, before the wall returned. She exhaled, stepping back as she pressed the journal to her chest. “I do not know if I can trust you,” she admitted, her voice quiet.
Brooks clenched his jaw. “Then let me prove to you that you can.”
She looked up at him, truly looked at him, as if weighing the sincerity in his words. A long moment passed. Then, finally, she spoke. “How?”
Brooks did not hesitate. “I will court you properly. I can show you with my actions that I love you. I only want you. Just say the word, darling. Tell me you will allow me the privilege of being a part of your life.”
She inhaled sharply. “You love me?”
He frowned. He should have led with that. Did that matter? It should, but he had never told a woman he loved her before. “More than anything. I love you so much that it terrifies me.”
Her lips twitched. “What happened to the charming rogue that I first met?”
“Oh, he’s still here,” Brooks reassured her. “He’s utterly enchanted by you.”
Maeve’s laughter echoed through the room, and it was music to his aching heart. Perhaps all was not lost after all. She strolled over to him and placed her hands on his chest. “You dear, foolish man,” she began. “I do not need you to court me. I love you too.”
“Thank heavens,” he said and then wrapped his arms around her. “Then we will marry. After I speak to your father, of course.”
“Naturally,” she said. “But first I want something from you.”
“Anything,” he said. Brooks meant that. He would do whatever necessary to ensure she remained in his life. He had not lied when he said he was enchanted with her. He had been from that first meeting. There would be no other woman for him. Maeve would forever hold his heart.
“Kiss me,” she demanded. “Kiss me as if it is the first time and the last time. Like you will never be able to kiss me again.”
“That, my love,” he began. “Will be my pleasure.” Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. They became lost in each other, and the kiss was one neither of them would ever forget.
Epilogue
The scent of roses drifted through the open windows of Maeve’s bedchamber, carried by a soft summer breeze. The morning sunlight filtered through delicate lace curtains, casting golden patterns across the pale blue carpet. The entire house was a flurry of activity, servants rushing through the halls, final preparations being made. In just a few hours, Maeve would walk down the aisle and become Lady Pemberton. Yet, despite the joyous occasion, her heart was weighted by the moment before her.
Maeve sat before the vanity, her fingers lightly tracing the smooth, timeworn leather of the journal in her lap. She had read it cover to cover in the past week, pouring over their mother’s words, seeking guidance, understanding—perhaps even reassurance. It had given her all those things and more. Now, it was time for Isla to have her turn.
The door opened without a knock, but Maeve had expected nothing less. Isla had never stood on ceremony, not with her. "You should be downstairs," Isla said, arching a brow as she stepped inside. She was already dressed in a gown of soft lavender, her dark hair pinned back with delicate pearl combs. "Athena is fussing over the flowers, and Father is pacing like a caged lion."
Maeve smiled faintly. “And you? Are you fussing?”
“Hardly.” Isla smirked as she crossed the room, but the humor faded as her gaze settled on the book in Maeve’s hands. "Is that?—"
Maeve nodded. "It’s time."
For a moment, Isla said nothing, her sharp green eyes fixed on the journal. Then, with slow deliberation, she took a seat beside Maeve, her expression unreadable. "You've read it," Isla murmured, not a question, but a statement.
Maeve nodded again. "Every page. Every word."
"And?"
