Page 130 of Thief of the Ton
Cradling Lavinia in his arms, he helped her back to her seat at the table. She blinked, her eyes glazed with fear. His heart ached to see it, and he placed a hand on her cheek.
“All will be well, my love,” he whispered.
“Tell me what to do,” Lord de Grande said.
Peregrine turned to see the old man standing behind him, body erect.
“Lord de Grande, this is my responsibility. I don’t think—”
“No,” the old man said, his voice filled with determination. “You’re not the only one in the world who loves her. You may think me a sick old man, and perhaps I am. But she’s my daughter. Since your bastard of a father nearly destroyed me, the one thing I’ve had, to give me hope, is her. Even as a child, she gave me comfort. She’s been strong for me all these years. Now, it’s time for me to be strong for her.”
He stepped forward and held out his hand.
“Now, Lord Marlow,” he said. “Tell me what I must do.”
Peregrine took the proffered hand, and thin, bony fingers curled around his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.
“What my father did to you was wrong,” he said. “All your daughter did was try to right that wrong. You keep her safe here, de Grande. I’ll make sure that the authorities won’t come looking for her.”
Lavinia stirred and slipped her fingers through this. “Th-they won’t?”
Peregrine lifted her hand and brushed his lips against her skin. “You have my word,” he said. “Trust me.”
“Always.”
“Lavinia,” he whispered. “My little Guinevere. I have always loved you.”
“And I you.”
“I’ll keep you safe,” he said. “I’m yours, Lavinia. My heart, and”—he hesitated—“my hand are yours.”
His heart almost sang at the hope in her eyes, after the crushing despair only moments before. She blinked, and tears rolled down her cheeks. But her lips—her beautiful lips—curled into a smile.
A smile for him.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, tasting the salt on her skin.
Then she stiffened and shifted her gaze to her father. The hope in her eyes faded.
“I can’t, I…” Her voice caught, and she shook her head. “I’m so sorry, but I just can’t. Forgive me.”
“No, daughter,” de Grande said. “Don’t sacrifice your happiness for the sake of my desire for vengeance against my enemy. What purpose would that serve if it rendered my beloved daughter unhappy?”
She lifted her gaze. “Papa?”
De Grande leaned over and placed a kiss on her forehead. “My darling child, you cannot deny your heart’s desire on my account. Whatever path you wish to follow to secure your happiness, you have my full blessing to embark upon that path.”
Peregrine’s heart swelled with hope, and he met de Grande’s gaze.
The old man nodded. “Yes, my boy,” he said. “You have my blessing.”
A clock chimed in the distance, and Peregrine stiffened.
Half past seven.
“I must go.”
“Peregrine, what’s the matter?” Lavinia asked, her voice trembling.
