Page 104 of Harpy of the Ton
“You have not sinned, Bella,” he said. “I’mthe sinner—I’ve sinned against you, and I pray that you’ll forgive me. I should have told you the truth about the brooch.”
He placed a kiss on her forehead, then caressed her hair.
“I’ve something to tell you,” he said.
“Then tell me, Lawrence,” she said. “Tell me the truth—but please, don’t break my heart.”
He blinked and met her gaze, his eyes dark with desire—and guilt.
He placed the brooch in her hands and curled her fingers around it. “This brooch is yours, Bella. It was made for a lady. The daughter of a duke.”
She stared at it, running her fingertips over the metalwork.
“You mean—it was made for another, but she had to sell it? Do you know its history?”
“No.”
“And—you bought it for me?”
His brow furrowed.
“Oh, Lawrence! It must have cost everything you have.”
“I-I couldn’t afford to have it made for you special.”
She eyed the monogram. “This brooch and I are the same, are we not—with broken histories. But why did you hide it?”
“I-I was saving it for a special occasion.”
Guilt thickened his voice, and she placed her hand on his cheek. How could she have doubted him?
“A special occasion?”
He closed his eyes, his brow creasing as if in pain. Then he opened them again, his gaze clear.
“Aye,” he said. “It’s a special occasion when I finally come to realize how much I appreciate having you in my life. Starting now.”
He took her hand and led her out of the parlor, upstairs to his bedchamber.
Her heart soared with hope. Was he going to make love to her?
“I’llsleep on the sofa from now on,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for my wife.”
Then, after giving her a chaste kiss on the forehead, he exited the bedchamber, closing the door behind him.
Bella turned the brooch over in her hand, then set it on a table, slipped off her gown, and climbed into the bed. Alone.
How much I appreciate having you in my life.
Would it have killed him to say that he loved her?
Chapter Thirty-Three
“There you are!I’ve been looking for you.”
Lawrence glanced up from clipping Lady Merrick’s hedge, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. “That you, Ned?”
His friend’s head appeared over the hedge. “What’s all this about you bringin’ Lady Arabella to the Oak tonight? Hirin’ a private parlor, so Mrs. Colt says.”
