Chapter Seven
The calling card embossed with William’s name trembled in Olivia’s hand. “He’s here,” she whispered.
But why? Surely, they didn’t have anything to say to one another. Unless he’d changed his mind… But she didn’t want her heart to hinge on the whisper of that hope.
Elizabeth knew instantly whom she meant. “Do you want us to stay?”
Olivia stared at her, barely able to understand what she was saying. Then she shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
Under her oldest sister’s charge, her entire family filed out from the sitting room as obediently as soldiers, leaving Olivia by herself. She rested her hands in her lap, looked down at the pattern of small roses that dotted her muslin dress. And forced her thundering heart to slow.
She didn’t hear him come in, but the toes of his Hessian boots came into view. She glanced up. Her gaze flicked from his bloodshot eyes to the stubble that lined his jaw, to the disheveled appearance of his clothing. “You look dreadful.”
His lips curved humorlessly. “I feel dreadful.” He held something out to her, something a bit bigger than her hand, and rectangular, wrapped in brown packaging.
She took it and untied the string, revealing a book with dark leather binding. She frowned at the title.
Poems
by William Cross
“Open it,” he murmured.
With trembling hands, she did, pausing at the inscription on the next page.
For Olivia
And the inscription had her flipping through the book to see what exactly he’d written for her. Her lips parted as she read the first lines of one of the poems—
Breathe into Me
Let me steal your breath
And your life, and your heart, and your hands, and your kiss
Let me be yours
As bound to you as the earth to the sun
She continued reading as he waited, flushing hotly at some of the more explicit lines, barely able to draw breath at the lines that were so tenderly romantic that her pulse quickened and a lump formed in her throat. Finally, she had to stop, even though she wanted to read straight through to the last page. She shut the book gently, set it carefully down on the end table next to her as though it were something more breakable than glass.
She stared up at him, at a loss for words.
“There’s only the one copy,” he said. “I paid a small fortune to borrow a printing press.”
“How did you find time to write this and print it?” she asked.
“I’ve had very little sleep in the past week. Which you can probably guess by looking at me,” he added drily.
She remained silent. Waiting.
He cleared his throat—a nervous gesture. William nervous was foreign. It made her chest ache and her fingers itch to touch him.
“I don’t know if you can forgive me,” he said. “I wouldn’t blame you if you cast me off. I’ve made a damnable mess of things. But I needed you to know, Olivia. Every word is true. Even if you don’t want me anymore. I didn’t—” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t let you think I don’t love you. And I want to be your husband—if you’ll still have me.”
He looked as though his whole world was hanging by a thread, and her next words would either break it or secure it. Olivia choked back a strangled sob. To be honest, she wasn’t sure how to respond. She forced herself to be brave and ask the questions that would either break or secure her heart.
“Are you certain you trust me not to leave you? Or…are you worried that you’ll be the one who leaves?” At his startled expression, she added, “Lord Ashworth told me about your mother.”
“I worried about both,” he finally admitted. “But I’ve realized there’s nothing in life that says we are doomed to repeat the mistakes of our parents. You’re not like my mother. I’m not like her. And I’m not like my father, either. I’m not giving my heart and soul to someone who won’t keep them safe. I’m giving them to you.” The ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “Already given,” he corrected. “I’m yours. All of me.”
And that was what she needed to hear. She went to him, then. Or flew at him, actually. She rose from her stiff position on the sofa straight into his open arms. She clasped her hands tightly around the back of his neck and tugged his head down so she could kiss him.
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
She traced his lower lip with her tongue.
“I’ll take it as one,” he said, laughing.
She drew back a moment later, breathless and giddy because she’d never before experienced such searing joy. “You should have let me read your poems sooner,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But I haven’t been able to touch you in a fortnight. Let’s discuss it later.”
His fingers tangled in her hair as he lovingly pressed his mouth to hers, and he slowly undid the pins, letting the tendrils slide across his hands. “I’ve missed you,” he said, “so much. I’ve ached for you.”
“Now you’re here,” she whispered, holding him tight.
“Now I’m here,” he agreed, and captured her mouth in a loving kiss.
And that was how her family found them when they tumbled into the sitting room—locked in a scandalous, passionate, heartfelt embrace.
Her mother swooned, and her father yelled for the hartshorn before Olivia and William broke apart, finally noticing their interlude had been interrupted. Her sisters squealed, and instantly the two of them were enveloped by hugging arms and joyful tears.
William lifted his eyebrows, and Olivia laughed, and then they kissed again, in happy disarray.