“I have never wanted anything more,” he assured him. “I am honored to have you as my son. I did not know about you. If I had, nothing would have stopped me from coming back to you and your mama both.”
“It is a long and difficult story, what happened in the past,” Ara added, a frown creasing her brow as she met Clay’s gaze once more. They had decided there was no need to reveal the full extent of the ugly truth to Edward. One day, when he was old enough to understand, they might. For now, they would offer him only as much information as he needed. “What’s important is that you know the truth, and you keep this truth to yourself. Tuck it into your heart, my love.”
Edward nodded slowly. His eyes flitted to Clay once more. “Does this mean I can have my knife back now?”
A laugh tore from him. “No, lad. You must still heed your mama.”
He was silent for another moment. “Is Mrs. Lily my grandmother? She tells stories about knights and dragons and gives me sweets. I like her.”
“Aye.” Clay grinned. Thank God for his mother. The woman was an angel, and he had no doubt she would help to ease the transition for the lad.
Edward cocked his head then, giving Clay a bashful half smile. “I like you too, sir. Having a warrior for a father is just as honorable as having a duke for a father.”
Warmth exploded in Clay’s chest. His eyes stung. His vision blurred.
He blinked.
Tears.
Tears of happiness. He ruffled the lad’s dark hair, so like his own. “Thank you, son.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ara had beenwaiting for the knock on the door adjoining her chamber to Clay’s for what seemed like an eternity. She had prepared herself, she thought, for the dialogue they would have. They had not been alone since she had found him in the copse of trees earlier that afternoon. The rest of the day had passed by in a frenzied blur. The new governess, Miss Palliser, had arrived, sending the house into a flurry as the small staff of domestics saw her settled. She was set to begin her new position tomorrow, and Ara had met with her accordingly, doing her best to make certain she had not hired another Miss Argent.
Miss Palliser was dark-haired and lovely, soft-spoken and pleasant, and she seemed genuinely excited to take on Edward as her charge. Only time would tell, but it was a promising start, at least. After sending Miss Palliser off to get her belongings sorted and brush off her travel dust, Ara had joined Clay, his mother, and Edward for an informal dinner. Lily was a lovely woman with a heart as big as England. Her adoration for Edward was plain, and likewise his for her. It was as if the lost time between them had never existed.
Ara had sat at the dinner table, basking in the warmth, feeling for the first time in a long time as if she were a part of a family again.Herfamily. It was not that Freddie had not loved her or that she had not loved him, but rather that their love had been platonic, and he had made his home with Sir Percy, the one he loved with all his heart. Being with Clay, watching him interact with their son, watching his mother’s eyes well with tears of maternal happiness, had been humbling indeed. And gratifying as well.
But not another word had been spoken between them regarding his sudden marriage proposal.Heavens, if one could even refer to it as such. Rather, it had been more of an announcement than a question. She had not minded. Her heart—always his, still his, forever his—had leapt, eager to agree. Sitting alone in the silence of her chamber, however, brushing out her curls before the long, beveled glass, gave her time to fret.
She fervently hoped he had not changed his mind.
What if he does not wish to marry you after all,an unwanted voice inside her asked. Then her mind started churning, doubts and more questions brewing. What if he spoke out of the abundance of emotion coursing through him in that moment? What if he had simply gotten carried away?
What would she do if he—
Knock, knock, knock.
There he was, one piece of wood and a dozen steps separating them, and though she had been expecting him, anticipation skittered through her all the same. For a beat, she felt as if she were the same girl she’d been eight years before, stealing away from Kingswood Hall beneath the cover of darkness and running to him. Tonight was different, however. She was older. Wiser, she hoped. More in love with him than ever. She had not stopped loving him. He had always been a part of her, and she had carried him in her heart all this time.
She stood, shaking out her dressing gown, flipping back her long hair, surveying herself in the mirror for a moment longer than necessary. She had never been a vain woman. Indeed, she did not think she had even noticed her appearance in some time. But tonight, she wanted to look as well as she could.
For Clay.
Knock. Knock.
The raps on the door were a bit louder this time, suggesting he was growing impatient. She tightened the sash belting her waist for good measure. One last look in the glass—pale face, wide eyes, bright-red hair she had always loathed, a smattering of freckles on her nose she could never successfully cover with pearl powder, lips that were too large—and she sighed, willing her heart to calm itself.
“Enter,” she called, attempting to strike a nonchalant pose.
Dear Lord, what if he realized she had been assessing her reflection? How embarrassing. How silly of her. Nine-and-twenty years old, vicious assassins threatening her life, her entire world in shambles, and here she was, worrying about if her robe accentuated her waist enough, counting the spots she had always reviled.You are a ninny, Ara. A complete and utter fool.
But then the door opened, and Clay strode through it, and she forgot to think. Forgot to breathe. Forgot everything and simply drank him in. He wore a dressing gown as well, fashioned of navy silk, and it hugged his powerful body in a way that made her mouth go dry.
His chest was exquisite.Hewas exquisite. Flawless. He was not the same young man she’d fallen in love with, but this man was so much more. The scar on his cheek only accented his beauty, for it told the story of who he was. It showed his resilience and determination. His strength and fortitude. She hated how he had received it, and she would never forgive her father for the grievous sins he had committed, but all the same, she would not trade the Clay before her now for the Clay she had first fallen in love with.
They were the same, and yet they were different. So different. Both beloved. Both hers.
