In that moment, Miranda was rather certain that she was the fool, for falling in love with a man who would never love her in return. A dashing, beautiful rake who had shown her the depths of pleasure and stolen her heart in the process.
By the timeRhys reached Miranda’s narrow house, he was nearly mad. He had gone directly to her school, dismayed to find it deserted. Although he knew she was meant to be teaching a class today, there appeared to be neither pupils nor anyone else about, the front door solidly barred. He had returned tohis carriage and given his coachman her direction, not knowing where else she could possibly be.
His overactive mind tormented him with hideous scenarios the whole bloody way there. There were thoughts of Miranda running away with the Marquess of Waring. Her in Waring’s arms. Waring daring to kiss her, to touch her. Worst, Miranda telling Waring that she loved him and that she had been awaiting his return so she could confess her feelings.
The carriage had not even come to a complete halt before he vaulted from it, rushing along the pavements until he reached the front door. He didn’t even bother to catch his breath before knocking.
No answer.
He rapped again, his knuckles smarting from the effort he put into it.
Where was she? He had to find her. To tell her that he loved her. To ask her to marry him before it was too late and she eloped with that milksop marquess.
“Miranda,” he called out, not caring if he made a scene for her neighbors to overhear.
Let them. Likely all London knew by now that she had been sharing his bed for the last five weeks. The damage had already been done.
The door jerked open suddenly, and there she stood, heartachingly beautiful but pale, her cheeks tearstained, her green eyes rendered even more vibrant by her bloodshot eyes. He hated the evidence of her sadness. Hated knowing he was likely the cause of it.
“Miranda,” he breathed, reaching for her. “You’ve been weeping.”
“Rhys.” She frowned, taking a step in retreat. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m hoping I might explain inside rather than out in the street,” he said wryly, his gaze devouring her.
How had it only been a day since he had seen her last? It felt more like a year.
Her frown deepened. “I cannot think it wise. I’ve already told you, our arrangement is over.”
“I would like a new arrangement with you,” he told her.
She shook her head. “I do not dare after all the damage that has been done to my reputation. Have you not heard about the gossip rag?”
“I have.” He ground his jaw against a rush of righteous anger. “And I’m sorry for it. I promise you that I’ll find whoever was responsible and make the bastard pay.”
“You should go.” She began to close the door on him.
He wedged his booted foot solidly in the jamb. “Not until you let me in.”
“Rhys,” she hissed, her nostrils flaring. “You are causing a scene.”
He held her gaze, determined. “Only think of the scene I’ll cause when I’m forced to climb your house and break in to one of your windows.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He raised a brow, unflinching. “Oh, but I would, darling.”
He would do anything he had to do. Anything to rectify the wrong he had done, the damage he had caused her reputation. Anything to make amends for his colossal stupidity.
At last, and with a huffed sigh of irritation, she pulled the door back open and moved to allow him entrée. “Very well. If you insist.”
“I do.” He strode over the threshold and kicked the door shut, all the courtly charm completely gone from him now. He was nothing but raw, burning emotion as he took her cool hands in his. “The new arrangement I want with you is marriage.”
Her lips parted. “What?”
“I want to marry you, Miranda. I want to be your husband, and I want you as my wife.”
The words felt so thoroughly right as they left him.
