His silence unnerved her, but she felt a sense of relief that she’d told him the truth at last.
“So, if I were a man of no consequence, you’d marry me?”
“I... I suppose I would.” But as soon as she spoke the words, the guilt returned. “What I don’t understand is why you keep insisting thatIbe the one to marry you. There are other women.”
He let out a slow sigh and finally spoke. “As I said before, there’s no time. There’s only one thing I’m wanting in the world, Emma—and that is to be a husband and a father.”
It was a mirror of her own dream, but she sensed something darker within his words. Something forced her to wait, to let him finish speaking.
“I can promise you that if you marry me, I will never come to despise you. I would be grateful for each and every day as your husband. And if we are blessed with a child, nothing would make me happier.”
He reached for her hand again, but this time it was as if he were seeking strength from her. “I know you think I am irresponsible and forgetful. I’ve let you down when you needed me. And it’s possible—even probable—that I’ll do so again. But it’s not because I didn’t want to be there.”
“Then why?” she asked softly.
“It’s because I’m dying, Emma. It’s unlikely that I’ll last through the end of the year.”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Words of protest rose to her lips, but she could say nothing. For she sensed that this wasn’t an exaggeration. She recognized the pain edging his voice, and even now, she could hear the exhaustion in his tone.
“So, when you said there’s no time...”
“I mean exactly that,” he answered. “I don’t know whether I’ll last until winter or whether I’ll die next week.”
The solemnity in his voice brought an unexpected wave of sadness. “How can you be certain? Did you see a physician?”
“Many,” he answered. “And they all agree that it’s a disease passed through the male line. My father died, as did my older brother Finn. When I grew ill, my mother sent me here.” He paused and added, “She questioned whether we were being poisoned. But I arrived in London with no one. I hired servants a few weeks later. And no matter how hard I’ve tried, the illness keeps coming back.”
He waited for her to speak, and when she could say nothing, he added, “So long as we are being frank, I can tell you that this will most likely be a temporary marriage. After it is over, if you do not conceive a child, my cousin will inherit. That is, if he doesn’t become sick as well.”
“You want me to give you an heir,” she said slowly, releasing his hand. The thought unnerved her, for she’d barely imagined being married, much less becoming a mother.
“I do,” he said. “And in return for your hand in marriage, I’ve paid all your father’s debts.” He waited a moment and asked, “Would you consider it?”
“I don’t know,” she hedged.
And truly, she didn’t. In one way, he’d taken away her choice. If she refused, it made her an ungrateful person, for he’d given her the gift of her father’s freedom. But on the other hand, it felt as if she barely knew Cormac—and he’d given her no time to truly know the sort of man he was. While she understood his desperate desire for an heir, it felt rather like she was selling her body in exchange for her father’s debts.
He took her hand again, as if gathering strength from her touch. “I don’t want to die, Emma. Nor do I wish to burden you with my illness. But the past few days have made it clear that my time is ending.”
“What if I cannot give you a child?” she asked quietly.
“Then I can die knowing that I did everything I could.” He drew her hand to his cheek, and beneath her fingertips, she felt the rough stubble. It seemed like an invitation to touch him, and she used the moment to explore his features. She could see the dark brown color of his hair, but she closed her eyes and traced the edges of his face. He had a strong jaw, a straight nose, and full lips. Her fingers slid down his cheeks to his chin, and he turned his face, pressing a kiss upon her palm. She reached out to touch his hair and noticed that it was roughly cut against his collar, slightly longer than was fashionable.
“What color are your eyes?” she asked.
“Gray,” he answered. Then he drew her hands to rest upon his shoulders. He said nothing about her touch, but it did seem that he understood it was her way of seeing him.
His hands came up to frame her face, and before she knew what was happening, he leaned in and stole a kiss. His warm mouth claimed hers, and a sudden rush of sadness flooded through her before it transformed into something different. It was as if he’d reached inside her and pushed away the thousands of doubts until all there was left in the world was him.
His mouth coaxed hers, his tongue tracing the edge of her lips, asking the silent question of whether she would open for him.
And when she did, everything changed.
The kiss grew hotter, and he pulled her so close, she could feel every line of his body. It had become more than his lips upon hers—it was an invitation.
His hands moved down to her hips, and she could feel the hard strength of his body pressing against her. He tempted her to break past the boundaries of her reticence to surrender to the forbidden.
Emma didn’t want to believe he might die, though she’d heard the rough exhaustion in his voice before. She was afraid to take such a risk, for she wanted more time to know this man. But there wasn’t time, was there?
