She reached for his hand. “We marry, then. Right away.”
“Is that your wish?” He meet her gaze. “There are other options.”
Frances leaned her head against his again, and Johnathan felt a calm settle over him—not because the danger had passed, but because he knew exactly what he was willing to fight for.
Not his title.
Not his pride.
Her.
This woman with the fierce mind and the untamed spirit, who had challenged him every step of the way, who had seen past the scandal and shadow and chosen to stay.
He pulled his signing ring from his finger. The metal was cool and slightly worn. The silver dulled in places, but still proud, still solid. The family crest, a stag poised atop a hill, caught the light with a glint that danced over its surface. Once, it had felt like a burden. A shackle.
“This is more than an heirloom,” he said, his voice quiet. “It is a promise. Whatever happens, Frances… I want you to have this.”
He took her hand and slid the ring onto her thumb, the silver still faintly warm from where it had rested against his skin. The metal gleamed like a secret passed between hearts. “This is not merely a token,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “It is everything I am. Everything I offer. A pledge that wherever you walk, I will be beside you—in spirit, in truth, in name. No matter what you decide.”
Her gaze locked with his.
“I am yours,” he said, voice low. “I have been, since the moment you looked at me like I was not broken.”
She did not cry. She did not gasp.
She simply leaned in and kissed him—slow and certain and unshaken.
And though the storm still loomed on the horizon, Johnathan knew they would survive it.
