His breath eased.
It was a loosening of a lifetime of darkness, sin, pain.
Closing his eyes, Argyll angled his head back and drew in the clean, pure scent of the flowers around them.
“The finest flower that e’er was seen
Is withered to a stalk…”
It took a moment for him to register that her haunting song had concluded.
When he opened his eyes, he found his wife’s gaze upon him.
Abandoning the cards she had stacked, she began to rise.
Argyll closed the distance and, sweeping her up, took her lips in a gentle meeting—a tender union.
When he drew away, a dazed smile toyed with her lips. “What was that f—”
“I love you, Daria.” Emotion deepened his voice. Why had he ever feared this? Why, when in loving her, he had found life again. “From the moment you stepped into my life, you transformed me. You healed me when I did not know I was broken inside. You are my reason for being.”
Daria’s heart thumped quick against her breast.
“You love me?” she whispered on a caught breath.
“I love you.” His gaze radiated tenderness; it sent warmth sliding along her arms, and found its final place in her heart. “With all I am.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Her husband’s brow dipped. “I love you, Daria.”
“But before you said…I thought…”
“Ishouldhave said I was a fool.” He slowly traced his gaze along her face, as though he committed every line to memory. “The very worst kind, Daria. And the truth is, I love you. Madly. Deeply. I love your courage.” His hand found her cheek, warmand trembling. “Your refusal to surrender what you want.” His fingers drifted away and returned, unable to let her go. “I adore how you are unabashedly you.” His every caress a benediction. “I love you.” His voice broke. “I love you with a depth that terrifies me, and yet I cannot care about being afraid, because I loveyoumore.”
Daria’s mouth began to tremble.
Horror sent Gregory’s eyes into a flare. “Daria?”
Gregory’s face, a face she loved above all others blurred before her.
“No! You are not allowed to cry. Absolutely not, my love.”
Tears slipped along her cheeks.
Gregory groaned. “Blast it, Daria! I am not allowed to blunder this.” He quietly cursed. “I’ve gone and cursed at you twice. My apologies, love.”
Crying and laughing, Daria brought her palms over her face.
“You are…you are…” Mumbling something that sounded a good deal like ‘rogue-charm-no-more’. “No tears. Absolutely not, Daria!” He guided her hands down. “Please,” he begged.
Gregory looked away; tracing his gaze over Lord and Lady Abington’s vast terrace. “I’m not as good at saying things when I mean them. When they are important enough, I cocked up our wedding ceremony.”
She sniffled. “I loved it.”
“Your family wasn’t there,”
“That was my choice.”
