This man who had lied to her and saved her and walked a mile through a storm with blood running down his face because she had left a door open.
This man who had knelt in her kitchen and confessed to love like it was a mortal wound.
This man whose body was still inside hers, whose heart was still hammering against her ribs, whose hands were still shaking in fear of her next words.
“It means I love you,” she smiled. “And I will stay.”
EPILOGUE
SIX MONTHS LATER
The tide brushed against the shore on a sunny May afternoon. The beach carved along the cliffside as far as the eye could see. A salty wind carried the cries of seagulls in the distance, flying in the direction of mainland England across the sea where real life waited for their return.
Nicholas crouched in the sand, observing the gentle retreat of the waves. The roar of the sea was almost deafening. It rolled in and tickled his bare feet in the sand. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Amelia, sitting on a blanket further up the beach with a book on her lap. The pale green ribbons on her straw bonnet whipped against the air.
“Something the matter?” she asked when he approached some minutes later, squinting up at him from beneath her parasol. “Are you wishing we had brought the bathing machine now? I told you. The water is warm today.”
“As if the absence of a bathing machine would stop me. No one on this little Isle of Man cares a whit who I am.” He sat besideher and leaned back on his elbows, wincing at the bright sun on the horizon. “I would strip down right here and now if the mood struck me.”
“Why, I know you would,” Amelia teased, turning the page. “Peacock that you are. Always eager to show yourself off.”
“Careful now, or I shall have you divest me immediately.”
They smiled together. Nicholas admired her. She had removed her gloves to read, and the scars on her arm shone in the sun. His stomach knotted.
She assures me this is for the best, and I should trust her.
She snapped her book shut and laughed.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You,” she said tenderly. “Threatening to strip down. You must be the first duke in all of history to wade naked out into the sea.”
“Do you think this age of decorum has lasted forever?”
The sun had caught Amelia’s face, and her nose and cheeks were covered with a faint constellation of freckles. His heart clenched to behold her. Every passing day, he thought she became more beautiful.
The wind cast her hair into her face, and she straightened her bonnet, turning toward the sea again.
“You cannot strip now, regardless. Freddy and Lou will be back any minute from their walk, and I will die of embarrassment if they catch you in the flesh.”
He scoffed.
“So it is your turn to laugh now?” she said, scowling.
“Your brother is far from a prude—and his new wife isFrench, for heaven’s sake. They are likely off somewhere divesting themselves as we speak.”
Amelia grabbed her book and swatted him. Nicholas dodged her attack and took her wrist, placing a kiss on her hand before releasing her.
“You would not know she was French by looking at her,” Amelia said. “She is extremely modest and refined. Far more refined than me anyway.”
“Good.”
She crawled on her knees and settled beside him. He took her into his arms while he could, relishing this rare moment alone with her.
Given the war activities in France, it had been decided that neither Amelia nor Freddy would be heading to the Continent after all. The viscount had gone only briefly to retrieve his beloved doctor, who had returned to England with him to set up a research practice in London under a male alias.
It had been Louise’s idea—now theViscountess Tate—to summer on the Isle of Man, where Amelia could begin her treatments in privacy. She had diagnosed Amelia with a falling sickness, confidently proclaiming that there was nothing wrong with her mind, just like they had always suspected. She believed that Amelia’s nervous system was imbalanced, though Nicholas was far too uneducated on medical matters to understand the finer points of what she had explained to them.
