The question caught me by surprise. “Why does that matter?” I stammered.
“Because you plan to marry him!” Owen stared at me in disbelief. “This is the man you have chosen to spend the rest of your life with—to confide in, to converse with, to laugh with, and to grow old with.” He took a step closer, his eyes boring into mine. “To see day after day, and night after night. When you marry him, you promise one another your heart, your devotion, your body and soul. You promise to cherish him and forsake all others. If you love him, the thought of all of those things should make you happy.” His voice was hoarse. “But you don’t look happy.”
My hands curled into fists again, a surge of frustration rattling inside my chest. A sob threatened to break loose along with the tears that stung my eyes. It was unfair how easily he could see through my barriers, even when I did all I could to prevent it.
I turned around, blocking Owen from my view. I tried to compose my expression, but something within me broke. And then the one promise I had managed to keep broke just as quickly.
A tear leaked from my eye, sliding down my cheek. A second immediately followed, and my body shuddered with a silent sob. I bit my lip, begging myself to stop. I was stronger than this. I was not a watering pot. I did not cry over a man! It had been a five-year struggle to meet what was required of me, but I had somehow managed. Now, all that was required of me was to make my heart understand and forget. It seemed a simple task,but my heart was even more independent than I was these days, and it didn’t want to forget.
“My future happiness is not your concern,” I said. My voice shook, and I wiped hastily at my tears. “My own happiness is not even my priority. It ismy brotherswho I hope to make happy. It is them for whom I must plan. I cannot think of myself. I must marry the vicar.”
“Do you love him?” Owen repeated in a firmer voice.
He stepped around me, giving me no choice but to look at him. I felt bare and vulnerable with my tear-stained cheeks. The moment he saw me, his brows drew together. The heat in his gaze melted away at my armor.
My heart ached, and fresh tears slipped down my cheeks. “That is not your concern either.”
He groaned. “It is my concern, because I love you!” His anguished words echoed in the empty room. The silence that followed was deafening. He raked a hand over his hair, leaving it mussed and falling over his brow. “I began falling in love with you your first day at Kellaway Manor, and have been every day since.”
My lip quivered, my pulse racing in my throat.
“I will no longer make it any secret that I wish to marry you,” he said in a broken voice. “The days we spent together made me happier than I have ever been. You have shown me parts of my heart that I didn’t know existed. At least allow me to offer you a life here at Willowbourne with your brothers where you will be safe. If you don’t love this Mr. Frampton—and you don’t love me—at least you won’t have to return to Silton.”
I was shaking my head, the last of my resolve snapping into pieces. He couldn’t comprehend how badly I wanted to say yes, and to contradict his idea that I didn’t love him. Aunt Ruth had been forcing my hand, threatening me, and manipulating me like a puppet for five years. I had been oppressed and belittled,never loved. To hear that I was loved, but to be unable to tell Owen the truth was far too cruel a fate. Aunt Ruth could stop me from choosing Owen, but she could not stop me from claiming one last thing for myself.
“I do love you.” My voice was the faintest whisper, laced with terror, but I had said it. I couldn’t take it back.
Owen’s stricken expression made my heart pound even harder.
What had I done?
I would have to tell him everything now—explain why I loved him but could not marry him, tell him why I had been so afraid to grow close to him, and why I had been forced to break both our hearts.
I rehearsed all these words in my mind, but before I had a chance to speak again, Owen filled the space between us in one long stride. His intent was clear in his eyes, and foolish as I was, I caught his lapels as he reached me. Before I could draw another breath, he was kissing me.
All my previous efforts to defend my heart and maintain its barriers were quickly unraveling. My head was light. My heart was on fire. Every mindful, fervent movement of his mouth against mine sent a swoop of butterflies through my stomach. His lips were soft but insistent. My skin errupted in gooseflesh everywhere he touched, a chill that was more exhillarating than anything I had ever experienced.
There was no wisdom in my decision to kiss him in return, but I did so anyway. I couldn’t help it, just as I couldn’t help loving him, and just as I couldn’t help speaking my mind. For some time, I had wanted to bury my hands in his hair, so I did it. His curls were soft between my fingers. The stubble on his face was rough around my mouth, but I didn’t care, not one bit. I kissed him because I wanted to, not because I should, or because it was my duty—and certainly not because it was wise.
His arms wrapped around my waist, tugging me against him until there was no space left. My heart fit so easily there, just a beat away from his. Broken as it was, broken asIwas, I had never fit anywhere better than with Owen. My missing pieces were in him, and with each second he kissed me, I found a new one. I felt whole and safe and foolish, all at once. His lips tasted of salt, and it reminded me that I was still crying. My entire body ached with emotion. Tears fell down my cheeks.
I knew it needed to end.
I pushed against his chest, breaking our lips apart abruptly.
He still held me close, and the raw emotion on his face only made me cry harder. “I was certain you didn’t care for me.” His voice was hoarse and soft.
When I looked in his eyes, a sob escaped me. I was nothing but a puddle at his feet, shaking in his arms as tears ran silently down my cheeks. “I-I cannot marry you, Owen. I am already obligated to Mr. Frampton.”
He took my face between his hands. He swiped away a tear from my cheek. “You can break off the engagement if you wish to.”
“I can’t.” My voice was a choked whisper.
“Why not?”
I fell silent, my fears all catching up to me. My worry over Aunt Ruth receiving my written diatribe, those hateful words in my letter, had been causing me constant terror. Even if I did marry Mr. Frampton, there was no telling what Aunt Ruth would do out of spite. The burden weighed on me constantly, and now, with one look from Owen, I was crumbling.
No matter what I did now, there was still a chance Aunt Ruth would take my brothers away. If Owen decided to fight against her, she would take her revenge. I couldn’t speak.
