If only she could take them back. Wipe away the past six months. Instead she had only added to the long list of betrayals in his life.
“What could England want?” she muttered crossly. They already had what she most desired.
In a whirl of skirts, she turned and strode from her chamber, her lips firmly set. Whatever the Duke of Malbane wanted, he would be advised to present his case quickly before she sent him packing back to England. She was in no mood for diplomacy.
Two guards stepped in beside her and escorted her down the hall to her sitting room. She paused outside the door and drew in a breath before throwing it open and gliding inside.
Across the room, a man stood. A very familiar looking man. He stared directly at her, and the world stopped around her.
Merrick?
The room tilted crazily beneath her, and for a moment, she feared she would so something extremely silly, like faint.
She glanced around the room searching for who had accompanied Merrick here, but besides the guards, no one else was present. She waved her guards away, and they backed from the room.
“Isabella,” Merrick said in greeting, his voice low and cautious.
It took every ounce of restraint she could muster not to launch herself in his direction and throw herself in his arms.
“Merrick. Wh—what are you doing here? I was told the Duke of Malbane requested an audience with me.”
He smiled crookedly. “Risking one’s life for his country has its rewards, I suppose. I’ve been awarded the title of Duke of Malbane by His Majesty, the regent.”
“Congratulations.”
She continued to stare at him, hating the awkward silence between them. Had she stood here and stiffly offered congratulations as if he were a soldier in her ranks who had just been promoted?
Finally he cleared his throat and drew out an official looking document from his breast pocket. He was dressed in accordance with his station, formal breeches and waistcoat, stiffly tied cravat, polished Hessians. He looked every inch the statesman, but she missed the Merrick she had spent so much time with. The torn and ragged trousers, the threadbare shirt, his bare feet when his boots had been stolen.
As she looked beyond his outer finery, she was shocked to see how haggard he appeared. He was thinner than she remembered, and tiny lines creased the corners of his eyes. Tired looking eyes. But to her starving gaze, he never looked better.
“I come bearing a proposal from His Majesty, the Prince Regent of England,” Merrick began formally. “He believes a union between our countries would benefit our governments and our people. To seal such an alliance, he suggests a marriage.” He stared directly into her eyes. “Between Queen Isabella Genevieve Elizabeth Chastaine and an English nobleman.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she froze. How cruel was this situation? Merrick arrived to arrange her marriage to a high-ranking member of the English aristocracy? Anger at the regent’s presumption followed closely on the heels of her initial surprise.
“And who pray tell does your regent propose I marry for the good of England?” she asked icily.
“Me.”
Her mouth fell open, and her gaze flew to his face, read the sudden vulnerability that flashed in his eyes as he made the simple proclamation.
“I don’t understand,” she began lamely.
He closed the distance between them until he stood a breath away. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. Her hands itched to touch him, to reassure herself that she wasn’t dreaming. After so many nights of waking to an empty bed, she could not countenance that he was here, standing before her, proposing marriage.
He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. Then he moved one hand to cup her chin and gently tilted her face to look up at him. “There is something I must know, Isabella. Something I have traveled all the way from London to find out.”
She blinked and waited for him to finish.
“Do you love me, Isabella? Tell me the truth this time. Don’t allow our countries, our duty, what you might feel is best for me to interfere this time. Right now there is only you and me. Nothing else matters except your answer to this question.”
Hope, anguish, fear, anticipation. They all burned brightly in his eyes. She could no longer lie to this man. The man she loved more than she had ever loved anyone else in her life.
With a small cry, she threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest. She gripped him tightly. As tightly as he now held her. He stroked her hair and pressed kisses to the top of her head.
“I would hear your answer,” he murmured against her hair.
She drew away, moisture forming in her eyes, blurring his image before her. “I love you, Merrick. More than I can possibly express.”
