“But I cannot thank all of you enough for your friendship and understanding and discretion for the eccentricities I seemed to have acquired in the recent past. I am very blessed that Irene and Celia are strong enough to handle the truths that appear to come their way with the frequency of the minutes passing.” Her eyes met his. “The rector does not have our worries at this time. We will be honored to say our farewells to Lady Harlowe tomorrow and return directly to London.”
Brock let out a relieved breath.
After dinner broke up, he slipped out of the house and walked the perimeter. The rain had ceased, but it was only temporary. The trees still rattled with an unexplained eeriness. He stepped back inside just as the onslaught let loose.
“Brock? I’ve been waiting for you to return.”
He froze. “Ginny?” She stood in a dark nook, her expression shadowed, making it impossible to read.
She stepped into the low sconced lighting of the foyer, her eyes full of an emotion that filled him with hope. She held out her hand, and he was lost.
He pulled her into his chest, cupped the nape of her neck, and kissed her as if there were no more tomorrows.
Brock’s lips sealing hers felt like coming home. And terrified her. The whirling vortex of emotion swallowed her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. She took his tongue in her mouth and stroked. The friction was hot enough to keep the house fires burning for another century.
He broke away, and her lips tingled against the now cool air touching them.
“This is mad,” he whispered. “Where is everyone?”
“In the drawing room,” she said on a breathless rush. “I-I wished to talk to you. There are things… things that need to be said—” Two fingers stayed her words.
He glanced about. “The morning room should still be warm, if that will work.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
He took her hand, and she followed. He could lead her into the gates of hell and she would still follow.
Once inside, she pulled her hand away and went to a cozy sitting area before the low fire in the grate. She sat down and stared into the embers, trying to think of how best to form her words. To her dismay, he remained standing. Nothing for her ever came easy.
A long moment went by. She inhaled deeply, letting the air out slowly. She looked up at him. “Thank you.”
His brows met in a puzzled frown. “I don’t understand.”
She smiled. “No. I don’t suppose you do. This afternoon, seeing you with the girls. Your patience, your drive, and your commitment to seeing through a task you’ve undertaken”—she coughed out a choked laugh—“that you didn’t want to do, yet applied your honesty, your integrity. I’m ashamed—”
He was beside her in an instant. “Ginny, don’t—”
“No. Please.” She gripped his hand, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’m ashamed. You saved my life. Maudsley would have returned and killed me, you know.”
He flipped his hand, squeezing hers. “It was my greatest fear.”
“But you took my girls, made certain they were safe. Nursed me back to life.”
“To be fair, that was my valet, Punkle.”
She ignored him, desperate to get the words out. “You kept Maudsley away. All at your own peril. You make light, but you… you are a true hero.”
“And you are my heroine, darling. Don’t you see?”
If only that were the case.She shook her head, unable to speak. The tears escaped and trekked down her cheeks.
He brushed them away. “Marry me, Ginny. Please.”
But she couldn’t. He didn’t know everything. She leaned forward, cupped his jaw, still unable to form the words, and kissed the side of his lips. “You are… everything. Everything any woman could dream,” she whispered, then stood hurried from the room.
Twenty-Eight
T
