She could not be seen anywhere in the crowd. People were constantly moving and dancing. He feared he could miss her. Then again, his every sense told him that she was not amongst the assembled company. He walked through the squire’s house. She was not there.
Desperate now, he went out the front door—and there he saw her. There was an arbor covered with ivy close to the tree line bordering the lawn. Beneath it was a bench and there sat Leonie holding a punch cup. She studied it as if working a great problem in her mind. She’d loosened the ribbons of her hat so that it hung down her back.
Roman watched her, a weight settling in his chest. He didn’t think she’d seen him. With one step, he could return inside the house and pretend he’d not witnessed her with the punch.
She’d break him, she would. This habit of hers would crush his heart, and he was powerless to stop her. Nor could he leave her. He loved her too much.
And then, Leonie stood.
Holding the cup ceremoniously in front of her, she poured the contents on the ground.
She didn’t drink it. She had chosen not to drink.Roman could have fallen to his knees in thanksgiving. Instead, he shouted her name and ran to her.
Leonie looked up with a start, obviously unaware that she’d been watched.
Before she could do anything, he was upon her. He swung her in his arms, twirled her around, and kissed her with the freedom of a man who loved.
At last he stopped because they both needed to take a breath, but he held on to her. He was never going to let her go. Leonie looked up at him. “How did you know I was here?”
“The squire told me he’d given you a cup of his special punch.”
“And you came looking for me? You were afraid I would drink it?”
“I prayed you wouldn’t.”
Her dark eyes searched his for understanding. “I wanted it, Roman. I could smell the brandy. I haven’t forgotten the scent.”
Her words were his deepest fears for her.
“But then I thought about roses and how when they are buds the petals are all folded in on each other. They don’t look like they could be anything. However, when they reach out to bloom, those same petals reveal the most amazing gifts. The center of every rose is like the heart of the flower.” She leaned toward him. “I told myself I was like one of those roses, closed off from anything meaningful because if I thought too hard I’d see how ugly I was—”
“Leonie, you are beautiful.”
She blushed and then said, “I am now, Roman. But not because of how other people see me, but because of you. You forgave me for what happened with Paccard.”
“I never blamed you—”
“Yes, you did.”
She was right. He had. When she’d abandoned him to his fate, he had blamed her for the whole of it... but that seemed so long ago. “If things hadn’t gone as they did, we would not be here together right now,” he said.
“That is true. I can’t imagine my life without you. I’m far from perfect and my looks will fade with age—”
“Not in my eyes.”
She laughed, the sound dear to him. She placed her hands on either side of his jaw. “I love you.”
Her declaration filled him with joy. Before he could cover her with kisses, she said, “I’ve worked very hard to become the woman I want to be. That woman chose life over what was in the cup.”
“Leonie, you are all that I could ask. I’m not perfect either.”
She laughed. “I know, and yet you are perfect for me.” And she kissed him.
She put her arms around his neck, pressed her breasts against his chest, her thighs meeting his, and kissed him with such love there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.
When she was done, he could scarce remember his name. She’d stolen his wits.
Nor was she done with him. “Roman, may we marry again? I believe I’d like to remember repeating my vows.”
