He was also agreeing to marry the woman who had almost destroyed his old dreams.I will accept your offer and you may have my dowry and eventually my inheritance, provided I am your wife in name only.
That would never happen.
Because, in this moment, Roman realized he longed to see Leonie Charnock pregnant with his child. And it wasn’t that he wanted to possess her. No, he had the unsettling feeling that it was his fate to protect her.
He’d chased after her and Paccard that night because he had known she was making a mistake, that she would need him.
And she had.
Roman could recall all too clearly the smell of blood and gunpowder in the air and the look of horror in her eyes.
Glancing down at the agreement and hearing the clink of the whisky decanter against glass as Charnock poured another healthy drink, Roman sensed she needed him now as well. Indeed, at one time, she’d been one of his dreams, the one he had believed he’d lost.
Roman had bullied his way into the proposal, but he had no regrets. Watching her father drink, knowing the way her mother was, this marriage was best for Leonie. Come what may, he’d make her see the advantages. He had fifty thousand reasons to do so.
“I believe I will take my leave,” Roman said. “Thank you, sir.” He offered his hand. Charnock reached for it.
“We shall let the women work out the details of the wedding breakfast and all of that.”
Roman hadn’t even started to think about the actual details of a wedding. “When should we marry?”
“One week? Two weeks? Whenever.”
Exactly what every caring father should answer. “I shall arrange for the special license,” Roman answered.
“Let me have Yarrow show you out.” Charnock downed his whisky.
“I can find my own way.”
“Good. You are also resourceful. May you be a fertile bastard as well.”
He left the room.
The butler waited in the hallway. He escorted Roman toward the door. They were almost to the foyer when the servant’s step slowed. His gaze on the lacquered front door ahead, he said to Roman, “The servants and I wish to congratulate you, my lord.”
“Thank you—Yarrow, correct?”
The servant confirmed the name with a small bow but then he came to a halt. Without looking at Roman, he said, “Please look after her, my lord. I—weworry.”
“About?”
Yarrow’s gaze met his, and then drifted away as a footman approached from a side room with Roman’s hat and greatcoat in hand. The moment for confidences passed as quickly as it happened. “Here is your hat and coat, my lord. Thank you, Colin.” Yarrow held the hat while Roman put on his coat.
Pulling on his gloves, curiosity made Roman want to press Yarrow for more information; however, the butler had retreated behind the facade of servantly duty. He would not say more.
Roman set his hat upon his head, tipping the brim to a rakish angle. He looked toward the receiving room, half expecting Leonie to be there and yet not surprised that she wasn’t.
“Well, good day,” he said to the servants, and started for the door Colin now held open for him. However, before he could leave, he heard a step on the staircase.
“My lord.” The soft-spoken words turned him around. Leonie stood halfway down the stairs, her hand on the rail, one foot on the step behind her as if caught in indecision—and he thought he wanted to always remember her as she was in this moment.
The deep green of her dress set off the gold in the tawny waves of her hair. Her eyes, always disconcerting in their intensity, now reflected uncertainty.
She came down the stairs toward him, her step so light it was as if she floated. She walked to him and offered her hand. “You would leave without saying good-bye?”
Conscious that the servants watched, he took the hand and brushed his lips against the smooth, warm skin of the tips of her fingers.
She squeezed his gloved fingers and leaned close as if to peck him on the cheek. His heart seized in anticipation.
