But instead, he unbuttoned a satchel dangling from the side of the horse’s saddle and dug inside. He turned around, clutching something in his hand. Eyes set on mine, he lifted a paper, offering it to me.
I noticed the scrawl right away. It was my own handwriting.
“Where did you get this?” My hands shook with surprise at holding David’s letter again.
“I went looking for you, and your maid gave it to me. Or I took it, rather, when she told me of your plan.” Peter’s voice was deep and husky. He took a hesitant step toward me. “I am trying to be honorable, Amelia. I want to do what is best for you. To give you what you want and what you deserve.” He swallowed hard, scraping a hand through his hair.
I was about to protest, to admit that even I did not know what was best for me anymore, when he said, “But I don’t want to be honorable. I don’t want to do what is best for you. I want what is worth fighting for, what makes me the luckiest man alive. And that is loving you.” Peter let out a breath as though he’d released a great weight he’d carried, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
We looked at each other for a beat, breathing in tandem.
My lips parted. Rushing heat overwhelmed me as his words registered in my mind and then my heart, paralyzing me. Peter was fighting for me. Why wasn’tIfighting for him? For us? I took a deep breath, feeling it in my stomach and in my toes. My fingers itched to touch his chest, his shoulders, his neck. But I had one thing left to do.
“Do you know what I want?” Hands shaking, I ripped the letter in half. “I want apple orchards, and the best apple pie.” I tore the pieces into fourths, and the corners of Peter’s lips twitched. “I want to go to Paris, to learn French, to see the Seine.” With each statement, I tore the letter again and again, until the pieces were small enough to float on the wind. “I want a life full of laughter and scheming and dancing underneath the stars.”
Peter’s eyes held mine as the air carried away my words, and he took a step forward. The rising sun hit him perfectly, illuminating his face as confidence grew in his eyes. We were inches apart, and the desire between us was tangible.
Lifting my hands to his coat, I brushed over the buttons that lined his chest, then grasped his lapels, leaning as closely as I could without touching my lips to his.
“I wantyou,” I whispered, and his stoic form broke free.
Before I could think, before reason found its place, Peter wrapped his arms around my waist, clutching a handful of my skirts, and pulled me close to him. His lips found mine as easily as though he’d kissed me like this a million times, so fervently and so deeply and so very uncontrolled.
My hands reached his shoulders, curving around his neck and into his hair. He slid his hands up my back, laughing into the kiss as though he too couldn’t believe he was kissing me in the middle of a field under a masterpiece of a sunrise. He kissed my jaw and the crease of my mouth, lifting me and turning me toward the sun, before pulling me close and starting all over again on my lips.
When my knees were weak and I was thoroughly kissed, I pulled back, breathing heavily against him. How had I spent my entire life not knowing how this felt? How had I lived before now?
“Amelia,” he said softly, burying his nose into a soft spot on my cheek. He kissed my cheek, my forehead, my lips. “Marry me.”
I leaned my forehead against his. “Georgiana will hate me. Clara will be mortified by the connection.”
“Yes,” Peter breathed, nodding in full agreement. “We will not outrun our share of trouble.”
Leaning back, I looked into his clear green eyes.
Despite the growing urge I felt to laugh with joy, I was struck by the sun touching the earth behind us. Behind Peter. The gloriousness of a light unparalleled in beauty.
I let my smile lift my lips fully and unabashedly as I said, “I don’t mind the trouble. As long as I’m with you.”
Chapter Thirty
By the time we entered the clearing, full sunshine lined every blade of grass.
My ears were full of sweet declarations and even sweeter promises, my happiness overflowing like high tide in the afternoon. Peter stole ahead of me for the hundredth time, catching me in his arms and covering me in kisses.
Love was bliss. And I never wanted it to end.
Hand in hand, we approached his carriage.
“I wish I could stay,” Peter said somberly, pressing his lips to my forehead.
I wrapped my arms around his neck. If begging made any rational sense, I would plead for him to stay. But Georgiana needed him right now. Her broken heart needed mending.
The rest of Peter’s days would be mine soon enough.
I pressed my nose against his. “Will you send for me? As soon as you can?”
“The moment you allow it. I imagine you will want to be with your sister until she is wed.”
