“You wrote it after jilting the baron, you said?”
Emma inhaled. “Yes. I tried to do my duty to my parents…as you are perfectly aware. But when it came time to make plans for the wedding and our future, it was impossible. I found I could not marry him.”
“Why not?” Owen’s pulse raced, dying to understand what had occurred in the wake of his running away.
“He was not you,” she said quietly.
Owen breathed, unable to respond.
Emma swallowed. “I could not imagine my life with anyone else. While I knew it would take great effort and a good deal of groveling to make up for how I’d hurt you, I had hoped you would forgive me. I did not realize I was too late.”
“But I was gone. I never heard from you.”
“Then my parents contracted their illness, we learned that our financial situation was in dire straits, and within a month, I had lost everything. But your aunt and uncle took pity on me. They invited me to stay with them while my parents were sick, and when everything else occurred, I never went home. Mrs. Buckley offered me employment as her companion, and I hoped it would lead me back to you. But after a few years, I gave up hope.”
Owen’s heart had been beaten and bruised, but he could feel the healing taking place. He’d already forgiven Emma for the pain she’d caused him, but understanding what had happened gave him closure as well. “Does this mean you would consider…that I have a chance?”
Emma looked down, shaking her head. “Owen, be reasonable. Things have changed dramatically since you were last in Briarstead. Nothing is the same any longer, least of all my position.”
He put a finger beneath her chin, lifting it until she looked into his eyes once more. “You think I care at all for your position?”
“You ought to. Your standing is high now. The people will expect great things.”
“The only opinion I care for is yours.”
She swallowed. “I cannot take you seriously.”
“That is offensive.”
Her eyebrows drew together sharply, but her face softened when she seemed to note the teasing in his expression.
His fingers brushed along her silky skin, dragging over her jawline and tracing the shell of her ear. “Emma, I am tired of trying to pretend I do not immediately look for you each time I step into a room, that yours is not the opinion I seek when I need advice. Years have passed, and we have each grown, but I am as drawn to you now as I ever have been. You’ve given me cause to hope, and I will not retreat without a fight.”
Owen’s hands shook with restraint. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but she seemed hesitant. Her eyes tracked his face like a frightened animal.
“It is likely a result of being here for the first time in years,” she said. “It will pass.”
His fingers slid into her hair, his thumb brushing lazy strokes over her ear. “If it has not passed in nearly a decade, I believe it is safe to assume my feelings are steadfast.”
She shuddered. “How can you say so?”
“Because the moment I laid eyes on you in the lane, I knew my heart had not recovered.”
“Owen,” she whispered, “I am not in a position to leave Mrs. Buckley. When I told you I am on the shelf, I meant it.”
He ignored his better judgment then, fueled by the hope she heaped upon him. Cupping her jaw with both hands, he gazed into her eyes and gently brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones. Emma inhaled sharply. “Nothing needs to be decided today, but do not take every scrap of hope from me, I beg of you. Allow me at least the luxury of knowing you return my feelings, that I have a chance to win you over.”
“I do not see how it would be possible. How could I ever return to Society after being on the fringes for so long?”
Owen watched her lips move as she spoke. He brushed his finger along the divot in her chin. “The same way I did.”
She lifted her hand, pressing it against his chest over his heart. If she wondered about the state of his feelings, she would receive a confirmation now. His pulse thrummed, growing faster from the pressure of her palm. He could hardly breathe.
All her touch had done for him was make him desire more of it. He swayed closer, sliding his other hand around her back. Owen had been starved for physical comfort for so long. Having Emma within his reach, being able to touch her, was a salve over the wounds that had piled up and festered. A woman who appreciated him, who desired him, and whom he desired as well.
He leaned close, pressing a kiss to the edge of her temple, just above her eyebrow.
Her breath hitched. “Why must you torment me, Owen?”
