“I did not love him.” Miss Lockhart looked away, as though ashamed of what she had said.
“I see.” William’s heart now sped a mile a minute.
“Do you?” Her eyes searched his face. “Then you should know I intended to break the engagement upon his return.”
William thought his heart would burst right out of his chest.
“So you see,” said Miss Lockhart, her lips curling as if the words tasted sour, “I have my own guilt to bear.”
“Westbridge had no idea,” William said rather than asked.
“No.”
“Then you caused him no pain.”
“But I would have.”
“You must have felt very strongly to make such a decision…” William’s voice had grown thick with restrained emotion.
Miss Lockhart shook her head. “I should never have agreed to the marriage in the first place. It all happened so quickly. I would not even have considered it if…”
William waited for her to finish the thought. But she did not. Instead, she twisted her fingers into the folds of her dress and kept her gaze focused in the distance.
“Ifwhat, Miss Lockhart? You may speak freely to me.” William’s entire frame was fit to burst. He kept his feelings under control by the most fierce effort.
“If…” Her eyes roved from tree to tree.” “If…” Her fingers grew frantic in their assault upon the fine muslin of her skirt. “If…youhad asked first.” Her crystal-blue eyes locked on to his, searching, asking.
“Youwantedme to ask?” All the pent-up hope, restraint, denial now crashed down like a wave, briefly overwhelming him before releasing him from its torturous presence, then receding into a waning tide that trickled puddles around the foundations of his soul.
“So very much,” Miss Lockhart whispered.
William asked in a voice hoarse with rising ardor. “You knew I loved you?”
“I hoped,” she said, sounding very small. “I could not be sure. And when I wanted to ask you these past weeks, you would not see me. So I thought I would declare myself and find out if…”
She could say no more. William’s lips had pressed into hers. His mouth molded with the soft, yielding warmth of her own. William heard the groan escape his throat. His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him, the skin of his palm savoring the feel of her closeness, the shape of her body. Her hands clung to him as they had once before, an unmistakable expression of desire. No more doubt. No more ambiguity. Only this: a blending of mutual yearning, the outflowing of a love that was shared and certain.
Miss Lockhart—though surely his heart now called her “Verity”—released her lips from his and panted, her breasts heaving against his chest as she caught her breath. But she did not let go. Oh, she must never again let go!
He had been such a fool. He had always soughtthisfirst. This great passion. He had believed it would be a sign of that one great love he had wanted more than anything else. But William understood now—such passion was theoutcomeof love, not the foundation upon which to build it. True love, he had realized atlast, was honesty even when it hurt, acceptance despite being undeserved, trust because one knew that person well, ferocity in their defense—all qualities Miss Lockhart had by the bucketload.Thatwas why he’d been drawn to her, long before he’d desired her. He had—he could hardly believe it now—walked away from it all, not once, but twice. And yet, here she was, in his arms.
Years of self-loathing, hidden under layers of superficial nonchalance, now fell away like the enormous weight of a great stone. All his fears, his disappointments, his sense of worthlessness were wiped from the table by the unassuming arm of Miss Lockhart. Relief bubbled up from deep within, shaking free from him in an involuntary sob. “Verity,” he cried, pulling her even tighter to him, his head hidden in the curve of her neck. “My own love.” Tears now wrenched from him in gasps. His wasted years pretending he didn’t care what people thought of him. The blood and screams and smoke of Waterloo. The terrible death of Arthur Westbridge. He released them all to her. And she took him in, cradled him as if she could hold the whole world at bay with the power of her love.
At last, emptied of all that had dragged him under, William surfaced, renewed. Verity wiped his wet cheeks gently with the back of her fingers. He cupped her hands to his mouth, pouring his gratitude into them with kisses and murmurs of contentment.
“I love you.” He breathed the words against her palms.
“And I you… William.”
He lifted his head in happy surprise. “Say it again.”
Verity smiled coyly. “William.”
“Again.” He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth.
“William,” Verity purred against his lips before sealing them with her own.
He thought he would consume her with his desire, but she held her own, returning his passion with equal measure, until…
