Page 33 of Through Darkened Clouds

She straightened her spine and tilted her chin up. But all her prepared fortitude vanished as soon as he stepped into view.

His tall, dark form exuded a power and strength unlike any man she’d ever known. His very presence filled the room. Yet, she had also seen the gentleness that lay within his commanding frame in the tenderness he had shown to her mother and father. Her knees grew weak to be alone with him, remembering the day when he had so vehemently proclaimed his love for her.

“Miss Hale,” he greeted her, his voice warm and his eyes revealing again some flicker of intensity.

“Mr. Thornton. I’m glad you’ve come,” she stuttered, moving forward in greeting, but too afraid to offer her hand. “I wished to tell you how much I appreciate all you have done since my father died,” she rambled on before he could say a word.

“It was my pleasure,” he said with that soothing tone that poured through her and scattered her thoughts. A blush rose to her cheeks as she realized she was studying the shape of his lips. She turned hurriedly to the oak secretary along the wall and opened a drawer to pull out a letter. It quivered in her hands.

“Dixon says…” she began, but halted as he moved to stand so close behind her she smelled the scent of sandalwood and smoke. Her heart battered at his nearness. She dared not move.

Mr. Thornton’s own heart pounded at what he was about to say. “I did not come to discuss such matters,” he said, the timbre of his voice low and intimate near her ear. “I came to see if you were happy here. Or if…”

He closed his hand over her trembling one. “Or if you would be happy to return to Milton…with me.”

He waited for any motion, holding his breath for an answer.

“Margaret!” he murmured in an agony of hope. She had not retracted her hand.

“But you know me to be a liar,” she murmured in disbelief, her head bowed.

He grasped her hand more firmly in his own, the thrill of her contrition sending his pulse hammering in expectation. “I know you to have risked all to save a beloved brother,” he breathed. “I know no other woman who is always so brave.”

She shook her head, turning at last to face him. “But I spoke so rashly to you…I am not worthy—”

“Not worthy!” he exclaimed, pulling her into his arms at last, where she rested her cheek on his shoulder. “Do not speak of worthiness,” he rasped, “when I have feared to hope of ever calling you my own for my own deep feelings of unworthiness.” A tremor of emotion coursed through him as he gently pressed her closer. How sweetly she melded to him!

They remained still for some time.

At last, Margaret drew back to speak. “How did you know about Frederick?”

“Mr. Bell,” he answered with a smile, her lips so temptingly close to his.

“Mr. Bell? But he was just here the other day—”

“He came straight away to tell me you missed the smoke in Milton,” he teased.

A brief laugh escaped her. “I most certainly did not miss the smoke. I missed Mary and Nicholas,” she returned with a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

“And me?” he demanded, tugging her close, his gaze devouring every tantalizing curve of her face.

Her playfulness faded. She nodded faintly, her eyes fixed on his.

For this solemn answer, he kissed her. Tenderly at first, their lips brushed together in tremulous exploration. And then he kissed her more hungrily, as the urges of desire swept over him at her willing submission.

His kisses left her breathless, opening a whole new world of sensation throughout her body.

“I still do not understand,” she said, breaking for a moment from this dizzying pleasure. “You told me your foolish passion for me was over.”

He grinned. “I, too, am a liar. So you see—we are well-suited for one another.”

The table at Harley Street was set with the same blue and gold china where the same four people sat to eat, the chandelier sparkling over their regular evening gathering. Yet Margaret sat in utter wonder at how much had changed in an instant that morning. Nothing at all was the same! A thrill ran through her as she remembered Mr. Thornton’s ardent kisses. It all seemed like a dream.

Taking a sip of the soup before her, Margaret endeavored to keep an appearance of normalcy before she broke her silence. She would wait until Aunt Shaw had swallowed her spoonful. Three, two, one…

“I will need a carriage tomorrow,” she began, gaining their attention. “To speak with Reverend Gilcrest. I am to be married,” she announced, beaming at them.

“Oh! Henry has spoken to you!” Edith enthused, sharing a knowing glance with her husband.