Page 67

His heart aching, Simon wrapped his arms around Isla and held her close, fighting back his own tears as she sobbed into his shoulder.

When she finally pulled away, she ran her hand across the damp patch on his cloak. “Now it is my turn to ask forgiveness. I have made your cloak wet.”

He took her hand and pressed her palm to his lips. “You may cry on my shoulder whenever you feel the need. I only pray that I am never again the cause of your sorrow.”

“You were not the cause.”

“Perhaps not directly,” he said, “but after you have heard me out, you may realize that you have been overly generous with me.”

Her brows came together, and though he longed to wipe the puzzlement away with a brush of his finger, he knew this was the opening he had been waiting for. “Over the last few weeks, I have come to discover that I am a far more selfish creature than I had supposed. Notwithstanding the many wonders of your modern world, if the choice were mine, I would have you stay here with me in an era afflicted with plague and treachery.”

“You . . . you want me to stay?”

He sighed. “Earlier today, when you asked if something was amiss, Maidstone’s servant had just informed me that you had not been seen downstairs for some time. For one full minute, my worst fears appeared to have been realized: with your letter to Monteagle successfully delivered, you had finished your assignment in this century and had returned to your own.” He ran his thumb over the back of Isla’s hand as the memory of that supposed loss returned. “I have always known that you are as likely to leave as to stay, but it seems that my head neglected to fully communicate that to my heart.” He managed a wry smile. “I had thought that I was strong, that I had already successfully weathered disappointment in love with Lydia, but I was wrong. On both counts. My determination to distance myself from you lasted only from the end of our time at Monteagle’s manor to the moment I took your hand in the carriage. And the disillusionment I felt at Lydia’s rejection was nothing compared to the heart-shattering loss I experienced in the entryway when I thought you were gone.”

“Simon,” Isla whispered. He had never felt more vulnerable, yet he braved meeting her eyes. Hers were moist, but she raised her free hand to gently touch his face. “You and I have very different views of selfishness. To open up one’s heart the way you have just done is the very opposite of that trait. And if I have given you the impression that the twenty-first century is without problems, I have led you astray. The challenges there are different, but they are as big if not bigger and more troubling than the ones here.” She paused. “Turning away from that suffering child this afternoon may be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, particularly since I know that centuries from now, she could be cured, but if I’m forced to leave you to return to that future world . . .” Her fingers had found his hair. “I think that might be even harder.”

“Then, you are willing to consider staying?” It was something he had hardly dared hope.

“Do you think I will be given that option?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “If my prayers are heard.”

Her expression softened, and for the first time, he saw a longing in her eyes that mirrored his own. “Our betrothal could be real.”

His arms encircled her. “The most real, love-filled betrothal anyone has ever known,” he said, lowering his head until his lips were within a breath of hers.

“Yes,” she murmured. And then their lips touched, and he was kissing her, sharing his heart in a way no words could express.

Above their heads, the branches trembled, clicking softly in the strengthening breeze.

Slowly, reluctantly, Simon raised his head and looked upward. While they had been under the trees, the gray skies had darkened. “A storm is coming,” he said. “We must leave if we wish to avoid a soaking.”

A scattering of brown leaves fluttered by.

Removing one of her arms from around his neck, Isla brushed a leaf off his shoulder and then extended her hand outward, palm up. “I felt a drop,” she said.

Simon groaned. Pressing another brief kiss to her lips, he released her only to immediately take her hand. “Are you willing to try coaxing Stormy into a canter?” he asked, already making for the spot where Anson was waiting with the horses.

“Yes, as long as you catch me if I bounce right out of the saddle.”

He grinned. “Falling off is not permitted.”

“If you would tell that to Stormy, I would appreciate it.”

“I am quite certain she already knows it,” he said, lifting Isla onto the horse as he spoke. “And I am equally certain she would rather increase her speed than be caught out in the rain.”

“Okay, then,” Isla said, grasping the reins with fresh determination.

Simon mounted Blaze and turned him toward the road, love for the beautiful and astonishingly brave young woman at his side washing over him. “Okay, then,” he repeated. “To the Maidstones’ house without delay.”

Night had fallen. From beneath the covers of her rustic bed, Isla listened to the fading sounds of life in old London through the closed window shutters. The glowing coals in her bedchamber’s fireplace emitted just enough light to make out the shadowy features of the small room. Rolling onto her back, she gazed up at the dark wooden beams traversing the daubed ceiling and tried to visualize the smooth white paint and electric light fixture on the ceiling of her bedroom in her Knightsbridge flat.

“This one has more character,” she whispered to herself. And it was true, even though flipping a switch to fill the room with light seemed very appealing when compared to tiptoeing across the cold floor to light a candle on the mantel with a flint.

Grasping the woolen blanket at her chin a little more tightly, Isla gazed around the simply furnished room. Did she truly have what it would take to live in this century for the rest of her life? This afternoon, while wrapped in Simon’s arms and melting beneath his fervent kisses, the choice to stay had seemed easy. He was the best man she’d ever known, and she had fallen hopelessly in love with him. But to stay meant never seeing her family again, or her friends, or the places she called home. She would be without access to modern medicine, technology, or even the most rudimentary indoor plumbing and central heating. It was a commitment of epic proportions, and she wasn’t afraid to admit that it scared her.

Of course, there was the distinct possibility that the decision was not hers to make. It had been Martha who had first suggested that Isla had arrived in the seventeenth century to perform a specific task and that once it was completed, she would return to her former life. Before then, Isla had assumed that she had entered some kind of time warp never to return. It had been a terrifying concept. It still filled her with trepidation, but now her apprehension was offset by the knowledge that Simon would be beside her every step of the way.