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“I love her.”
I love her. I love Mercy.
And it was so right and perfect that Ronan couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized his love before now. That the uncertainty, the magnetism, the undefinable feelings, had all pointed toward love.
He knelt beside her, and unable to resist, kissed her velvety cheek, then her soft petal lips.
Her eyelids flickered before slowly opening, and he found himself wading into pools of green. Her sleep-soft gaze went softer still.
“Ronan,” she murmured, reaching up to trail a finger over his scar.
Never had any touch been more stirring or reverent. Grasping her hand, he turned the palm to his mouth and placed a long kiss there, putting into that simple gesture everything bubbling inside him. All of the love and adoration and wonder and reverence he felt for this priceless woman.
“I was dreaming of you.” Her lips formed a faint smile. “And then here you are.”
Ronan ran his fingers through her hair, brushing the strands off her face and shoulder.
“Was it a good dream?” he asked half-jestingly.
A wider smile bending her mouth, she sat up and swung her legs off of the bench. “A lady never dreams and tells.”
“Ah, then it must’ve been a very good dream, indeed,” he quipped.
As he sat down beside her, he set the letter on her lap. “This came for you. I thought you might want to open it at once since I believe it’s from Lady Amhurst. I have no doubt she will call before the day is out.”
He knew for a fact she would. She had told her parents as much.
He and Father had paid a call on the unsuspecting Duke and Duchess of Featherstone this morning at the ungodly hour of ten. The duke, the obstinate old goat, had refused to see them. However, the duchess was another matter.
Her grace had been surprisingly forthcoming. The tale she’d told had raised Ronan’s ire and his father’s censure. To her credit, the Duchess of Featherstone didn’t downplay her part in the unpardonable debacle. Unlike her blighter of a husband, her concern was for her daughter and granddaughter.
She vowed, though it meant social ruination, she’d testify publicly if need be to assure Mercy was granted her rightful position in Society.
Before Ronan and his father took their leave, they had no doubt Mercy was the Featherstones’ granddaughter. Adelhied Tyndal, Countess of Amhurst, fully intended to recognize her daughter, come what may.
Ronan couldn’t help but respect and admire her for her courage and cocking a snook at the haut ton. He fully intended to like the woman on sight that he fervently hoped would be his future mother-in-law.
“I’m not sure I want to read it, Ronan.” Mercy stared at the envelope but didn’t pick it up. “I fear it means everything is going to change.” Her lower lip trembled, and she attempted a brave, tremulous smile. “I cannot leave the girls.”
Or me. You cannot leave me.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her near. Speaking into her magnificent hair, he said, “You cannot hide from the truth, Mercy. Better to know, I think, and face whatever is in there.”
Carefully, with the forefinger and thumb of his other hand, he nudged her chin until she faced him.
“Look at me, Mercy.”
She raised her thick lashes until their gazes meshed.
His spirit fused to hers as surely as if someone had melded them together with a forge.
“Ronan, I…”
“Shh.” He placed two fingers over her lips. “Hear me out. I will be with you through whatever happens.” He brushed his fingers over her shoulder. “I will not abandon you or forsake you.”
Her eyes grew misty. “Why? I’ve brought scandal upon you.”
“Hush. You’ve done no such thing.” Ronan kissed her forehead, then lifted her hand and pressed his lips to each knuckle. “I love you, Mercy. I would spend the rest of my life with you. Have you beside me and help me to raise Arabelle and Bellamy and our own children. To face whatever God brings our way together.”
