To Love the Brooding Baron

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-FIVE

Arabella awoke to the warming presence of sunlight. Her head felt groggy and her limbs heavy. She detested the feeling, like being held captive inside her body when all she wanted to do was open her eyes and move.

Forcing one eye open, Arabella recognized her bedroom and let out a sigh of relief.

She was home.

With stiff and strained movements, she pushed the coverlet, which felt more like a boulder than soft wool, off her.

Her arms free, she gritted her teeth and tried to push herself to a seated position. A wave of dizziness hit her, forcing her to clamp her eyes shut. She muttered a curse.

“Do I want to know where you learned that word?” her mother’s voice said from nearby.

“Would it make you feel better,” Arabella began, keeping her eyes shut as she waited for her head to stop spinning, “if I said I heard it from more than one person?”

“No, it would not.” Her mother’s hands pressed against her shoulders. “You should lie back down.”

“No,” Arabella ground out, fighting to stay upright. “I need to get out of this bed.”

“You and your stubbornness,” her mother said in exasperation. She moved her hands beneath Arabella’s arms, and together they worked until she was fully sitting up in bed.

When the dizziness finally subsided, she cracked open her eyes and found her mother in a chair beside the bed. There were dark circles beneath her red, puffy eyes, and wisps of hair had come free, framing her worry-lined face.

Arabella felt the weight of that worry and fear she had put her mother through. “My stubbornness is sorry.”

“Yes, well.” Her mother moved to sit beside her on the bed, disappointment written across her face. “Your stubbornness has more than just myself to apologize to.” Her eyes moved to the far corner of the room where Hattie slept hunched over in a chair.

Relief at finding Hattie still employed in their home washed over Arabella, followed by another wave of guilt. “Please do not be angry with her,” she said, turning pleading eyes on her mother. “I gave her no choice. I would have found a way to do it without her.”

Her mother let out a heavy breath. “I know. And while I will say that I am not happy, I take comfort knowing there is an entire army of people helping me try to keep you and your wild stubbornness alive.”

“Army of people?” Arabella asked. She wouldn’t consider a lady’s maid and a groomsman an army.

“Yes,” her mother said. “I understand it took a doctor, a nurse, a reckless gambler, and a baron to bring you back to me last night. Two of them spent the night in our home.”

Henry.

Arabella’s heart skipped a beat, and she found within herself a sudden burst of vitality. “I want to see him,” she said, throwing off the coverlet and trying to swing her legs over the edge.

Her mother jumped from the bed. “Dr. Stafford said you should not be rushing this.”

“Can you help me get dressed?” Arabella asked, pushing through another bout of dizziness.

“Yes, but you need to slow down.”

Arabella managed to get her feet on the floor before the flash of strength faded and the weight of weariness returned. “You may be right.”

“You say that as if it were not a common occurrence,” her mother chided, her hands on her hips.

“The quality of mercy is not strained; it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed; it blesseth him that gives and him that takes,” Arabella quoted from the Merchant of Venice, with big, pitiful eyes.

Her mother looked to the heavens and then back at her. “You and your Shakespeare. I told your father it would be trouble.”

Arabella’s heart warmed at the thought of her father. He’d known then what she knew now: Shakespeare was always the answer.

With her mother’s much-needed assistance, Arabella managed to change from her nightgown into a long-sleeved, yellow morning dress that brought the gold out in her eyes. Hattie woke in time to save Arabella and her mother from making a disaster with her hair. She also provided an ointment and powder that helped the bruises on her face fade.

After offering Hattie her most sincere apology and thanks, Arabella was set to go down.

She held on to her mother’s arm, her nerves on edge, as they descended the stairs into the entry hall. Her mind felt clearer, her strength almost restored.

“Good to see you up and about, miss,” Smith said from his position at the base of the stairs.

He held out his hand, and Arabella took it as she moved off the last step. “It is wonderful to be up and about,” she replied with an exaggerated tone she knew would amuse him.

He gave a soft chuckle. “I am beginning to doubt there is anything that can keep you down, miss.”

“Do not encourage her,” her mother added with a fond smile. “Where are our guests this afternoon, Smith? Have they left the rooms we prepared for them last night?”

“Still in the family parlor, ma’am.”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “They stayed there all night?”

“They did,” Smith replied with a firm nod.

“Whyever would they do that?” her mother asked.

“I did not feel it my place to ask,” Smith replied. “But, if I might add, Lord Northcott did appear much distressed, and I believe Mr. Bradbury was trying to settle him.”

That was all Arabella needed to hear before rushing to the family parlor.

Stepping inside, she was met by a warm afternoon sun and ... snoring?

Following the sound, she found Mr. Bradbury asleep on one of the sofas, his jacket draped over him like a blanket.

There was no sign of Henry, until she saw something moving out the back window. He was in the garden, pacing.

She made it as far as the gravel path before he noticed her approach.

His bloodshot eyes flashed wide. “You are awake.” He said the words as if he didn’t know if he could believe them, and then he walked directly to her, cutting across the garden’s circular path despite the plants and small bushes in his way.

“I am awake,” she replied, falling in love with him all over again.

His hair looked as if he’d run his hands through it a thousand times, and he’d removed his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. Her breathing grew uneven the more she took in his broad, muscular form.

They stood no more than a hair’s breadth away, but he did nothing more than stare, as if he were drinking her in with his eyes.

Her heart’s rhythm increased, and suddenly a hair’s breadth felt too far away. Reaching up a tentative hand, she ran her fingers through his wild hair, unable to resist. “You look as if you have not slept.”

Color tinged his cheeks, and he attempted to smooth his hair back down. “I found it somewhat ... difficult.”

“Because of me?” she asked, guilt hitting her again.

Henry hesitated to meet her eyes and slowly nodded. “And my sister,” he added.

Seeing his pain and worry, and knowing his fears, she closed the last bit of distance between them and put her hands into his. They completely surrounded her own, and his grip was strong but gentle.

“I think I know a way to help you with both your problems.”

Henry stared into her eyes and swallowed.

Why was he hesitating?

“Do you not want to marry?” she asked, her heart seizing.

“It’s not that easy,” he said after a moment.

“Why?”

He took in a shaky breath. “Because—” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Because it is not worth the risk?” she repeated his previous words on a tortured whisper. Her heart wouldn’t survive if he rejected her again.

“No,” he said quite adamantly, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a kiss. “No, you are worth more than anything to me. But what can I be for you?” His lips thinned into a hard line, and he dropped her hands. “All I can bring you is uncertainty because of—” He briefly looked away, then pointed to his head as if ashamed of his confession. “We cannot just go on planning a life and act as if nothing is wrong.”

She immediately grabbed his hand and pressed it to her heart. “I agree, which is why I am willing to take this at a pace that is comfortable to you.”

He raised a questioning brow, which she knew was justified. Her mother had just yesterday lectured her on her lack of patience—which she’d ignored. But she couldn’t lose him. At least, with this plan, she would keep his love.

It was time for her to learn patience.

She let out a small breath. “What if I promise to let you choose the timing in which we wed?”

He stared at her, unconvinced.

She pressed on, her tone firm. “I want you to take the time you need for you and your sister to heal. All I require is a promise that I will always have your love.”

His eyes darkened into a deep and piercing gaze that sent heat through her. He reached out and slowly pulled her closer until she was pressed up against him.

“You have always had my love,” he said, his voice hoarse. “From the first day I met you at your family’s country estate and you quoted that first Shakespeare line—Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast—” He paused, shaking his head, a tear-filled, amused look on his face. “My heart knew then that I needed you in my life.”

Tears clouded her vision, and she bit at her bottom lip. She was so overwhelmed with hope, happiness, and love she didn’t know if she could hold it all in.

Using the pad of his thumb, he wiped the tears from her cheeks, his eyes watching her with such tenderness.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, almost out of breath. “Please.”

Without hesitation, he dropped his hands from her face and splayed them across her back, pressing her to him as his lips slanted against hers.

His kiss was both hard and sweeping, as if part need and part frustration.

She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, savoring the sensation of his hand moving from her back up to her neck as if he feared she might pull away from the intensity of his kiss.

This was heaven. This was bliss. This was—

“What the devil!”

—over.

Breaking apart, Arabella followed Henry’s alarmed gaze to discover her older brother storming down the terrace steps with Olivia and Mr. Bradbury hard on his heels.

Fire blazed in Emerson’s eyes as he ignored his wife’s and friend’s calls for calm. Her overly protective brother had finally returned home.

Arabella turned around to face him, shielding Henry with her body.

A large hand gently pressed on her shoulder, followed by Henry’s breath on her neck. “While I admire your protectiveness,” he whispered, a chuckle in his tone, “I believe I should take care of this on my own.” His lips gently brushed against her ear, sending shivers up her spine.

Her body naturally leaned back into him, seeking more of his touch. Henry was right; she was jumping in before thinking—again.

Would she ever truly learn patience?

She stepped aside but remained close to Henry. She was giving him his way, but that did not mean she could not also offer him assistance. She knew how to handle her brother better than anyone.

Emerson stopped, leaving only a few paces between them, his nostrils flaring as he glared at Henry. “I trusted you to look after my sister, not take advantage of her.”

“I told you this was going to happen, Goosey,” Bradbury called out from behind Emerson’s shoulder.

Emerson shot Bradbury a dark look. “I will deal with you next.”

“Wonderful,” Bradbury grumbled, throwing his hands up. “Exactly as I predicted.”

Her brother turned back to Henry. “You will marry her,” he demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Henry as if he thought himself some saint riding in to save her.

Agitated, Arabella took a step toward him to remind him that he had secretly courted her closest friend behind her back, but Henry touched her arm.

“Allow me,” he whispered with a wink that nearly stole her breath.

She loved when he came out from behind his walls and teased her.

Henry leveled a look at Emerson, with as much dignity as a man who had just been caught kissing another man’s sister—and in his shirtsleeves no less—could muster. “If you had waited another two minutes, I would have asked her that question myself.”

A gasp exploded from Arabella’s lips, and she jumped into his arms. “Do you mean it?”

He nodded, his arms holding her tight. “I agree to your terms.”

“I told you,” Olivia said to Emerson, coming up to stand beside him. She rubbed a hand along his chest, slowly bringing him out of his stupor. “I told you your friend was falling in love with your sister.”

Arabella snorted. Olivia was the best thing to happen to her brother.

Emerson blinked and shook his head. He narrowed his eyes at Henry. “Are you in love with my sister?”

Henry nodded. “I am in love with your sister.”

Emerson turned to Arabella. “And you are in love with him?”

“Beyond any doubt,” she replied, her heart near to bursting.

All the tension in Emerson’s posture melted, and he extended a hand to Henry with a grin. “Welcome to the family.”

Henry took it, forcing Arabella to step aside as they pulled one another into a sideways hug, pounding each other aggressively on the back.

“Oh, come on,” Mr. Bradbury groaned. “This is not fair. Now you will all be related, and then there is me.”

“We do have a few female cousins,” Emerson suggested.

Mr. Bradbury blanched, and his eyes darted to Arabella before he shook his head. “No. No more cousins.”

Emerson looked to Henry with a raised brow. “What is he talking about?” Then he turned to Mr. Bradbury. “Are you saying you are considering marriage?”

Arabella cupped a hand over her mouth to hold in a snort of laughter. Bringing up her adventure in Brooks’s would assuredly ruin the moment. Luckily Mr. Bradbury’s aversion to marriage was taking precedence.

Mr. Bradbury scoffed. “I can easily say that you will never see me walk down the aisle to join that institution.”

“The fool doth think he is wise,” Arabella quoted. “But the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”

“As You Like It,” Henry answered, smiling down at her as he pulled her back into his arms.

“I do not even know what that means,” Mr. Bradbury replied, throwing his hands in the air.

“That might be the point,” Henry replied with a teasing smile.

Mr. Bradbury scowled.

“I do not know about the rest of you,” Olivia interjected, “but I have not seen my friend in almost five months and would very much like to spend some much-needed time with her.” She looked at Arabella with the warmest smile.

Arabella nodded in agreement. She also wanted to hear about what had happened with Olivia’s father. The large bruise under Emerson’s chin was worrisome.

“Shall we all go back inside?” Olivia suggested. “I believe your mother said something about scones.”

“You had me at scones,” Mr. Bradbury said, hurrying toward the steps. Emerson and Olivia followed closely behind.

“Shall we?” Arabella asked, looking up at Henry when he didn’t release her from his arms.

“Are you certain about waiting to get married?” he asked, as if he were still uneasy about their decision. “Once I tell your brother our plan, he will have questions.”

Arabella reached up and cupped his cheek. He leaned into her touch. “Then we will answer them together.”

Henry bent down and gently kissed her lips. “Thank you,” he whispered so softly that she knew the words were meant as a prayer between him and the heavens.

Her heart was bursting, and her eyes blurred with tears. In a world filled with so much uncertainty, she knew she was beyond blessed to have found her spark.