Epilogue
“Ihave been a fool, a blind fool, Your Grace,” Cathy said, feeling almost nauseous from her grief. “I feel wretched.”
Cathy’s words were spilling out too quickly for her to stop.
Her emotions were a jumble—relief that Tristan was not the father of Anne’s baby and that he had never touched her, mixed with guilt over disbelieving his first protests.
The chill of the autumn wind she barely felt.
She had enough heat from her pounding heart, especially since Tristan did not respond immediately.
Instead, he simply watched her quietly, making the suspense unbearable.
Tristan turned and walked toward the waiting carriage, his stride long and determined. His jaw was clenched, and his brows furrowed, as if he was deep in concentration.
“Tristan, wait!” she called, trying to keep pace with him. “Please, listen to me.”
Cathy had always been one of the tallest ones in most groups, even taller than the average man. But Tristan was a titan among men, who could walk much faster than she could.
He adjusted his pace, slowing down while she followed him.
“I believed Anne,” Cathy continued. “I judged you based on your past and the fears that had been lurking within me all along. They were proof enough for me, even though I should have given you a chance to speak. I should have given you the same benefit of the doubt I would have readily given a stranger.”
Tristan abruptly stopped when she almost collided with his broad back.
He finally turned to face her, his shadow looming over her.
On his face was not fury, but exhaustion.
There were dark circles around his eyes that she had not noticed before.
Their marriage had been an emotionally depleting dance so far, and she wanted the myriad misunderstandings and misery to stop.
But it was certain that they continued to be drawn together in the most inexplicable way.
“Stop, Cathy,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Let’s stop this.”
What did he mean by that? Panic rose from within her. Did he want to steer away from the marriage that they both considered to be a burden from the beginning? Was he willing to forget the better parts of their marriage so far?
“I cannot,” she protested, her desperation choking her.
She had willingly shed her Miss Priggish persona and the walls she had surrounded herself with so he could listen to her.
“My father is not the type of man one should use as an example of what a good man should act like. He drinks and lies. He drained our savings. It was why I would rather deal with the reality of numbers. They are tangible. They are real. Logic says that you being a rake, Anne being your betrothed at some point, and her being pregnant with your child all make sense together. I could not fathom how she would shame herself in Baxter Hall with lies. How can someone lie so easily? But I...”
Tristan reached out to cup her face. The movement startled Cathy. She was expecting unforgiving rage, but there was none at all from that touch. His skin was warm and gentle against her, caressing her cheeks.
“Because I know about your father,” he began, his eyes probing hers.
Her knees trembled at the way he was looking at her.
“It is why I looked for him for you. It is why I know you have these walls surrounding you, just as you take comfort in things you are certain of. So, yes, I understand why you reacted that way, Cathy.”
Tristan exhaled audibly, letting his forehead drop against hers.
A whimper escaped Cathy’s lips as she closed her eyes to breathe him in.
He was all that she had dreamed a man would be, even if she had never dared to dream.
He was a man who did not seem stable or safe, but could provide her with the security she wanted.
“I had been afraid, too, Cathy,” he admitted.
“It terrified me to think of ever opening my heart to you. For years, people saw me as a rake. I was a man who cared for nothing but women and drink. Everything was a conquest, and not something to be cherished, slipping away from my life and my hands just as quickly as I caught them. My family did not teach me how to love. They cared more for material things and left a void in me that I kept trying to fill, but kept on failing to do so.”
His hands traveled from her cheeks to the nape of her neck, where his fingers threaded through her curls.
The touch was meant to be tender, but it evoked a different feeling in her.
He was the only one who could awaken the fire in her, and it was so sharp that it was almost painful in its edging toward desire.
“It terrified me that you would leave me if you truly saw who I am,” he continued.
His voice cracked, showing that the man was not an arrogant rake who had everything handed to him easily.
“You are an independent woman who can turn your fortune around on your own if you have the mind to. You could probably see that I was not worth the effort and then leave. When you ran from me, I really thought you would never return. At that moment, I knew that I could not bear to live without you, Cathy.”
Cathy opened her eyes, then her vision blurred by unshed tears. They suddenly sprang from where they should have remained hidden. She looked into his eyes and saw that his eyes were misty, too.
“Tristan.”
His name felt like music on her tongue. Why didn’t she ever use it as often?
Before she could tell him the rest of the things in her mind, Tristan stepped away and back. She thought he was about to move to their carriage, but he dropped to his knees.
Cathy’s hands flew to her mouth to mute the gasp. It was simply surreal to see a man like him kneeling in the dirt for her.
“W-hat are you doing?” Cathy asked. “Please do not do that. Lord Brandon’s servants will see. Some of them are at the window!”
Normally, she would not notice such details, but a quick glance would prove her right. The Farstone staff were not even trying to hide that they were watching, possibly expecting a fight after what happened with Anne and Brandon.
“Let them see,” Tristan said. “I am about to do what I had not been given the opportunity to do.” Then, he reached out to hold her by the skirts, his fingers grasping the fabric as if she was about to flee once more.
At that moment, he did not look like a duke.
He was a husband looking up at his wife; a man looking at his last hope.
“Remember I told you that I wanted you to beg for me to take you to bed rather than be a duchess who wants to secure your future?”
Cathy nodded. She remembered the anger she felt when he told her that. It was like a rejection and an insult, then, but now, she understood. Would she want a man who would only bed her because of a duty?
No. Of course, not.
“Well, now I am on my knees begging you for a chance to touch you, Cathy. This time, I will not turn you away. I was a fool, too, for telling a beautiful woman with a heart like yours away. At that time, I was afraid that you only wanted me for my wealth and title.”
It was a fair assessment. Cathy’s throat felt tight. This arrangement had brought her insecurities to the surface. And his, too.
“Tristan, I...” she faltered, worried that she would burst into tears right then and there.
He laughed, but it was self-deprecating, bordering on a sob.
“You seem to be headed to the carriage with me, Cathy, but when I tell you that I am begging you to come back to me, it is more than just a return. I want you to be with me in truth. Not as a business partner or a wife bound in an arranged marriage. Please come back to me as my compass. I do not know how to breathe without you. I have forgotten. I have become a man who loves you more than dignity itself.”
She held him by the shoulders as his powerful body trembled beneath her touch. She felt the same loneliness she harbored within this man. Both of them had been too stubborn to reveal any of their emotions. But finally, it appeared that both of them were prepared.
“I love you, Cathy. I love you more than anything else that I have ever claimed in my life. Please stay with me. Come home with me. I beg you.”
The rest of the world fell to the distant background. Lord Brandon’s staff. The gravel path. The waiting carriage. They were like dust motes in the sun or dust underneath their feet.
“Get up, Tristan,” she whispered, her voice thickened by tears but with laughter threatening to burst through it.
He rose, his smile hopeful as he looked at her during the whole time he moved to meet her chest to chest. This time, it was she who framed his face with her hands.
“I love you, too. But I let fear take over and cloud my judgment. My pride and the memories of my father’s betrayals, too many to mention, had me trapped in front of my ledgers, staining my fingers with ink.
Now, I am ready for all the mess if it is with you. ”
Cathy did not plan to wait any longer. With her hand on the back of his head, she pulled him to her so that their lips met.
“I cannot wait to show you just how much I love you, too,” she murmured. Her voice had dropped into a low register that she could not believe was coming from her lips. His eyes dilated in response. “I cannot wait for us to be back in Baxter Hall...”
“Back home,” he corrected gruffly.
“Home,” she said, savoring the word. “I intend to erase every other woman you have ever kissed. I want you to remember only me.”
Tristan seemed to agree because he did not wait for more from her.
He swept her into his arms. She was startled.
Then, she giggled. The giggle became a laugh of delight as he half-ran to the carriage with her still in his arms. He deposited her inside and urged the coachman to drive away.
She could feel the hungry urgency humming from him.