Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Owen’s heart threatened to burst from his chest and gallop away on its own. He had made a massive leap, but his heart still belonged to this woman. He wanted to soak in the way she looked at him now, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the nearby candles.
His hand curled, the backs of his knuckles brushing along her arm and then down her long plait. The smooth hair was velvet beneath his fingers, and he longed to wrap his hand in it. To lose himself in it. “Am I too late?”
“I fail to understand, Owen. You did not…” She shook her head.
“I wrote to you. After you left, when I realized what a terrible mistake I’d made.
You must have received my letter, for it was tucked within the folds of your aunt’s missive, and I distinctly recall the day when she received your reply. ”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“The letter,” she insisted. “When I jilted Lord Gifford, I wrote to you. I pleaded with you to forgive me, to ask if I was too late. You did not reply.”
Owen thought back all those years ago, but he couldn’t recall any particular letter from his aunt that had come with another note inside—certainly no note from Emma.
Most of the missives from home had come from Uncle Edward.
A few had arrived from his aunt, but very seldom.
Nothing had come from Emma. He would know.
He would have remembered.
Owen shook his head. “I do not understand.”
“Do you mean you never received it? How is that possible? I recall the day your reply came to your aunt. I know you received hers.”
He searched Emma’s face but found it to be guileless. “I do not know. But I assure you I never received a letter from you.”
Her eyes widened in confusion.
“You wrote it after jilting the baron, you said?”
Emma inhaled. “Yes. I tried to do my duty to my parents…as you are perfectly aware. But when it came time to make plans for the wedding and our future, it was impossible. I found I could not marry him.”
“Why not?” Owen’s pulse raced, dying to understand what had occurred in the wake of his running away.
“He was not you,” she said quietly.
Owen breathed, unable to respond.
Emma swallowed. “I could not imagine my life with anyone else. While I knew it would take great effort and a good deal of groveling to make up for how I’d hurt you, I had hoped you would forgive me. I did not realize I was too late.”
“But I was gone. I never heard from you.”
“Then my parents contracted their illness, we learned that our financial situation was in dire straits, and within a month, I had lost everything. But your aunt and uncle took pity on me. They invited me to stay with them while my parents were sick, and when everything else occurred, I never went home. Mrs. Buckley offered me employment as her companion, and I hoped it would lead me back to you. But after a few years, I gave up hope.”
Owen’s heart had been beaten and bruised, but he could feel the healing taking place. He’d already forgiven Emma for the pain she’d caused him, but understanding what had happened gave him closure as well. “Does this mean you would consider…that I have a chance?”
Emma looked down, shaking her head. “Owen, be reasonable. Things have changed dramatically since you were last in Briarstead. Nothing is the same any longer, least of all my position.”
He put a finger beneath her chin, lifting it until she looked into his eyes once more. “You think I care at all for your position?”
“You ought to. Your standing is high now. The people will expect great things.”
“The only opinion I care for is yours.”
She swallowed. “I cannot take you seriously.”
“That is offensive.”
Her eyebrows drew together sharply, but her face softened when she seemed to note the teasing in his expression.
His fingers brushed along her silky skin, dragging over her jawline and tracing the shell of her ear.
“Emma, I am tired of trying to pretend I do not immediately look for you each time I step into a room, that yours is not the opinion I seek when I need advice. Years have passed, and we have each grown, but I am as drawn to you now as I ever have been. You’ve given me cause to hope, and I will not retreat without a fight. ”
Owen’s hands shook with restraint. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but she seemed hesitant. Her eyes tracked his face like a frightened animal.
“It is likely a result of being here for the first time in years,” she said. “It will pass.”
His fingers slid into her hair, his thumb brushing lazy strokes over her ear. “If it has not passed in nearly a decade, I believe it is safe to assume my feelings are steadfast.”
She shuddered. “How can you say so?”
“Because the moment I laid eyes on you in the lane, I knew my heart had not recovered.”
“Owen,” she whispered, “I am not in a position to leave Mrs. Buckley. When I told you I am on the shelf, I meant it.”
He ignored his better judgment then, fueled by the hope she heaped upon him.
Cupping her jaw with both hands, he gazed into her eyes and gently brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones.
Emma inhaled sharply. “Nothing needs to be decided today, but do not take every scrap of hope from me, I beg of you. Allow me at least the luxury of knowing you return my feelings, that I have a chance to win you over.”
“I do not see how it would be possible. How could I ever return to Society after being on the fringes for so long?”
Owen watched her lips move as she spoke. He brushed his finger along the divot in her chin. “The same way I did.”
She lifted her hand, pressing it against his chest over his heart. If she wondered about the state of his feelings, she would receive a confirmation now. His pulse thrummed, growing faster from the pressure of her palm. He could hardly breathe.
All her touch had done for him was make him desire more of it.
He swayed closer, sliding his other hand around her back.
Owen had been starved for physical comfort for so long.
Having Emma within his reach, being able to touch her, was a salve over the wounds that had piled up and festered.
A woman who appreciated him, who desired him, and whom he desired as well.
He leaned close, pressing a kiss to the edge of her temple, just above her eyebrow.
Her breath hitched. “Why must you torment me, Owen?”
“I refuse to frighten you away again.”
Emma leaned back. “I will never leave.”
He found the promise in her eyes and buried it in his soul.
Pressing his lips to her cheek, he enjoyed the racing of his heart and her fingers digging into his chest. He lowered his head, pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth, when the thud of a door closing jolted them apart.
Owen took Emma’s hand as he leaned over and blew out the candles on the small table, then tugged her down the corridor.
“Owen—”
“Come,” he whispered. “I vowed to protect your reputation, and I will not fail you.”
He knew the house well now, and it was quick work to lead her down the corridor and around the corner, into a room where he knew they would not be discovered.
He closed the door behind them and leaned against it, tugging Emma’s hand until she leaned against the door beside him.
Moonlight streamed through the long open windows, highlighting their heaving chests and her long golden braid slung over her shoulder.
“The music room,” she whispered, looking around. It was difficult to make out much of anything in the darkness, but the outlines of the piano and harp were visible, as well as the new sofa and matching chairs.
Pride swelled in his chest. “Do you like it?”
“From what I can see of it, yes. Mrs. Buckley will, too. I know it.”
Owen leaned his shoulder against the door, watching her take in the details as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. “Marry me, Emma.”
She gasped. “What?”
“I think you heard me. I have waited long enough. I do not want to wait any longer. The entire week I was away was torment being separated from you, and I never want to endure it again.”
“But your mother does not approve—”
“I don’t care a fig for that.”
“I do. You think I will enjoy family dinners knowing I am the last person she wants at your side?”
He could understand her hesitation, but it was not enough.
“I visited a friend this week who sacrificed much so I could be alive. He nearly died for me. When he asked how you felt about me, and I did not know…he made it all sound so simple. And it can be. If you care for me, and I care for you, the rest will work itself out.” Owen released her hand and stepped away from the door to face her. “I love you, Emma.”
She rolled her lips, searching his face, and nodded. “I love you, too.”
It was all he needed. He took her face in his hands and lowered his mouth until it found hers, a dance they had done countless times years before.
Heat bloomed in his belly when she pressed her hands to his chest, gripping his waistcoat to pull him closer.
He boxed her in against the door, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as his mind was lost to the oblivion that was her rose water scent, soft, velvety lips, and warm hands.
He had been dreaming of this moment for nine years, and nothing about having her in his arms again was less than what he had anticipated. His body thrummed with heat; his hands were hungry for more of her, his lips eager.
Emma’s hands slid up his chest and wrapped behind his neck, causing a low groan deep in his chest. He broke the kiss, pulling her against him in a tight embrace and burying his face in her neck, inhaling her hair as he had longed to do so many times.
As he held her, the jagged edges of the last ten years eased, and he finally felt whole.
Nothing else mattered in the face of this pure exaltation—not the way he did not measure up for his parents, or the concerns that he would not be enough.
Loving her and being loved by her filled each of the cracks and crevices in his soul, driving away his insecurities.
Contentment truly settled over him for the first time in years.
“You’ll be my wife?” he asked, his voice muffled.
She gave a surprised chuckle. “Yes. I will. If we…if Mrs. Buckley agrees. I cannot abandon her.”
“She will agree.”
“You are confident.”
He leaned back, gazing into her eyes. “She sent you here to find me tonight, didn’t she?”
Emma drew in a gasp, pulling away, but he held fast. “Her tincture! I’ve forgotten—Owen, she needs me.”
“She needs nothing of the sort. I distinctly recall bringing her lavender tincture into her bedchamber when she moved.”
Emma stared. “Yet you said nothing when I described the bottle.”
“And risk you leaving? Never.”
She laughed, but they were still in danger of being caught, so he silenced her with his lips. And he enjoyed keeping her quiet for another quarter hour until it was time to walk her back to Primrose End.