Chapter 31 #2
How was it easy for him to accept his love for her but not fathom that she could return the sentiment?
Marce didn’t need to think on his question; however, a simple yes would not do.
Rowan was a man who spoke only when he was certain of his words, arranging them in the perfect way as to embody his exact meaning.
Marce owed him the same.
When he shifted away from her, their arms no longer touching, Marce knew she needed to speak—and now, before Rowan receded once more, taking his heart and hiding it again.
“A part of me believes we have continued in this indeterminate state for so many years because I was fearful of lifting the mask you wore to keep me at arm’s length.
I wanted to continue in my hatred of you, which kept my resolve strong, and allowed my need for survival to prevail.
But in turn, I robbed us both of so many years of happiness—either together or finding love with another. ”
“Together,” Tobias cut in. “Obviously, the correct answer here is together.”
“Not another word.” Rowan’s severe tone put an end to his friend’s commentary, and Tobias slunk from the room, gently closing the door behind him.
Setting her goblet aside, she reached forward, clasping Rowan’s hands, his fingers finding their new natural way of entwining.
“I was content to allow our continued association to fuel my hatred for my father.”
“But we must let the past go,” Marce sighed, “if we ever hope to find even a speck of the happiness we deserve.” Rowan shook his head, and Marce knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth to speak. “You deserve happiness, Rowan, of that I am certain.”
His stare searched hers for some magical answer that had eluded him all these years. “How can you look past all the hurt I’ve caused you?”
“It isn’t about looking past it—or forgetting—it is about assigning it a shade of grey, understanding why it happened, and moving forward.
” With a small smile, she stepped closer to him and stared up into his green eyes.
“I understand the many reasons you did what you did, and I can forgive you so I can move forward and discover the man beneath the pain…a man free of suffering.”
“How can you forgive me when I haven’t offered any apology?” He flinched slightly, but he held her stare. “I cannot forgive myself for everything I’ve put you through.”
“There are more ways to make amends beyond the spoken word,” Marce confided.
“You followed me to London when you could have put me in your past and moved on.
You allowed me to remain in my home when you had every right to toss me to the streets.
You could have denied me the chance to return to Hadlow when word came about Leona, but you brought me with you without a second thought.
All this says more than any string of apologies could.
“I know you love me, just as I am certain I love you.” Her heart shuddered when she spoke the word, fearful he would turn away, pull from her hold, and flee the room.
“I cannot tell you when it happened—yesterday, a year ago, eight years ago—but it did, and if I know anything, it is that love is a precious thing.”
“A fleeting thing,” he continued.
“No matter how fleeting it may be, or capable of crippling a man, that does not mean we should allow it to pass us by.”
“What if I cannot stop from hurting you again?” he said on a breathless exhale. “What if my love fails—what if I fail? What if I cannot give you everything you desire and deserve?”
“If we do not try, we will never know.” It was she who released him and turned to walk toward the hearth.
“The burden of regret at not seeing where our love will take us would be far more crushing than accepting and embracing our connection, knowing that one day it might lead us in different directions.”
Rowan stepped close to her back, his hands settling on her shoulders, squeezing gently as he caressed the tension away, his breath at her ear, the warmth of the fire on her face.
For the briefest of moments, Marce allowed herself to believe that this was her future, that they could put the past behind them and find the happiness that had eluded them for so many years.
But she could not risk her own desperation overshadowing her judgment, turning Rowan’s words into something they weren’t, or hearing a promise he didn’t pledge.
“It appears there is only one thing left to say.” She heard anticipation and need in his tone and steeled herself for what was to come as she gazed into the fire. A single tear slipped down her cheek. “Lady Marce Davenport, will you do me the esteemed honor of becoming the Duchess of Harwich?”
She pivoted to face him, her bosom pressing against his chest as she gazed up at him, his green eyes deep pools of warmth as he held his breath, awaiting her reply. He brushed away the wayward tear.
“Are you certain?” Her heart stopped, refusing to beat even once more until she heard him speak.
“I’ve never been so certain of anything,” he replied.
“Yes, yes, I will wed you.” She threw her arms around his neck as his hands encircled her waist, drawing her ever closer.
When a loud burst of applause sounded from the far side of the closed study door, they both laughed.
But they quickly sobered as a seriousness descended.
Marce stared up at Rowan, suspecting that he saw the hesitancy in her eyes.
“My dearest Marce, I cannot promise that every moment to come will be happy, lighthearted and joyful, but I can pledge to love you every day we continue to draw breath. I will make mistakes, likely disappoint you in ways we cannot imagine, but I will not give up. I will keep making amends each day to prove my love for you, and to show you that there’s more to me than my resentment and hurt and that they do not consume me still. ”
She made no attempt to staunch the flow of tears that cascaded down her cheeks. His vow—and her tears—washed away the past as if it had never happened. She’d lied when she said that she would never forget their transgressions because, in that moment, their slate was wiped clean.
No grey, no white, no black.
“Rowan Delconti, I love you with all my heart.” She rubbed at her eyes, clearing her blurred vision. “I love you in a way that scares me, which makes this all the more right.”
“You have always been a fierce woman,” he sighed, pressing his lips to her chin. “A strong, independent woman”—He kissed her nose—“a woman I should have recognized long ago was perfect for me.”
Marce couldn’t resist a moment longer as need coiled in her stomach, as heat pooled in her most sensitive areas.
Yes, they would tell the duchess what she’d longed to hear for many years, but first, Marce would show Rowan how much she loved him.