Chapter Twenty-Two #2
think we can borrow a ladder from—”
At last the man belonging to the voice came into view.
“Oh, that’s where you’ve got to, Mr. Marchand,” the supercilious fellow with the watch said, with great relief. “I’ve been waiting for
you, sir. The carpet delivery will be here any minute and your signature will be needed.”
The poor man might as well have been a ghost.
Marchand clearly couldn’t see anything at all but Ginny.
They drank each other in with their eyes.
He looked precisely the same as he had in all the dreams she’d had about him while they were apart. In other words, overwhelmingly
magnificent.
The men all around them had frozen, sensing something momentous was afoot.
“Gentlemen,” Marchand said finally, without looking at any of them.
Understanding that to be a command, all of the men scattered at once, disappearing from view.
When they were at last alone, Gabriel slowly paced to her.
“Gabriel . . . what on . . .” Her voice was thready from the emotional whipsawing she’d just withstood.
“I confess this has been in the works since before you left.” His voice was low and gruff. “I offered Lucifer’s Fall members
a choice: I would refund the balance of their memberships for the year or they could donate them to the Marchand Academy.
More than half donated, if you can believe that. It seems I’ve a knack for persuasion.” A ghost of a smile here. “Soon, at
least forty, perhaps more, children from workhouses will be housed and educated here. I’ve interviewed teachers for all subjects
and hired most of them. Your brother is one of them. The classrooms will be on the bottom floor and dormitory rooms in the
upper floors. Lord Kirke is working on legislation that would partially fund this and other institutions like it in perpetuity.
For now, I can easily afford it, in large part because the membership fees alone will fund tuition for children for at least
fifteen years.”
She covered her mouth with her hands. Speechless with pride and dumbstruck with happiness. She lowered her hands. “Gabriel.
Oh, my God. This is extraordinary. I’m just . . . how . . . it’s perfect. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect for you.”
“I like the sound of chancellor for my new title. What do you think? I haven’t yet officially decided.”
She shook her head slowly in wonderment. “A splendid word.”
“I didn’t tell you before you left, Ginny, because I wanted you to be certain that you loved me as I am. And I needed to be certain that you loved me as I am. Was I wrong not to tell you?”
She left him in suspense for two seconds.
“Well. That was risky.”
“Said one leaper to another. For here you are.” He said this with a dazed wonder. “You came looking for the worst man in London.
You clearly want a first-class rogue.”
She smiled. “Fair,” she conceded.
“Are you sorry not to find him?”
“Who says I didn’t find him?”
He gave a short laugh. “What will you do with me now?”
Her slow smile was all randy promise.
She pulled in a deep breath. “For what it’s worth . . . I love you precisely as you are, Gabriel, and I will love you in any
incarnation. Now and forever.”
He fell quiet. His throat moved in a swallow.
His eyes were shining suspiciously.
She knew he had a clean handkerchief on his person. She had a feeling the occasion was going to demand it.
Because her own eyes were burning.
“So why don’t you tell me why you’re here, Ginny,” he asked quietly.
The wind lashed the spirals of hair at her temple against her eyes while she gathered sufficient courage to speak.
“You told me you would take from me anything I wanted to give you. Do you still mean it?” Her voice trembled.
He gently captured one of those spirals and drew it between his fingers. “I mean it,” he said softly. “Anything.”
She took a breath to steady her nerve. “I want to give you all my days. And all my nights. I want to give you children. I want to give you a home. I want to give you all of me. Forever.”
What an extraordinary gift it seemed to be able to make Gabriel Marchand look as brilliantly happy as he did now.
“Do you by any chance also want to give me your hand in marriage?”
“If you’ll have me.”
“Oh, I’ll have you, Guinevere Woodville.”
He folded her into his arms, and she latched her hands around his neck, and they clung to each other like a pair of shipwreck
survivors who had finally washed up on shore.
The way he kissed her, with a thoroughness that turned her knees to smoke and her blood to lava, made it clear he’d missed
her every single moment of every day she’d been away.
“God, I love you,” he whispered against her throat. “I’ve missed you so. And I’ve been carrying something about with me, in
case you need an unmistakable, forever sort of sign.”
He released her gently and reached into his coat pocket.
“Hold out your hand, Ginny.”
She’d never yet regretted obeying when he asked her to do that. So she did.
His hand trembled as he slid onto her finger a delicate gold ring.
It was crowned with a little diamond, precisely in the shape of a heart.