CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
W HEN HE LEFT , she found she was shivering. Instinctively she reached for the jacket he had thrown over the back of a chair. She lifted it to her face and inhaled. The scent of him filled her head and slowed her rapid heartbeat.
It was crazy to take comfort from something that belonged to the person responsible for her misery.
She felt empty of hope. He wanted to explain? She could not think of anything he might say that would make things right.
It was hard to imagine anything ever being right again.
She caught sight of herself in a mirror, looking lost and hopeless, and with a cry she switched off the lamp to blank the image. She stepped back into a bucket chair and drew her knees up to her chest, and sat there hunched inside his jacket.
She was still there when the door opened and the light came on. She watched as Joaquin entered the room, closing the door behind him. He vented a deep sigh and dragged a hand wearily through his hair, then began to roll down his sleeves, which had been pushed up to the elbows.
He was leaning his shoulders back against the wooden panels of the door when their glances connected. He immediately levered himself off.
To lessen the sensory impact of him standing over her, she unfurled her legs, pulled the jacket off and handed it to him.
He shook his head. ‘Keep it. You look cold.’
She slid the jacket back over her shoulders. ‘Any news?’
‘What would you like to know about? The hysterical naked girlfriend, screaming that she had never seen a dead body before?’
‘He’s...?’
‘No, he’s not dead—and she is no longer naked. My mother has wished he was dead on several occasions. She is very worried about the scandal and the potential cost of private nursing—such a warm woman. However, she is cheered by the thought that the stroke might put an end to his womanising. He’s been airlifted to hospital, and she has gone with him. Not to hold his hand, in case you thought that was a bit out of character. She’s trying to get him to give her power of attorney, in case he has another, worse stroke that makes him incapable. Her lawyer is meeting them at the hospital.’
‘Oh, goodness!’
‘I think goodness has very little to do with it.’
He studied her face, which was normally so luminous, and saw only shadow. Her pain felt like a stab in the heart. And knowing he was responsible hurt him at a cellular level.
He walked across to the bureau and poured two glasses of amber liquid from a decanter before bringing them back and handing one to her.
‘What is it?’
‘Does it matter?’
She decided it didn’t, and swallowed it back in one gulp.
He waited for her to stop choking before he launched into his explanation. ‘I did know about my mother’s threat, but I wasn’t sure she would follow through. Happily, she did.’
‘Happily?’ Clemmie choked.
‘If my mother had known that I was the potential buyer she would never have sold—not even for an above-market valuation.’
‘You’ve bought Maplehurst?’
He nodded.
‘So, you own the manor?’
He shook he head. ‘No, you own the manor, Clemmie.’
She watched as he opened a drawer in the bureau and pulled out a buff folder.
‘These are the deeds.’
She reached out automatically and took them, then asked in a dazed voice. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Maplehurst is yours—the sale is complete. The only person doing any throwing out is you. You love the place, and I wanted to make sure that... If I’d told you about my mother’s threat you would have worried, and your mother would have worried. You belong there. I hope with me.’
This last husky addition and the look in his eyes sent her heart racing.
‘What are you saying?’ she asked faintly.
He dug into his trouser pocket, pulled out a box and handed it to her.
‘I was planning to give you this after dinner tonight, but things did not go according to plan. I’m saying, Clemmie, that I’m asking you to consider marrying me. I know I’ve blown it, the way I’ve handled this, but I’m used to making decisions, sorting out problems on my own. It’s hard to break the habit. If I have lost your trust, I’ll do my best to win it back—for as long as it takes.’
Clemmie opened the box and saw a ring sitting there. An aquamarine surrounded by diamonds.
‘It’s the colour of your eyes.’ He dropped into a squat beside the chair. ‘I love you, Clemmie. I think I always have. But I didn’t see it because I was trying to keep things the same. I was paranoid about change. I never realised that my marriage wouldn’t be like my parents’ because I am not like my parents. You have always been the one constant in my life. I want you to be the one constant in my future. I want to share that future with you.’
He looked at her, a question in his eyes.
She shook her head. She couldn’t speak. Her throat was choked up with emotion and with the joy that was singing through her veins as she slid the ring onto her finger.
‘It fits perfectly and I never, ever want to take it off!’
She slid out of the chair and they both rose to their feet together.
Arms around his neck, she gazed lovingly up into his eyes. ‘What happens now?’
‘We go to bed?’
‘That sounds like a plan. I have no idea what happens next, but I think we’re going to have fun finding out.
Much later that night, as they were lying in bed, he spoke. ‘I’ll just throw this out there...how about we get married by special licence tomorrow?’
She was tempted... But, ‘My mum would never forgive me. Nor your family.’
‘My family are not coming.’
‘We’ll talk about it later.’
‘No, we won’t.’
Two months later...
‘We must invite your family,’ Clemmie said as they strolled together through the gardens, past a carpet of irises, towards the spot that afforded the best view of the manor and to the new carved oak bench that had been placed there.
Could a house look happy?
As she stared at the honey-coloured stone it seemed to Clemmie that Maplehurst did.
She and Joaquin had been staying in the gatehouse, which now boasted a high-speed internet connection so he could work from home. It meant they were close at hand to supervise the ongoing refurbishment of the manor. Her mum had stayed on with Harry, who really did seem to be a keeper, and was keeping her options open about returning full-time to the gatehouse.
It had been a busy few weeks. As well as turning Maplehurst into their permanent home, Clemmie had taken on an active role in Joaquin’s literacy programme. She had accepted the job only on the understanding that it was a real job. It was indeed real, and challenging enough to take up a large part of her day. But the hard work was counterbalanced by the fun bits, like delivering books to school children in deprived areas.
‘Why must we?’ he asked now.
‘Your parents would be humiliated if we didn’t.’
He shrugged, but when he met her earnest green eyes the cynical twist of his lips smoothed. He touched her cheek and kissed her parted lips.
‘We don’t want to sink to their level,’ she whispered against his lips as they drew apart.
She felt the laugh rumble in his chest.
‘All right, invite them,’ he said, philosophical about losing this war of attrition. His lip curled again. ‘But be warned: my father is still pinching bottoms, even from his electric wheelchair.’
‘You won’t regret it,’ she promised, stretching up to kiss him.
His arms circled her waist. ‘I don’t know what sort of husband I’ll be, but you won’t regret marrying me, Clemmie.’ His voice thickened with emotion. ‘I swear it.’
She touched the roughened angle of his jaw and smiled.
Joaquin felt warmth flow through him. A sense of rightness that he only felt when he was with Clemmie.
‘I know I won’t. I don’t have any doubts, Joaquin,’ she promised, her glowing eyes sending him a message of total certainty. ‘Thank you for this home. I do love it. But you are my home...you are my heart.’