Chapter 21 #2
Their movements carried them apart again, and she used the reprieve to gather her thoughts. He gave himself far too little
credit. She’d seen a glimpse of his life now, heard the ache of impossibility in his voice. When they came together once more,
she met his gaze, her defenses rallied. “You have not been careless, Simon.” Her voice steadied. “Fumbling, perhaps, but I believe you’ve had so many cares that the last thing you’ve been is
careless.”
Their turn ended and they took their spots across from each other again, waiting for the other two pairs to have their turn.
But he pressed on, relentless. It was as if he’d been waiting years to speak and not even the distance of a dance and a room filled with ravenous socialites would stop him. “At first, I didn’t think it was possible for you to forgive me or for me to even pursue you.”
At first? Had something changed in his circumstances?
“I didn’t want to hope for it, only to break your heart.”
“Break my heart?” She forced a light laugh, though her voice wavered. “You’ve already done that, Simon, and I survived.”
The words seemed to hit him with the same force she’d felt moments ago. He blinked, then softened his expression into one
of such unguarded adoration that she very nearly did swoon. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Strong enough to survive, care for my siblings, and even help me find a bride. Emme . . .”
She’d never heard him cradle her name as he did in that moment, half in plea, half in reverence. With all of his struggles,
of which she knew only part, he also carried this affection for her, which he’d beautifully confessed. An affection that held
him back.
“I think the real problem is that you’re willing to break your own heart. I see you struggle with what you want to do and what you must do. And that hurts me far more than your leaving me ever could.” Their turn came again, drawing them back together. “Any
woman would find a generous-hearted, intelligent, and witty husband in you. Whoever you choose, Simon, if you determine yourself,
you can have a happy marriage. And the children will be happy to see you so.”
He completely stopped in the middle of their turn, tightening his hold on her waist. “I want you, Emme.” His gaze burned into hers. “I’ve always wanted you.”
She only stared, barely believing her ears. Or eyes. Or every other sense.
The next couple nearly stumbled into them as they paused mid-step, forcing Simon to resume the dance, but Emme barely understood how her feet worked.
Why did he have to make it so hard to leave?
She’d determined her heart. She’d accepted it all last night.
She’d grieved the loss of him again. And now, to have him express such sweet affections, such passion for her. It was too painful.
But at the next available moment, as she searched for words to say, he continued, “From the first moment you startled me with
your wit, I was captivated. You walked into my world with charm, light, and beauty. I went from finding joy in your company
to seeking you out—and finally to needing you as if you were the air itself.”
She couldn’t breathe.
“And you loved me as I was,” he said, his tone thick with emotion. “You loved my family. And I will not forfeit a future with
you. No matter what I must do or sacrifice, you are the best choice for me.”
She had read about men going mad for love, but Simon had never struck her as the type to lose his senses completely. Yet here
he was, defying reason and reality all at once.
“But your family?” It was the only thing that came out of her mouth. A hundred things danced in her head, a hundred objections,
but this one emerged first.
“My family”—his lips curved into a smile—“would gain far more from having you in our lives than any wealth could provide.”
Why did there have to be so much space between them? It was barely two feet, but it felt like a mile. She wanted to be close
to him to try to understand. After months of attempting to accept a future where he married someone else, was he . . . changing
everything?
“Emme, I will not be Willoughby. Not anymore. I will not be ruled by others’ expectations or the fear of financial ruin. Not
if I must give you up.” He drew her back into a turn. “But . . . but you must know, it’s not going to be easy. I can only
offer you the simplest life for now. But with hard work, solid investments, and time, I know we can move beyond my current
menial funds to restore much of what my cousin and father lost. And then I can give you more of the life you not only are
used to but deserve.”
He was speaking as if he intended to marry her. Her. The daughter of a country gentleman with a modest two-thousand-pound dowry.
“What . . . what are you saying?” Her breath shook out the question.
“Marry me.” The words burst through his smile. “Marry me, my darling. Allow me to love you freely and openly before the whole
world. To care for you. To laugh with you. To grow old together.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Simon . . . we can’t. I won’t destroy your dear family. You’ll come to resent me when life is hard
and we are poor. I can’t bear that thought.”
“My family is accustomed to struggling with our finances at this point, but it is unanimous among the entire household that
we’d rather have you, with all your sunshine and joy among the walls of Ravenscross, than make sure the carpets are new. Even
Aunt Agatha has agreed to maintain the allowance to enable us to marry . . . well, because she likes you. And she knows you
and your family bring with them a reputation that can only strengthen Ravenscross.”
The warmth that had been brimming through her chest and into her face suddenly stilled, a painful icy shroud dousing the internal
glow. Reputation. Everything hinged on her reputation?
Never had her secret as an authoress shot through her with such searing pain. Right here, right now, she had the prospect
of a future with the man she loved. He’d asked her to marry him—the words she’d longed to hear two years ago.
“Simon—”
“Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Emmeline Lockhart?”
The music came to a stop, along with her hope. “Simon, I will not . . . I cannot continue this conversation in the middle
of a ballroom. It’s . . . there’s too much to say.”
“Yes.” He nodded, looking up to search the room as he linked her arm through his and led her toward the edge of the ballroom. “We need privacy.” His grin flashed wide again, so much joy dancing in those beautiful eyes of his that her heart ached all over again.
Perhaps she didn’t need to tell him about her books. In fact, she could stop writing altogether if it meant being with him.
She loved him, as much as ever, and if he was willing to sacrifice the money for her heart, couldn’t she sacrifice her talent
for his?
She could still write, for herself and the children. Tell them the stories, couldn’t she?
But how long could she live with the shadow of this secret looming over them in the form of what she’d already published?
Even if he shared in the secret, there was no guarantee the truth wouldn’t come out someday—and then . . . what?
He’d have no escape from being linked to her. No way to salvage the damage her profession might do to his name. No, no, no.
She’d lost him once by no fault of her own.
And now, would she lose him all over again?
“I’ll meet you in the garden,” he whispered, nodding toward the glass doors. “This time, darling, I won’t leave you waiting.”
Darling. Her eyes withered closed as the endearment hurt.
And he did love her. It was the entire reason she’d planned to go away.
She saw it. Felt it. Nearly stepped back into its familiarity as if they’d never been apart. But love only grew as strong
as the truth that bound it.
And—she turned toward the garden doors—sometimes, as she’d come to accept, love alone wasn’t enough for a happy ending.
Sometimes love demanded the hardest sacrifices of all.