Chapter 30 Liam
Liam
Idon’t move.
Her head is in my lap, one hand curled loosely against my thigh like she fell asleep mid-thought. The soft crease between her brows makes it seem like she’s solving a problem.
Or planning a crime.
A thin line of drool glistens at the corner of her mouth.
Christ, I love this woman.
I smooth my fingers through her hair, careful not to wake her too fast. The doctor said she’d start surfacing soon. She’d signed the full waiver, granting me complete authority for any medical choices for the next twelve hours, but not before she’d grilled Dr. Halvorsen for forty minutes.
That was my Lexie. Even when she was preparing to go under, she was a force of nature.
She’d reviewed the dosing plan, asked about airway management, and shook the hands of the medical team as if she were inspecting a royal guard.
She spoke to them as a woman with a powerful husband, unafraid to ensure her own safety.
Her faith in me should have been terrifying. Instead, it ached. To have the trust of a woman who knows exactly what I’m capable of—who’s seen the blood on my hands—is a gift I’ll never deserve. But I’ll spend every second of the next fifty years trying.
We’d kept it simple for the flight. A controlled twilight sedation in the cabin of the jet, enough to keep her under but light enough to maintain spontaneous breathing.
Quick reversal, easy wake-up. I’d watched her the whole eight hours across the Atlantic, mesmerized by how she drew every soul on that plane toward her, even while asleep.
I timed it as precisely as I could without losing my mind. Eight hours in the air. A helicopter transfer. A convoy waiting.
And she has no idea.
Her lashes flutter.
My heart stops.
Outside the tinted limousine windows, the English countryside rolls past in soft green waves. Mist clings to the fields. Stone fences. Ancient trees. The long drive is coming up, and gravel crunches under the heavy tires.
A small sigh eases from her nose.
“Easy,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her temple. “Take your time, Luv.”
She blinks slowly, trying to stitch the world back together. The silk of her favorite pink dress rustles as she moves. She frowns faintly.
“Am I in…a limousine?” she rasps, still sleepy.
I nod, offering her my hand as she starts to rise, shaking off the heavy fog. “Aye. Much better than a radiator, if I do say so.”
I catch my own reflection in the tinted glass. Nothing but sheer, unbridled adoration on my face.
“How are ye feeling, Luv?”
She touches her throat, swallowing hard. “A little dry mouth.”
I immediately fetch her a bottle of chilled water. She drinks slowly, the color returning to her cheeks. “You know, some kidnappers just use head bags or blindfolds,” she teases.
I twist my grin to the side, my eyes gleaming with dark mischief. “There’ll be time for that later, Darlin’. Are ye all right, Lexie?”
“Mmm.” She sets her head on my shoulder. “A little heavy, but no nausea. That’s good.”
The limousine slows as we turn onto the final stretch of the drive. My pulse kicks up a frantic rhythm.
The car stops.
I don’t give her a chance to open the door. I’m out and around in a heartbeat, opening it and sweeping her into my arms in a honeymoon hold. I move slowly, tenderly, wanting to draw this out.
“Liam?” Her fingers clutch my suit jacket.
I don’t speak. I just turn her around.
Her expression is better than anything I could have imagined. The sweet, teasing smile falters, then vanishes, replaced by pure, unadulterated awe. Those wide eyes catch the morning light, the tears starting to well.
Before us sits Highclere Castle. The towers of Downton Abbey rise into the mist, ancient and grand, exactly how she’s described them in a thousand conversations.
“Oh…” she let out a broken, shallow sound, her hands flying to her mouth.
I lower her to the ground, but keep my arm firmly around her waist as she breaks down, her smile so bright, it could shame the stars.
“We’re staying at Grotto Lodge.” I hold her stronger. “The cap is normally four days, but I’ve secured it for seven.”
She spins in my arms. “Seven whole days?! Liam, how did you—this is impossible.”
I give her a half-smirk, trailing my fingers along her jawline.
“I may have a cousin, twice removed, with connections to the Earl. And despite the tumultuous histories of our heritages, the Carnarvons and I share an interest in legacy. Legacies which include generous donations to their heritage preservation, so they do. We may return at Christmastime if you would like.”
“If I would like!” she exclaims, turning to fawn over the architecture, her joy a living, breathing thing.
Keeping vigil on her state, I pull her back against my chest as we appreciate the sight together. “Happy Mother’s Day, Lexie.”
She turns slightly, lifting a brow. “Mother’s Day?”
Lowering my voice, I say what’s been burning in my throat. “I’m making ye a mum, too, my sweet savior.”
She rolls her eyes, though her cheeks are a magnificent shade of pink. “Liam, we literally just made love for the first time the other day. It’s going to take more than one night for that to happen.”
I chuckle, low and possessive. “Of course, if you desire those children, Mrs. Donovan. But there be other ways to make you a mother.”
I reach down and tap a code into my watch. Behind us, the door of the secondary staff car clicks open. And…the kennel manager steps out, holding a wriggling, gray pit bull puppy with ears too big for its head and a tail that’s a blur of motion.
Lexie freezes. Then shrieks.
She’s out of my arms before I can even blink.
The manager lowers the pup into Lexie’s arms, and the little beast immediately starts licking her chin, causing another round of joyous laughter from my wife.
“She’ll remain in our care for the duration of your stay, sir,” the manager says politely, nodding to me. “But you’re welcome to walk her along the lower grounds at your leisure, provided she’s supervised.”
Lexie looks up at me, the precious pup cradled against her chest.
“What are you going to call her?” I ask, shoving my hands into my pockets as I look down at her. My chest feels too full for the world, a heavy, aching heat I’m still learning to carry.
“You choose.”
I smile, my gaze lingering on the little gray pup. “Shirley.”
Lexie beams, and I know she understands the reference. Lady Cora’s mother—the American who brought a little sass and a lot of heart to the old world. It fits.
“We’ll have more time to spend with her in Ireland,” I add, loving how her jaw nearly drops. “I thought we’d let her touch Irish soil before she has to deal with Manhattan concrete. Three weeks in the old country, introducing ye to my homeland, Lexie Darlin’. What do you think?”
She doesn’t answer with words. She hands the puppy back to the manager, then throws herself at me.
A few minutes later, the rain begins to fall—a soft, English blessing of a drizzle—and Lexie is still kissing me, her hands tangled in my hair, her soul pressed so tight against mine, I don’t know where I end, and she begins.
My forehead rests against hers as the world fades away.
“Thank you for kidnapping me, Mrs. Donovan,” I whisper.
With a playful huff and her heartbeat against mine, she retorts, “Thank you for letting me, Mr. Donovan.”
We walk toward the lodge, hand-in-hand, two soulmates lost in a story never meant for us, but one we’ve claimed all the same.
And every trope we’ve lived is home.