Chapter 54
Chapter
Fifty-Four
LAUREN
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNZH-emehxA
-You’re still the one-
I know now that I love Hugh deeply, irrevocably, and I was wrong, so wrong, to judge him so harshly.
I came here to speak to him, to admit I had been too quick to judge, but I never expected to see that he had started rebuilding my cottage from scratch.
The second I saw the workers, the frame, I couldn't believe it.
He could have razed it all to the ground.
and I wouldn't have been able to blame him.
He could have abandoned it, especially with my accusations against him.
Instead, he got to work, ever direct, and ever intent on showing me via actions what the truth is.
This is Hugh.
This isn’t a man who’d burn my home for land.
And yet I foolishly listened to speculations and unfounded accusations.
My chest tightens because I see it now, see him, and the look in his eyes when I called his name—gray, stormy, wounded.
It cuts me, shows me how deeply I hurt him, how his mother was right about his feelings, the risk he took with his heart.
I’m so upset with myself, but now I can’t think of that. I can only think of holding on to him, of letting him know how sorry I am, how wrong I am. He took a risk with me, and now it’s my turn to take a risk on him.
I am without shame as I wait and plead because I can see now that his priority from the moment we got closer has been the absolute best for me.
I take a step forward, needing to be near him.
He doesn't pull away, and I close the last bit of distance between us.
I hold onto his shirt with both hands, desperate, so deeply remorseful I can't breathe.
Gently, I lean my forehead against his chest, his jacket rough, smelling of cedar and earth, his heartbeat fast against my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Hugh. So sorry,” I murmur, my voice muffled, trembling, tears soaking his shirt. “I was wrong, I was so wrong.”
He remains unresponsive, but I'm hopeful because he hasn't pushed me away. I lift my gaze to his, and our eyes meet. My heart pounds against my chest.
“I think Cecilia and those city developers are behind the fire. She came to me in the bakery and tried to push me to sell to them. She said they’d pay more and that I should sell to them because it would be the best way to hurt you.
That’s when I knew. Until then, I didn’t even know there were others besides you vying for the land.
That anyone else had a motive for destroying my cottage. ”
To my immense relief, he responds.
“Cecilia tried to get you to sell to the Harringtons?” he asks, his voice low, urgent, a spark of anger flaring, not at me, but at her.
“She didn’t name them, but they are meant to be big city developers.
She's been trying to tell me all along that you'd do anything to take the land from me. Even when the house burned down, she immediately pointed her finger at you. She also said the developers have bought the adjacent plots. Unless she just plain hates your guts and doesn’t want you to have the land, I'm pretty sure they've promised her some sort of commission.
Otherwise, why has she been manipulating me to distrust you ever since I arrived? "
He thinks, his jaw clenching, his eyes darkening with resolve.
"We've been searching for the source of the fire. But despite all the inspections, we haven’t been able to find it so far. Because we’ve been looking in the wrong places,” he says, his voice hard and fierce.
“Now that I’m 100% sure Cecilia and the Harringtons are behind it, I’ll be looking in a different direction. ”
He shakes his head. “I should have known, but I really didn't think they would be so ruthless. They could have killed you that night. I won't rest until this matter is thoroughly investigated, until they pay for what they've done."
I can feel the fury shake through his body, his shock at this new revelation, and I understand it. It consoles me more than ever. I believe his every word. He will make them pay dearly because they had risked and gambled with my life.
“There are cameras around the property—not on your land, but close. I’m sure we’ll find something, movement, anything. I’ll get to the bottom of this, Lauren. Don’t worry about it.”
I stare up at him, my heart swelling with so much love it nearly chokes me.
I can clearly see his passion for me now.
The fear in his eyes for me that night. You can’t pretend that.
The way he ran through flames, risking everything.
Suddenly, I can’t hold back, can’t guard my heart any longer.
Tears spill, hot and unstoppable as I throw my arms around him, my voice breaking.
“I tried to keep my walls up, Hugh, tried to protect myself, but I can’t. I love you. I’ve been denying it, but I’m done fighting it. I’m in love with you, and I’m so sorry for doubting you.”
My words hang in the air, raw, honest, as I hold onto him, not willing to let go.
I don't care if he doesn't feel the same way, but for once, at least, I need to let him know.
I've missed him so incredibly much, and I relish the strength and feel of his body, the warmth and safety.
It is the sweetest feeling in the world to be in his arms. His hands tighten around my arms, and I have a moment of panic. Is he going to push me away?
He doesn’t push me away, but he pulls back. For a moment, I don’t look up. Not willing to face him in light of my confession, but I have no choice, so I finally do.
He stares at me with wide, stunned eyes. “Say it again,” he orders in a strained, strange voice.
“I’m in love with you,” I say slowly.
Like a man possessed, he swoops down and kisses me, and I am in shock at how desperate it is, at how deep and urgent.
His tongue slides into my mouth, warm, claiming, possessive.
My hands fist against his jacket, and my body melts into his.
This is where I belong. Here. Right here.
Eventually, he pulls back, his forehead against mine, his voice low, trembling.
“I never thought I could feel this way about a woman. You’ve made me weaker than I’ve ever been, but I don’t want to feel any other way.
I love you, Lauren. So much it hurts like a fucking knife in my chest. I’d never have run into that fire for anyone else, didn’t even think, and I don’t regret it.
I’d run through a thousand fires for you. ”
We cry, tears mingling, then we kiss again, deep, desperate, hugging each other tight, his arms a haven, his warmth erasing the cold of my doubt.
I laugh shakily and say, “I met your mom, by the way.”
He chuckles, his breath warm on my cheek. “I’m sure that must have been interesting.”
“Very interesting,” I say, smiling, my fingers tracing his jaw. “I’m looking forward to meeting her more. I hope I can.” My voice is soft, hopeful, because I want him, want us.
“You will,” he says, his eyes bright, certain.
I turn to the cottage. “The house is coming along fast,” I say, my voice light. “I reckon I’ll be able to move back in soon.”
He finds my hand, his fingers linking with mine, warm, steady, and says, “How about you don’t move in there? How about you move into the manor with me?” I stare, my breath catching, my mind reeling, and he grins, mischievous. “
You’re spending all this money renovating,” I say, my voice teasing, but my heart’s pounding. “But you don’t want me to live here?”
He laughs, squeezing my hand. “Our children will have a granny annexe instead of a treehouse. And sometimes we can put my nosy mother in there too. For the nights we want to scream our heads off and fuck to our heart’s content, she’ll need a place to stay.”
I gasp, laughing, my cheeks flushing. “Oh, you are bad. Our children will require a treehouse. And your mother won’t hear a thing if we move to the North wing while she’s around.
I was thinking maybe Annabel can live in the cottage.
If she doesn’t have to pay rent, she can afford to buy a car so she can drive to work and back every day. ”
He continues, his voice warm, earnest. “Why not? She was good to you, and any friend of yours is a friend of mine, but my point was that I want you to move in with me. I want us to spend every moment together, fall even deeper in love.”
I’m crying again, tears of joy and disbelief at how lucky I am. He wipes the tears away, his thumb gentle, his eyes soft.
“I’m sorry,” I say, laughing through the tears. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional.”
He kisses me, deep, lingering, and says, “I love you, Lauren Hutton.”
“And I love you, Hugh Montrose, the twelfth Duke of Beauclerk.” I pause, a grin tugging my lips. “Wait, I’ve always wondered… what does the G in your name stand for?”
“Gustauvaus.”
“Gustauvaus? No wonder you hide it?” I tease.
He smirks. “And now you’ll have to hide it too.”
“No, no, no,” I say and giggle.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he says, pulling me close. “Everything that is mine has just become yours too.”