“Because it’s the only way to keep you safe. I want you with me in Yorkshire, at Winterbourne Hall, where nothing and no one can reach you.”
She pressed her lips together and looked down at the floor. “Of course.”
No, he didn’t need to tell her the truth. But he would anyway. He went to her, placed one finger under her chin, and nudged her face up to his.
“And because I need you. I was thinking of Victoria this morning, not only because I regretted the way I’d behaved, the way I lost control, but also because I regret what I allowed her to take from me—my ability to trust people, to believe in anyone. But I want to believe in you,cara. I want to trust you.”
His fingers spread out along her cheek, and she leaned into it, closing her eyes. “I will marry you tomorrow, not because I feel obligated, but because I want to be with you.” His heart thudded in his chest at the words, the most difficult of any he’d ever uttered.
She opened her eyes, and he forced himself to go on.
“Marry me,cara.”
She paused for the briefest of moments. In that split second, the flash of fear and vulnerability that rose in him was so powerful it took all he had not to rescind the offer, to walk away, turn his back on her.
“I will,” he heard her whisper.
He’d never imagined two words could give him so much happiness. Or so much dread.
Twenty-nine
Francesca watched Ethanclimb the luxurious coach and four and settle on the plush green-and-gold squabs across from her and Lino. He frowned at the dog. Lino gave a yip, and Francesca laughed.
“He’s ready.” Ethan nodded to Lino then looked at her. “Are you?”
She held her breath as his warm amber gaze flowed over her. This was it. The beginning of her new life. She took a deep breath before nodding. Eyes never leaving her face, Ethan rapped twice on the roof of the coach, and the vehicle lurched into motion.
Ethan. Her husband. Though she still wore her wedding attire, she could hardly believe she was a marchioness now. She glanced down at her pale flowing gown with its wide pink ribbon sashed just above her waist. The bouquet of pink and white roses she clutched matched the wreath in her hair. She was a bride.
Ethan’s wife.
His wife! Her heart swelled with happiness she feared she could not contain. She wanted to laugh, run, jump, scream. She was married to Ethan Caxton. It was a dream come true.
Halfway down the drive, Francesca tore her attention from her new husband and stuck her head out the window to wave to her family. They had gathered together in a tight cluster, the servants lined up according to rank behind her parents. Her father stood with a supportive arm around her mother’s waist. She liked the image. It was just as she wanted to remember them.
Francesca clutched her hands together to staunch a flood of tears. She would miss everyone so much, but she couldn’t deny that she was ecstatic at the prospect of her new life in Yorkshire. From all accounts, the Yorkshire countryside was wild and beautiful, and Winterbourne Hall was supposed to be very grand.
