If she agreed to give him the chance, he would spend his life proving himself to her. He would show her the depth and sincerity of his love above everything else.
As the night drew to a close and the brightness of dawn illuminated the horizon, Nicholas had not moved. The fire had burned down to embers in the grate, the glowing coals almost entirely extinguished as his eyelids began to droop.
Beyond anything else, he was resolved to tell her how he felt. He would lay everything bare for Miss Crompton, regardless of the consequences. If she rejected him, he knew he had done everything in his power to convince her. He knew that to trust him would be to take a risk, and she had lived through enough pain not to wish to take any more of those.
As sleep began to tug at his eyelids, he kept the locket clutched in his hand; his final thought was of her soft brown eyes turning to him with a look of love. He had to believe that it was possible.
Determined but exhausted, his head nodded to his chest. As dawn’s early light pierced the sky on Christmas Eve, sleep finally overcame him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Clarissa’s eyes fluttered open on Christmas Eve. She looked out of the window at the sky above and frowned.
How have I come to be here? She thought in confusion. The last thing she remembered was the carriage ride and then that jolt as she had been thrown from Emily’s side into the coldness of the snow.
She winced. It was not just the thudding pain in her head that caused it. She remembered the preceding events leading up to the crash. She remembered Lord Bolton with Lady Wilde, her hand on his chest, leaning toward him as though in the act of kissing him.
Her stomach lurched unpleasantly.
“Clarissa.”
She looked over at the sound of the plaintive voice and was surprised to find Rosemary beside her. She was very pale, her hand clutching Clarissa’s tightly. Rosemary smiled with relief as their eyes met and stood up, brushing some hair from Clarissa’s forehead.
“How are you feeling?” Rosemary asked.
“My head hurts, but otherwise, I feel fine. How long have I slept?”
“Many hours. But the doctor insisted we were not to wake you. He said you need to rest to regain your strength. Come, shall I help you sit up?”
Clarissa nodded very gently, mindful of her thundering headache. She was grateful to Rosemary as she stacked some pillows behind her and helped her to get into a sitting position. She instantly felt more comfortable.
As she leaned back, images of Lady Wilde and Lord Boltonflooded her mind again, and she clenched her lips together, fighting back tears.
“Are you in pain?” Rosemary asked urgently, looking at her with concern.
“No. No. I am well,” she lied quickly and settled herself in her cushions, gratefully receiving some hot tea that Rosemary passed to her. It was refreshing for her parched throat, and she smiled at her friend gratefully.
Rosemary’s eyes met hers again, and her expression was very serious. Clarissa’s gut clenched.
“Someone has been waiting outside your room all night long, desperate to see you.” Clarissa held her breath, watching her friend’s eyes grow warm as she squeezed her fingers. “May I admit him?”
Clarissa was torn between a desperate wish to say yes and concern over what she had witnessed. She did not know what to think anymore; all she knew was that she, too, was desperate to see him, for better or worse.
“You may,” she whispered. Rosemary gave her hand a final squeeze and went to open the door. Clarissa’s heart almost beat out of her chest as she watched Lord Bolton enter.
His eyes never left her face as he paced toward her across the room and came to sit beside the bed. Dark circles were beneath his eyes, and his usually happy expression was particularly grim.
Clarissa turned away from him. The image of Madeline Wilde was too recent and too painful to overlook. She fixed her gaze on the snowy landscape out of the window.
As though recognizing their need for privacy, Rosemary stepped to the door where she had remained at the back of the room.
“I shall return shortly,” she said. A look was exchanged between her and her brother, Rosemary’s eyes gleaming with something akin to a warning. Then the door closed behind her,and they were alone.
For several minutes, they sat in intense silence. Clarissa did not know what to say, and it seemed Lord Bolton was also reluctant to begin speaking.
“I am a fool,” Lord Bolton stated simply. Clarissa could not help turning back toward him at those words. She stared at him as he began to speak, hesitant at first but growing more fervent the longer he continued.
“Miss Crompton, you have my unreserved apologies for what you witnessed between Lady Wilde and myself,” he began, his voice low and filled with emotion. “What you saw, despite how it appeared, was entirely one-sided. I have never knowingly encouraged her, nor was I in any way interested in her proposition. She is eager to remarry. I did not realise how firmly she had fixed upon me as her intended choice. Nothing could have been further from my mind when she spoke with me. What you witnessed was my rejection of her advances in the strongest possible terms and nothing more.” His eyes were entreating as he met her gaze.