"Your feelings were perfectly clear," he corrected with growing conviction. "I simply could not believe myself worthy of inspiring such sentiments in a woman of your remarkable character."
"Then perhaps it is time you learned to see yourself as I see you," she said with gentle determination, moving closer until only a few feet separated them. "Not as damaged goods to be pitied or feared, but as the man whose strength and honour have earned both my respect and my love."
He reached toward her with tentative fingers, as though he could not quite believe she would welcome his touch after thedeliberate cruelty he had shown her during their estrangement. When she did not retreat, when she actually leaned into his hand as it cupped her cheek with reverent gentleness, something fundamental shifted in his expression.
"Evangeline," he murmured with wonder that suggested he was discovering her name for the first time, "can you possibly forgive me for nearly destroying what we had built together? Can you trust me not to let pride and fear poison our happiness again?"
"I can forgive anything except another attempt to sacrifice yourself for my supposed benefit," she replied with mock severity that could not entirely conceal the tears brightening her eyes. "If you ever again try to determine my feelings for me, or decide what choices I should make for my own welfare, I shall never speak to you again."
"Then I shall endeavour to confine my decision-making to matters that actually concern only me," he promised with the sort of solemn gravity that transformed the pledge into something approaching a vow.
"Such as?"
"Such as how best to demonstrate that your faith in my character has not been misplaced," he replied with growing confidence that suggested their conversation was healing wounds that went far deeper than mere misunderstanding. "And how to ensure that the woman I love never again has cause to doubt the sincerity of my devotion."
The phrase "the woman I love" hung between them like a gift long awaited and finally received, confirming what both had hoped but neither had dared to speak directly. Evangeline felt her heart flutter with joy at hearing sentiments she had dreamed of but had begun to believe impossible.
"Say it again," she whispered with the sort of feminine demand that no gentleman could refuse.
"I love you," he said with growing conviction that seemed to strengthen with each repetition. "I love your intelligence, your courage, your stubborn refusal to be intimidated by circumstances that would have defeated lesser women. I love the way you read poetry with such genuine appreciation, the way you defend those who cannot defend themselves, the way you see possibilities for good in situations that appear hopeless."
"And I love you," she replied with equal fervor, rising on her toes to press her lips to his with the sort of desperate hunger that spoke of emotions too long suppressed by pride and circumstance.
The kiss that followed erased weeks of careful distance and formal courtesy, replacing them with the sort of passionate connection that transformed their library from a place of polite discourse into something approaching sacred space. His arms encircled her with careful strength, while she threaded her fingers through his dark hair with the sort of possessive tenderness that marked genuine intimacy.
When they finally separated, both were breathing unsteadily, their careful composure entirely destroyed by the force of emotions that could no longer be contained by social convention or personal reserve.
"We have been such fools," Evangeline murmured against his scarred cheek, her lips tracing the damaged flesh with reverent gentleness that spoke of acceptance beyond mere tolerance.
"Speak for yourself," he replied with the sort of teasing affection that had marked their best conversations, "I have merely been overly cautious in my assessment of our mutual compatibility."
"Overly cautious?" she laughed with genuine amusement at his remarkable understatement. "You were prepared to dissolve our marriage rather than risk discovering whether your feelingsmight be reciprocated."
"A tactical error of considerable magnitude," he admitted with rueful humor. "Though I believe I may have learned from the experience."
Their conversation was interrupted by a discrete knock at the library door, followed by Morrison's carefully neutral announcement that several urgent communications had arrived requiring their immediate attention.
"Enter," Lucian called without releasing his hold upon his wife, his manner suggesting that nothing short of armed invasion could induce him to sacrifice their newly rediscovered intimacy for mere correspondence.
"Your Grace," the butler announced with the sort of diplomatic precision that suggested he was entirely aware of the significance of whatever information he bore, "word has arrived from various quarters regarding this morning's events. Lord Pembroke has apparently departed London with considerable haste, leaving behind substantial debts and numerous creditors."
"Fled," Evangeline observed with satisfaction at learning of their enemy's ignoble retreat. "How perfectly fitting for a man who proved himself a coward in every possible respect."
"Indeed, Your Grace. There is also this." Morrison presented a silver salver bearing an impressive collection of correspondence whose quality and quantity suggested that news of the morning's confrontation had spread through fashionable society with remarkable speed.
Lucian selected several items at random, scanning their contents with growing amazement at the transformation that a single morning's work had wrought upon their social standing.
"Invitations," he announced with wonder that suggested he had not expected such rapid rehabilitation of their reputation. "Lady Jersey requests our presence at her next assembly. LordCastlereagh extends an invitation to dine. Even Almack's has sent vouchers for the remainder of the season."
"It appears that society has decided we are no longer social pariahs but rather romantic heroes whose love has triumphed over adversity," Evangeline observed with amusement at the fickleness of fashionable opinion.
"How remarkably convenient," Lucian replied with dry humor. "Though I confess myself more interested in our private triumph than in any public recognition of our circumstances."
Morrison cleared his throat with the sort of diplomatic delicacy that suggested additional information required their attention. "There is also a communication from your solicitors, Your Grace. The competency proceedings have been formally dismissed, and all associated legal costs will be charged to Lord Pembroke's estate—when such an estate can be located for attachment by his creditors."
"Justice served with poetic completeness," Evangeline said with satisfaction at learning that their tormentor would face consequences commensurate with his crimes.
After Morrison departed with instructions that they were not to be disturbed for any reason short of actual emergency, Lucian and Evangeline found themselves alone once more in the library that had witnessed so many crucial moments in their relationship.
