Defeating Tarrymount in the duel was not satisfying in the least. Perhaps because the man had cried like a wee babe the entire time and blubbered that Hawkins had threatened to expose Tarrymount’s own gambling debts if he had not helped Hawkins besmirch Cecelia’s name, but more likely it was because Liam feared nothing would bring Cecelia back to him. He felt nothing but darkness. Despite Cecelia’s mother telling him not to give up hope, he worried his withholding the truth from her was an unforgivable breach of her trust.
As Tarrymount climbed into his carriage with the aid of Hawkins—who had been too afraid to get out of the carriage, though he was supposed to be Tarrymount’s second—Liam bent down and wiped his blade against the grass to clean it. Immediately after the duel was over, he had sent Alistair away, when his younger brother had told him that he should just forget Cecelia, so when Liam heard carriage wheels turn behind him, he assumed Tarrymount and Hawkins were now departing.
Liam squatted there and thought upon if he should go to Lady Burton’s home today. Perhaps it was too soon. He did not want to push Cecelia further away, but he missed her with an ache that throbbed in his chest. As a bird call filled the silent glade, Liam squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Cecelia standing there in front of him. He thought about what he would say to her if she were here.
“I’m a fool,” he said aloud. “I listened to my head when I should have heeded my heart. I love ye. I love ye, and I cannot imagine life without ye. I want to wrap ye in my arms and carry ye away to my home where I will keep ye hidden away in our bedchamber, worshipping yer body until I know every curve, every dip, every gentle swell of ye by heart.”
“Oh, that sounds perfectly wonderful,” a soft voice said.
Liam’s eyes flew open, and he glanced up at Cecelia, who was standing not a few steps from him. The sun shone down upon her, almost drawing a bright halo over her head.
As he stood, his heart thundered. “Cecelia, I am verra sorry.”
She rushed to him and wrapped her arms about his neck. It was all the invitation he needed. He held her tightly to him and buried his face in her fragrant hair. “I love ye, I love ye. I was a fool. Please say ye will marry me.”
“Yes!” she exclaimed. She pressed her mouth to his to claim a kiss as only his bold, bonny future bride would dare to do. He took advantage of the moment to show her, through his kiss, the hold she had upon his heart. When they parted, he felt smugly confident that he had succeeded by her lovely, disheveled state. Her rosy, swollen lips and slumberous eyes made him quite happy.
She raised her hand to his cheek and cupped it. “I came to see you yesterday to tell you what a fool I had been, but I saw you entering the Rochburns’ home with Miss Dentington on your arm, so I fled.”
His chest squeezed mercilessly that she had been caused more pain by such an innocent thing. Francis had caught him unaware as he had been going up the steps to the townhome, and she had slipped her arm in his. “Cecelia, I assure ye—”
She pressed her finger to his lips. “There is no need to assure me of your love. I know it’s mine, Liam, and I have never had a greater treasure in all my life. I will never doubt you again.”
“Nor I ye,” he vowed and sealed it with a kiss that left them both gasping.
Cecelia splayed her fingers over his heart. “Now that,” she said with a devilish grin, “is a kiss worth having one’s reputation destroyed.”
