“My heart bleeds for you, Tamsyn. And since we parted, it has bled every day, wretched and emptied, but the moment I saw you tonight, it filled, overflowed.”
He ceased dancing.
Tamsyn gulped as a hundred eyes drifted in their direction.
Other couples slowed as they noticed Lord Winterbourne draw away, face so very stern.
Music faltered, violins scratching to a discordant end.
The London ton stared, cold and unfeeling.
Even having lived in Cornwall all her life, she knew that to halt a dance was not the done thing.
A murmur to the left, a titter. “Is the marquess to give the bold miss a set down?”
“Ja…” Her words rasped, faded. What was happening? To attend this ball and reveal her heart had taken all her courage, but now it wavered.
Her dress felt gaudy, her hair unlike the others and her scars itched. She peered to one side and saw no friendly faces, to the other, only sniggers and raised brows.
Dread filled her, to have these nobles look upon her with dislike and pity.
The ballroom hushed, stilled.
Oh heavens, and her feet stumbled back, couldn’t sta–
Jack sank to both knees before her, head lowering.
The ballroom gasped as one.
In front of her, strong broad shoulders clad in delicate silk and a head of glossy black curls rested silent.
He peeled off his gloves, tossed them aside as though rags, and then with such care, he grasped her wrist and proceeded to denude her own hands…leisurely. Each finger a caress, one by one, until he tugged the silks from her with a sigh and threw them to the marble floor. Then…
Silence.
’Twas as though Lord Winterbourne held the ballroom, the ton, the whole of London in the palm of his hand. They awaited his next move, their most feted rogue.
He brought her fingers to his lips and she shuddered. He kissed the palm, her wrist. She quivered. He gazed up, black eyes so very ferocious.
“I love you, Miss Tamsyn Penrose,” he proclaimed, voice so strident they must have heard it in Piccadilly. “I cherish your wild passion. I need your quiet strength. I adore your indominable spirit.”
No one spoke, sighed, whispered or laughed.
“Tamsyn. Your rogue kneels, defeated by your grace and beauty.” And he kissed her bare palm with a delicate brush of tongue – a rogue indeed. “You once asked me to help you live, and I humbly ask the same. Fill my shadows with your light, my days with your joy, my nights with your passion. For eternity.”
Her heart fluttered, spread its paper wings and soared.
And then she realised, realised what he was doing. For her.
He was biddingadieuto his past, announcing his future to all these friends and peers. Her breath became lost, not to fear or dread as once it had, but to this man on his knees.
For her.
“You have taught this rogue to love.” Jack bowed his head once more. “And that rogue now kneels at your feet and begs for your hand in marriage.” He guided her palm to his chest, his heart. It thudded, so fervent and strong. “To be your closest confidant, defender and devoted loving husband for ever more.”
With a hand on his shoulder, Tamsyn dropped to her knees also, cupped his cheek, tears blurring her eyes. “I love you, Jack Winterbourne. My angel and devil. My shadow and light. My joy to overcome sorrow. I will be your wife. For eternity.”
He leaned close, lips at her ear. Words for no one else. “I love you, Tamsyn, so deeply,” he simply whispered.
