Page 66 of Truly, Madly, Daring

“I don’t understand,” she said, sounding bewildered.

“Then let me make it plain for you, pet.” He moved his hands carefully to frame her face, finding his throat suddenly tight. “I am yours, Emmeline. Entirely. You hold my heart in those delicate hands of yours. I love you, and I won’t ever let anyone take me away from you or you from me. You have given me something to fight for, something to live for, and I shall never be able to show you how grateful I am to you for that. But I shall try, by loving you with all my heart, for as long as I may live.”

There was a stunned silence and Wrexham was aware of his heart beating in his ears, of Emmeline’s quickened breathing, the fine tremors running through her frame. Were those good signs? He wasn’t certain, and he had never felt more exposed or vulnerable. For a man who had recently lost his sight, that was no small admission.

“Rex,” she said at last, her voice quavering.

“Yes, pet?”

She said nothing else, just pressed her mouth hard to his, her arms wrapping around his neck and holding on so tight she was likely to throttle him. She would certainly ruin all Lennox’s good work. He didn’t give a damn.

Wrexham kissed her back, his arms pulling her against him, holding her as close as he could until she broke the kiss, breathing hard.

“I love you, too, Wrexham. I think I fell in love with you at my aunt’s dinner party and I’ve been hopelessly smitten ever since.”

His lips quirked, and she laughed. “Oh, you may well look smug, you dreadful man. I’m scared to death something will happen today, that it will go wrong and—”

He kissed her again, only releasing her when he was certain she would not speak again.

“You’ve made your feelings clear,” he said gently. “But I need to do this. I’ll have Wolf with me, and the plan is sound. You give my father and Cecil too much credit. They are merely bullies, and before I went blind, I ran rings around them. I won’t let them get the better of me now. I swear it. I have only lost my sight, not my brain. Not yet, at least.”

She drew in a sharp breath, and he knew he ought not to have said that last bit, but before she could fly up into the boughs, there was a knock at the door, followed by Bunting’s voice.

“My lord, your guests have arrived.”

“Thank you. I shall be down shortly,” Wrexham called.

“Guests?” Emmeline asked. “What guests?”

“Your father’s idea,” he said, smiling at her. “I was not entirely happy with him at first, when he explained what he’d done, but, well… come along and let us see what you think.”

Emmeline went with Wrexham down the grand double staircase that led to the entrance hall. On all sides, huge, framed portraits of his ancestors looked on as they passed, but Emmeline was in far too much of a dither to study them as she usually did. Wrexham loved her. She was in a daze, still struggling to comprehend his beautiful words. He loved her. A little bubble of giddy laughter escaped her, and Wrexham turned his head towards her.

“Did you say something?”

“No,” she squeaked, biting her lip and thankful he could not see the stupid expression on her face as she gazed adoringly at him.

She must look like Sultan staring up at Cara or Wolf. Really, she must pull herself together before they met whoever it was her father had invited, but she was caught between hysterical laughter and sobbing. A sick sensation swirled beneath her joy as she considered the plan to trick Wrexham’s father into exposing his subterfuge. She could not rid herself of the idea that, if something went wrong, the duke or Lord Cecil could harm or even kill her husband. They had come so far together in such a short time. The idea that those two awful men could possibly take it all from her was simply unbearable.

Bunting met them at the bottom of the stairs and led them to the drawing room. As they drew closer, Emmeline heard voices, her father’s and… a man that sounded familiar.

They entered the room and moved to greet their guests.

“Mr DeBeauvoir,” Emmeline said in surprise, welcoming the man with a smile. “How lovely to see you. I hope you and your family are well. How is Kathy?”

The man was tall and dark, his features rather hawk-like, his eyes bright and shining with intelligence. Hardly surprising when he was purported to have one of the finest minds in the country. A natural philosopher, occupied with all things scientific, Emmeline could not fathom what Inigo De Beauvoir could be doing here.

“Kathy is well, thank you and sends you much love, alongside a letter which is at least ten pages long, if the weight is anything to go on,” he said with a smile. “We almost missed our train, as she insisted we wait for her to finish it.”

Emmeline laughed. “I shall look forward to sitting down with the epic tale, but much as I am delighted to see you, I confess I cannot imagine why Papa invited you.”

Mr DeBeauvoir turned to look at her father, one dark eyebrow raising. “You failed to explain to your daughter.”

“She’s become remarkably fierce of late, Inigo,” her father said dryly. “I thought it prudent to wait.”

“Wait for what? What is going on?” Emmeline demanded, unsettled now.

“I don’t believe it is Mr DeBeauvoir whom your father needed to come, so much as the gentleman with him,” Wrexham told her, and it was only then that Emmeline looked past DeBeauvoir to see a small, neat and rather serious looking man of perhaps five and sixty, dressed in the sombre attire of a medical man.