Page 63 of Manufacturing a Duchess

Aurora watched him suddenly deflate. For a moment, his constant military posture deserted him. If he could have slumped down with weariness, she knew he would have. How well she still knew him. But again, how much about him she did not know or, at least, could not allow herself to trust.

A silence again fell between them, but this time Aurora did not break it. So, he did. “Aurora, I do not know what to say. The same barriers that drove us apart remain. I do not know what words to use. I do not know how to make this work. I do not know.” There was a note of pleading in his voice.

Aurora could feel the tears welling up. She was so tired of tears. The tears after his departure. The tears of missing him, of missing Marjorie, of missing what might have been. On top of all of those, the tears of missing her father. Would she never see the end of these tears? She sucked in a breath and tried to keep them at bay, to find a way to bring peace and healing to her own heart.

“You may go in peace, Alec. I will live my life; you will live yours. May you find yourself a beautiful and wealthy duchess who gives you everything you want and need, and whom you can love. My heart remains with Marjorie—I want her to be happy.”

He shot back with, “Just with Marjorie, then?” He halted with a gasp. She watched the realization of his own words break across his face.

Aurora started, then threw the basket with its tiny knife and carrot down on the ground. “Of course not just with Marjorie, you ridiculous, stubborn, impossible man!” She put her hands over her face for a moment, before raising her head back up to meet his eyes.

“I love you,” she blurted out. “I know it is not necessary for a marriage within the Ton, but I do. How I wish I did not. But I will not, I absolutely and utterly refuse to melt into your arms and say, ‘Oh, Alec, my love. I will do, I will be whatever you want me to be.’” She affected the pose of a simpering maiden and then snapped back upright. “I. Will. Not. If you want my money, if you want me to mother your daughter, you have to take me, just as I am. I can come to you no other way.” She drew a ragged breath. “I deserve to be loved and treasured, for myself, and not be tolerated as an afterthought or some type of necessary evil.”

Aurora lifted her head to look defiantly at him. She watched his shoulders come back up and saw his teeth clench. He took a step toward her and then stepped back. He looked to right and left, but he was clearly not seeing. The expression on his face kept changing, emotions clashing, his thoughts evidently at war with themselves. He looked angry, then anguished, then sad, then back to angry, though she could not tell if it was with her or with himself. Something had been let loose in him, and he appeared to be of several minds on what to do next.

And then, he smiled. It was a slow, sad smile. As if he were looking at himself for the first time, unsure of what he saw. Something appeared to settle in his shoulders—they relaxed. The look in his eyes was direct. And warm. He appeared to be both a man who was drowning and one who had just begun to wade ashore. He slowly shook his head. The smile turned rueful.

Like an echo, something settled further inside Aurora. She fully saw herself in his gaze. And what she saw there? It gave her the courage to step closer to him, until they were less than an inch from each other. She wanted to let him know she understood now. That is, she saw the impasse between them yet knew it was also providing them with a bridge. How, she did not know. But she also knew she was willing to fight for that bridge.

“Alec, I would never say you were ridiculous.”

“Aurora, you just did!” The protest, if protest it was, was tinged with that same humility. And humor. A wry humor that warmed her to the tips of her toes.

“All right, yes, I did.” Her smile, she knew, was rueful, too. It was both an apology and a refusal to back down. The moment hung there, between them.

“And did you say you love me?” This was almost a whisper from Alec, with a note of wonderment in it.

“Yes, I said that as well.”

Alec sighed. “And there it is, the nub of all of this. Because I love you, too, Aurora. Not for your fortune, which, yes, is quite nice and very helpful, and, yes, I had mercenary motives when I first began to pay court to you, but—not for your fortune. It is, however, accurate to say: partly for Marjorie. Damnation! I am babbling.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “For all of that, I love you completely, and almost unreservedly, for you.”

“Almost?” she murmured. Their faces were very close now.

“I am working on it, Aurora. This is all, this is all very new to me. A businesswoman. An independent woman. A—what did you call it? A partnership of equals?”

“So you were listening!”

“Aurora, I have been listening to everything you say. Did you not know that?” He shook his head again. “That doesn’t mean I have agreed with all of it. I have, in fact, quite firmly objected to a great deal of it.” He paused and then continued, as if he were taking a vow. “I am willing, however, to set down the terms as you have laid them out, and sign.”

Aurora looked up at him. His eyes were still warm and affectionate. She knew they saw her, and not through her. She remembered a thousand kindnesses. She remembered the touch of his lips on hers. She noted his honesty. She felt his humor. And she saw the wonder in his eyes as he looked at her, as if her love was a thing of great value to him.

This moment, his understanding? It was not perfect. On either of their parts. But it was a beginning. A foundation.

She reached up and gently touched his cheek. He put his hand up, cupped hers, and turned it over, lightly planting a kiss on her palm. Her hand and his—they fitted together. While his was the larger, it somehow did not swallow hers.

If she was asking for a partnership, well, that partnership also started with her. And she had made so many errors herself. She knew what she wanted, but she also realized she had a great deal to learn. After the tempest of the last few months, from the day he had driven away to this moment, she felt she had finally reached the storm’s eye. It was quiet. And clear, so very clear. She could see far over the horizon, and this time it was not empty.

Because, yes, finally, Aurora was sure Alec did care for her. It sat inside her like a warm glow.

It was a risk—it was a gamble—this marriage business. But a risk with him, oh, it could be glorious. “Then I accept, Your Grace.”

“Pax?”

“Pax.”

A few minutes later, Alec murmured into her hair, “You asked me what I wanted, Aurora. And it is you. Always and forever, you.”

“Damnation,” she whispered.