Page 47 of The Baron Takes a Wife

“I think it’s my favorite place in the world. I ought to claim it.” He let out a breath, then turned his head to kiss her there, pausing to kiss both of her breasts as well. “Grayston’s Valley, what do you think of that?”

She had been lightly stroking his hair, which she gave a playful tug.

“Valley? My breasts are not so big.”

He glanced up and gave her a look. She looked down.

“Well, perhaps they are.”

They laughed together until both their breathing slowed. He looked as exhausted and sated as she felt. As she began to drift off to sleep, she heard him softly repeat the words of the opera that evening.

“Could this feeling be love? Yes, yes, it is love alone.”

Despite her fatigue just moments before, she felt wide awake as the icy hand of panic gripped her heart. While the two halves of her had warred, her passionate, impulsive side had won out for most of the night. But now the fearful side, the side that warned her away from any happiness for fear it would be snatched away, had awakened and would not grant her reprieve. She thought of one of the stories she had read from a book of Greek myths in the library, of Prometheus, who was punished for stealing fire from the gods with an eagle ripping out his insides every day. Was this her punishment? Was there always a price? Because of her foolishness, was she cursed to always be afraid of happiness and love? She imagined a bird swooping down to tear open her chest and feast upon her. But once it reached her heart, it spat it back out, as the organ was frozen and worthless. She didn’t want to have a frozen heart, but Anatole’s betrayal and the cost of not knowing what had happened to her family, the numerous times when she had gotten her hopes up only to be bitterly let down, had caused her heart to freeze in place.

She cursed herself a fool for not foreseeing that love might complicate her marriage. For not realizing how much she feared love before she ended up in a situation that she did not know she could escape from. Or want to escape from. While the voices in her head warred, she realized her husband had fallen asleep. She wondered if he would even remember what he said or if he meant it. What if she couldn’t love him back? Would he cast her out? Love had made Anatole so angry and volatile that he had hurt her, tried to disfigure her. She stroked David’s hair, which looked black in the dark of night. No, here lay a much better man than Anatole. Yet, no matter how she tried she could not drive out the panic from her heart, nor the fear of the future, which she would likely have to deal with sooner rather than later.

****

Honey and amber. David awoke in a cocoon of bedclothes and a delicious warmth throughout his entire body. He had moved to a pillow at some point in the night, but his arm was draped across his wife’s full breasts.

Lucky arm.

He watched her for a few minutes as she slept. She looked young in sleep, with all the troubles of the world gone temporarily. Her lips were full and pillowy, her golden-brown hair covering her scar. He wondered if she dreamed in English and what she dreamed of. He would have to ask her someday. He had so many questions, he realized, he could talk to her every day for the rest of his life, and he would still think of more. She shifted in her sleep, and he had a sudden recollection of the previous night. Had he told her he loved her as he drifted off to sleep? He felt a slow trickle of dread build in his heart. While they were making love, he had never felt so close to another person before in his life, and several times, he had to stop himself from expressing all he felt for her. Something told him deep in his bones that she was not ready to hear such things, and he did not want to drive her away. But as he lay listening to her heartbeat, the words from the opera, which had been the most erotic moment of his life, came back to him, and he feared he had spoken them out loud. He had never said it before, even to himself, but in that moment, he knew it for truth. Maybe he had always known deep down. Since he had returned, his love had only grown deeper, surer, and clearer because of the thousand ways she was exactly herself, with no ulterior motives or artifice. How she pushed him to go beyond what he thought were his limits without actually pushing him, and how she always seemed to know when he needed to breathe. How she took care of his family when he was away, even if she claimed they took care of her. How she trusted him with her well-being and with her body, a trust that meant more to him than he could ever put into words.

In the morning light, he heard her breathing change and watched as she slowly opened her eyes, and her body immediately stiffened. There was fear there, fear he felt in his soul. He had not dreamed what he had said, he now remembered saying it. He knew he had to address this head-on, so he stroked her face as gently as possible and prayed for the right thing to say.

“Elena.”

“My lord.”

Ah, the formality.

“My lady. Could you do me a favor?”

She searched his eyes. She clearly wanted to hear him out before she agreed to anything.

He had to get this right.

As he stroked down her face, he began, “I think that I might have told you that I loved you last night.” Her intake of breath confirmed his fears, but he quickly went on. “It’s the truth, and I can’t take it back. I always have, and I always will.”

She bit her lip, and he noticed her clench and unclench her hand on the bedclothes. He remembered her doing that their first night together, but those had been very different circumstances. He put that thought aside for later as he pressed on.

“I know you might not be ready to love me back.” He swallowed. “Or you might not ever love me back.” He hoped with all his heart that was not the case. “But can you try to just let me love you? Just try it on like a coat.” He hadn’t planned on that last part, but he was desperate to regain some semblance of control of the situation, and that was where his mind went.

“You-you’re not angry with me?”

His heart ached for all she had been through, for the question in her voice. His old self might have been angry that she thought he would have hurt her, but he knew what devastation war and grief could bring. What being scarred and betrayed by someone who was supposed to love you would do to you. His fingers reached her scar, still the same mark as when he had first seen her three years ago.

“Elena, how can I say I love you and not try to understand you? You are the most wonderful, fascinating subject I have ever had the privilege to study, and I feel lucky you give me the time of day. I know that when you loved before, you were left with literal scars.” He stroked down her scar with reverent tenderness. “It would be the thrill of my life if you loved me back, but I love you so much I want to give you the time and space to do it. To see if I’m worthy of it.”

“Oh, David, it’s not a matter of worth.”

He kissed her scar, trying to convey everything he couldn’t quite say.

She closed her eyes briefly, and her next words nearly broke his heart.

“I do not deserve such kindness or love. I have done such horrible things.”