Page 75 of The Cornish Widow

He turned back, unmistakable relief in his eyes. “Perhaps we could sit outside together. With autumn well on, and winter close behind, it seems a shame to miss one of Cornwall’s fine days by sitting inside.” He waved his hand. “You choose your spot and I’ll fetch another chair.”

While he went in search of a chair, Harriet selected the most sheltered, sunniest spot, where a few hardy climbing roses that must once have been tended by the previous tenant climbed bravely up the wall of the cottage. A scattering of pink flowers remained from her dead-heading attentions before her trip in The Fly. The final blooms of autumn. She sat herself down and arranged the skirts of her work dress demurely. If only she’d known Jack was coming she’d have dressed with more care.

*

Inside the kitchen,Jack stood for a moment, breathing deeply in an effort steady his pounding heart. The decision he’d made that morning to come straight down to Keynvor and propose marriage to Harriet now seemed an almost insurmountable obstacle. His confidence had slowly waned the nearer he’d come to carrying out his intention, and now he found his hands were shaking as he gripped hard to the tabletop. What was he, some lily-livered young beau with no experience of women and love?

That thought brought realization with it. He really did have no experience of love. He might know women, might have had his fun with a fair number of them in his time, but he had never loved any of them, and none of them had loved him. They’d been willing participants and so had he, but his emotions had never been involved, just his sense of enjoyment. So he really was the equivalent of a green young beau falling in love for the first time. Despite being thirty years old.

What if she turned him down? What if he couldn’t get up the courage to even ask her? The damage her husband had done her might be too much to overcome. She might not want to risk herself with another man, and he wouldn’t blame her. He racked his empty head for a way to prove to her that he’d be different. No inspiration came. But surely, now he was a baronet, to boot, she’d accept him?

She’d be wondering where he’d got to. He grabbed the nearest chair and carried it outside to set beside hers, as close as he dared. Then he flicked the tails of his coat out of the way and sat down.

The book rested unopened in her lap, and she was staring off into the distance, where, over the autumn-gilded treetops, the blue of the sea stretched towards the far horizon. And Roscoff.

“It’s a beautiful view,” he said. “I never tire of looking at the sea.”

She nodded. “At first, I didn’t think I would like living here. When I saw the state the cottage was in, my heart quailed, but I had to put on a brave face for my children.”

Jack watched her delicate profile. She was a woman who’d no doubt had to put on a brave face many times and for many different reasons. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”

She nodded, but didn’t turn her head. “So am I.”

This was at least going in the direction he wanted it to go in. “You’ve made this corner of Cornwall all the more beautiful by your presence.”

Now she did turn her head to look at him, and he took advantage by reaching out and taking one of her hands. She made no attempt to snatch it back but regarded him out of her solemn, hazel eyes, as though seeking to see inside him to his very soul. “You say some pretty things.”

He gazed into those eyes. “Pretty things about a beautiful woman.”

Her lips parted a little, and he had to restrain himself from leaning forward to plant a kiss on them. She wasn’t like his other women. He had to draw her in little by little, gentling her like a skittish filly.

Every part of him tingled with awareness of how close she was and he couldn’t help his body’s instinctive reaction. He crossed his legs in an effort to disguise his growing erection. Damn it, but she was so lovely he couldn’t control himself.

Had she noticed? A little smile lingered around her mouth. “You are more than kind. I’m sure you’ve met many women more beautiful than me.”

He shook his head. “Never.”

The color rose from her breasts up her throat to her cheeks, but she never took her eyes from his. “Never?” Her voice trembled.

Exultation flowed through him. She felt as he did, surely. That couldn’t be fear. Best to get his speech, that he’d been practicing on his walk down from Rosudgeon, out of the way. “Harriet.” How he loved to speak her name aloud. “You must know that I have feelings for you. No. Don’t speak. Let me say my piece. And I know that you suffered in your marriage to the father of your children to the extent that you feel real fear of allowing yourself to feel anything for another man.” He paused, but she remained silent, watching him out of wary eyes.

“I’ve come here today to assure you that I am not like your husband. I know I could just be saying that, but believe me, it is quite true. I freely admit that I’m no saint. I’ve known a number of women in my time and I’ll not deny it. But they were all willing participants and benefited from their association with me.” Now he was making it sound like a business deal, which in truth, a fair few of them had been. “All of them would speak highly of me, I think. None would call me cruel or demanding.” What was he doing? Offering her references? How hot his cheeks had grown. “In short, I want you to know that I would never expect anything of you that you weren’t willing to give.” He ground to a halt.

She hadn’t dropped her gaze, but had caught the left side of her bottom lip under her teeth. Her breasts rose and fell with a rapidity that tokened deep emotion. Let it not be revulsion.

“Jack,” she said, her voice gentle but, nevertheless, containing a tremor. “You speak of what you will and will not do, but I have no idea what it is you want me to do. In all your speech, you have not said.”

Oh God. Nor had he. In one swift movement Jack dropped onto one knee before her, capturing her other hand as well. “Harriet, will you do the honor of marrying me?”