Page 208 of Courting the Wrong Duke

For several seconds, William forgot entirely about his ribs, his brother, and every uncertainty waiting for them beyond this room.

Rosalind lifted her eyes to his. “I think I have for some time. I simply did not know what to call it.”

Something tightened painfully in his chest, entirely separate from the wound beneath his bandages.

His vision blurred before he could stop it.

William blinked, but the tears gathered anyway, and for once he could not summon enough pride to care. Not when Rosalind was looking at him that way. Not when she had just given him the one answer he had scarcely allowed himself to hope for.

She saw the tears and her own expression crumpled.

“Oh, William.”

Rosalind started to rise, but he caught her hand before she could pull away.

“Stay.”

“I was only going to give you a moment.”

“I do not want a moment.”

Something in his voice made her pause. William lifted her hand and drew it toward him, and Rosalind understood. She leaned closer until he could feel the warmth of her breath against his face.

“William,” she murmured, glancing toward his bandaged ribs.

“I have already been shot. I refuse to be intimidated by my own ribs.”

A watery laugh escaped her. “That may be the stupidest thing you have ever said.”

“Quite possibly.” His hand rose to her cheek. “But come here anyway.”

Rosalind did.

William kissed her.

It was not the kiss he might once have imagined giving her. There was no sweeping her into his arms, no clever remark beforehand, no grand display worthy of one of the romances his mother pretended not to read. He could barely move without pain, Rosalind looked as though she had not slept properly in days, and both of them were crying.

It was perfect.

She kissed him carefully, one hand resting against his cheek while the other remained tangled with his beneath the blankets. William closed his eyes and let himself have this one thing without questioning what came afterward.

Years ago, he had made himself a promise that he would only marry for love, hoping love would find him. He would never surrender his freedom to expectations, duty, or a life someone else had chosen for him.

But love had found him, and now he understood now how badly he had misunderstood what freedom could be.

Freedom was not walking an endless road alone simply because no one could tell him where to go.

It was choosing who walked beside him.

And William had made his choice.

Chapter 30

Rosalind had decided she loved Wales.

Perhaps that was an unreasonable conclusion to draw after everything that had happened there, but four days at the Duke of Merriton’s estate had done much to soften her opinion.

The house stood on a rise not far from the Welsh border, surrounded by green hills that seemed to roll endlessly toward the horizon. From the windows of the room they had given William, Rosalind could see fields broken by hedgerows, distant trees, and a road winding away until it vanished behind the hills.