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Clearly, she was distraught, whether or not she chose to admit it.
“Breanna...” Royce leaned forward, gently touched her arm. “I'm on the verge of figuring out something important. I'm just not certain what it is— yet. But I will be. Hibbert will be back tomorrow, and between the two of us...”
To his surprise, Breanna rose abruptly, shaking her head and waving away his explanation. “That’s not it. That's not what I wanted to discuss.” She whirled about to face him, her fingers knotting in her gown as she spoke, her chin coming up in a purposeful gesture that seemed to contradict her nervousness.
“The next few days are going to be an emotional nightmare,” she proclaimed, her words frank and deliberate. “I don't want to have this discussion then, not when the assassin is closing in and you might misinterpret my feelings to be something less than they are, or worse, to try unduly to protect those feelings and me. I want to have this conversation now, when I'm still strong and in control and you realize I mean what I'm saying, and that you also realize I won't fall apart from the conversation's outcome.”
She gave Royce no chance to respond.
“Having said that, I have to add I'm a novice at this,” she confessed, never averting her gaze, although twin spots of red stained her cheeks. “But then, so are you—not at the physical aspect, since I know you're quite seasoned at that. I'm referring to the emotional aspect. That part's as new to you as it is to me. Well, neither of us has much experience at speaking our hearts. And since one of us has to have the courage to go first, and since your scars are apparently more extensive than mine, I decided that someone should be me.”
This time she did pause, but only to draw a slow, unsteady breath. “I'm falling in love with you, Royce. And whether you laugh in my face or bolt from the room, I have to tell you so. What's more, I believe you have feelings for me, too—deeper feelings than you choose to. If I'm right, tell me so. Then, take whatever time you need to decide what you want to do about it. If I'm wrong, or if what you're feeling is simply lust and not love, just say so. I've endured a great deal in my life. I won't shatter. But having lived amid secrets, I know I'd much rather face the truth than cling to a lie. So tell me what you're flunking, and what you're feeling. Not about the assassin. About me.”
She broke off, watching his reaction, a flushed but expectant look on her face.
Royce just stared, wondering if he'd ever been rendered so off-balance. This was Breanna, casting aside propriety and self-restraint, not in the threes of passion, but to speak her mind. She was relaying her feelings with all the dignity she possessed and a directness that came with great effort.
His first coherent thought was how incredibly proud of her he was. What she'd just done had taken an amazing measure of courage—a measure of courage he was a stranger to.
ironic, he was reckless, daring, downright formidable when it came to his enemies. He was also the consummate risk-taker. Yet, when it came down to it, she was far braver than he.
His second thought wasn't a thought at all. It was a surge of feeling so strong it nearly felled him—as did the realization that accompanied it.
She might be falling in love with him, but his fall was already complete.
All that was left was to acknowledge it, to her and to himself.
Slowly, he rose, watching the firelight turn her hair to an auburn blaze as he reached out, framed her face between his palms. “You've given me candor. Let me give you the same in return.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “I thought about you every minute I was away. I told myself I wouldn't hurt you, that if I couldn't be everything you needed, I'd walk away But I won't. I can't. Because, whether or not I believed myself capable, whether I can give you every fragment of emotion you deserve, whether it happened so fast I never sew it corning, I love you. I love you in a way I never imagined, much less experienced.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks. “Does that answer your question?”
“One of them, yes.” Breanna gave a shaky nod. “The next question is harder. What do you want to do about it?”
“What do I want to do about it?” Royce's reply emerged with a will all its own, having formed somewhere inside him that required no conscious awareness. Yet even as he spoke the words, he knew they were true. “I want to protect your life with my own. I want to immerse myself in your beauty every moment for the rest of our days. I want to drag you off to the nearest church and make you my wife.”
Two tears slid down Breanna's cheeks. “I didn 't expect ...” She brought herself under control. “I didn't expect an answer. Not right away. I told you to think about it.”
“I don't need to. My answer won't change.” He captured her tears with his thumbs. “Don't cry. Just consider my proposal. I know I'm not the staid, conventional man you expected to marry. But—”
“I don't need to consider it. I accept.” Breanna stood on tiptoe, brushed his lips with hers. “I love you. I want nothing more than to marry you. As for the last...” Her eyes sparkled through her tears. “Since I met you I discovered something about myself. I loathe convention. It bores me to death.”
“Does it?” Royce was still reeling with the impact of what had happened, all he'd just discovered about himself. Feeling almost giddy, he caressed Breanna's nape, continuing to let his impulses guide him. “May I test that claim in a way I've wanted to since the first instant I laid eyes on you?”
“By all means.”
His fingers glided into her hair, caressing the satiny crown before—in slow, exacting motions—he began tugging out the pins, tossing them randomly about until her auburn tresses tumbled free.
He threaded his fingers through them, draping them around her, then capturing her shoulders, pulling her to him. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Now come here.”
She stepped closer, and his arms encircled her, brought her up against him. “No one's ever seen your hair this way—free, uninhibited—have they?”
Breanna's breathing was unsteady. “No. Not my hair, and not me.”
“Good.” He lowered his head, covered her mouth with his.
The kiss was slow and hot and deep, and Breanna's soft sound of pleasure vibrated through them both. Royce gathered her more closely to him, savored her taste, the softness of her lips, the exquisite feel of her tongue as he possessed it with his own. She leaned into him, molding the contours of her body to his, wrapping her arms around his neck and wordlessly showing him how much she loved him.
Royce responded with a hard tremor, lifting her up and into him until there was nothing separating them but the impeding layers of their clothing.
The kiss went on and on, ending only to begin anew, generating fiery currents that flowed between them, intensified more and more with each passing second.
