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But three-quarters of an hour later, she was still wandering about. The dreary weather suited Bridget’s mood. She watched the miserable men in the field crawling on elbows under a makeshift fence then passed the firing range before pausing near the wood line and staring at the barren trees. It seemed spring would never come. Winter with its gray skies and bitter cold dragged on and on. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away. He’d been gone a fortnight. She had to stop hoping he’d come back. She had to accept that for her, it might be months or years before spring returned.
But it would return, she told herself. She could live without Callahan Kelly, even if she didn’t want to.
The dead leaves on the ground behind her crunched, and she stiffened. “I’m fine.” She pressed her hands to her eyes to make certain the tears were gone before she turned around. “I’ll be in momen—”
He stood about four feet away, one hand on his hip and the other holding his hat. He looked as breath-taking as the first time she’d seen him, though his chin-length hair looked clean and brushed, his face was shaven, and his smile twisted with wry amusement.
But his eyes. Those told her the true story. He might stand before her with a cocky air, but his eyes, more blue than gray as he looked at her, were full of longing.
“Callahan!”
He opened his arms and she flung herself into them. She hugged him, feeling how solid he was and allowing herself a moment to be engulfed by the scent of tea and cloves. “Two weeks,” she murmured into his shoulder. “And not a word.”
“I was busy,” he said. “How is your arm?”
“I’ll show you how my arm is.” She stepped back and raised her good arm, but he caught it before she could punch him in the mouth.
Laughing he pulled her close again. “I see you haven’t lost any of that fire.”
His mouth closed over hers, his lips soft and persuasive, and she was sorely tempted to allow herself to slip into the pleasurable oblivion he offered. Finally, she pulled back. “Why did you return?” she asked breathlessly. “Baron told me he paid you.”
He looked down at her, his fingers twisting a loose piece of her hair around and around. “I came back for you.”
Her heart clenched painfully. Hopefully. “What do you mean?”
“Let me show you.” He bent to kiss her again, but she put a hand between them.
“Tell me.”
“I want you,” he whispered, and her legs wobbled as they had the first time he’d said those words. “Not for a moment or an hour. But for as long as you’ll have me.”
Tears sprang free from her eyes, and she allowed them to fall unheeded.
“Will you have me, lass? God knows I don’t deserve you.”
“What are you saying?” she whispered. Tears making her throat tight.
“I’m asking you to marry me. I love you, Bridget Murray. And don’t think it doesn’t terrify me to say it. I’ve never loved anyone except maybe me mam. I didn’t want to love you. I went back to London and tried not to love you. I don’t expect you to return the sentiment, but I thought if I could see you one more time—”
“I love you too, you idiot. I’ve loved you for ages.”
His smile brightened. “Really? I’m that irresistible, am I?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Just kiss me before I change my mind.”
“Well, now if you’re threatening changing your mind, I’ll just have to marry you.” He took her face in his hands. “What do you say to that, lass?”
“I say yes.” And Bridget would have sworn that when he kissed her again the sun peeked out from the clouds, the first warm breeze stirred the leaves where they stood, and a flower or two poked up from the ground.
Spring had come to stay at last.
****
TWO MONTHS LATER
“I might work faster if you would stop pacing,” Bridget said, head bent close to the lone candle in the garret room somewhere in the middle of London. Cal stopped pacing, checked his pocket watch, and started pacing again.
“Eleven twenty-seven,” he murmured.
