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When he didn’t speak, she managed to whisper, “Mr. Markham will be down shortly for dinner. Should I ask for another place to be set at the table?”
One corner of his mouth tilted up. “I’m not here to see Markham, although I won’t say no to dinner. Traveling nonstop from Yorkshire can work up quite an appetite.”
He came closer, stopping when he was almost within reach. She had the impression of voices sounding in the hallway—no doubt the butler informing Mr. Markham of their visitor—but she couldn’t tear her eyes from the man before her to see if anyone witnessed their interaction. She didn’t care.
“I’m so sorry—”
They both spoke at the same time. Unable to hold back any longer, Amelia flew into his arms with a soft sound of relief. John gathered her to his chest, solid and warm, and she never wanted to leave.
The man she loved was the one to pull back first. Amelia wanted to protest, but then she saw Mr. Markham standing in the doorway, his grin wide. With a nod, he turned and left the two of them to their reconciliation.
John stared down at her, his arms around her waist, hers gripping his shoulders. “It seems an eternity since I last held you.”
Amelia burrowed into another embrace. “Ithasbeen an eternity.”
He kept her against him with one arm, the other moving along the line of her spine. From top to bottom, then starting over, much as he stroked Mrs. Brambles. Somehow Amelia managed not to purr.
She glanced up at him again after several long moments passed. “I should have talked to you about my book long before you found it. You inspired the hero, yes, but I’d already decided on the storyline before I realized you were Lowenbrock. You were just a handsome stranger who’d rescued me that night in the tavern.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she quieted him by placing the fingers of one hand over his mouth. “Those notes you found…” She took in a shuddering breath and moved her hand to thread her fingers in the hair at his nape. “I had finished going through the book and making notes of everything I needed to change because the hero had become much too similar to you. You were neverresearchbut inspiration. At first it was difficult for me to separate the hero in my book from the real you. Because honestly, how could you be so ridiculously handsome and gallant and… Well, and everything a heroshouldbe.But I realized I couldn’t share everything about you in that way. And so I made a list of everything that needed to change.”
She held her breath, waiting for his reply. Desperately praying he would understand.
“But not the happy ending, I hope? Or am I wrong in thinking the book ends happily?”
She muffled a sob and was about to reply, but this time John quieted her with a quick, hard kiss.
“It’s my turn now. First, I want to apologize for jumping to the worst possible conclusion.”
“Given how we met, I don’t blame you. And then I kept our first meeting a secret for so long—”
He gave her a small shake. “No, don’t blame yourself. I was still reeling from the realization that I was in love with you, and then when I found those notes listing things I’d said and done…” He shook his head. “You were right—I should have trusted you. It seems to be a pattern in my life that I run away, convinced I am correct in my indignation, instead of staying to listen. I did that all those years ago with Louisa when she accepted Overlea’s proposal of marriage, and I did it again with you. But I promise to do better next time. And if I do repeat that pattern, you have my permission to track me down and give me a stern talking-to about assumptions. But please don’t ever leave me again, and never doubt my love for you.”
Could he feel her racing heart where her chest was pressed against his own? “I love you too. More than I ever thought possible.”
He stared down at her, and she knew he could see the truth of her words on her face because she was done keeping secrets from him. She loved this man, and she wanted the whole world to know it.
He kissed her then, and she could almost feel his heart in the soft caress of his mouth against hers.
Chapter 38
1817
Yorkshire
Her book was a rousing success, far beyond Amelia’s wildest imaginings. The story of a woman who’d fallen on desperate times and found love in the unlikeliest of places, it struck a chord with many. Her publisher had rushed to get it into print, taking a gamble that had paid off. And now apparently people were trying to figure out the author’s real identity.
Amelia lowered the newspaper she was reading with a loud sigh. Several names had been considered, but it appeared no one believed the author was a woman.
She stroked Mrs. Brambles’s head where the cat had curled next to her on the drawing room settee. Amelia should be glad her identity wasn’t in danger of being exposed, especially after reading the assertions that no proper lady would be indelicate enough to write about the emotions she’d portrayed. She’d changed the hero enough that no one knew he’d been modeled on a real person, but the hypocrisy of the reading public confounded her. Most of the book’s readers were women, so why was it so hard to believe that one of their sex could have written it?
She heard the slight murmur of voices in the hallway, announcing that her husband had returned from his morning ride. John stepped into the room and she met his gaze, wincing when she saw his slight frown. He’d seen the discarded newspaper on her lap, and she knew he worried she’d be upset at not receiving the praise he said she was due.
She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug and folded the pages before placing the newspaper on the low table before the settee. “You can hardly blame me for being curious.”
He lowered himself next to her and reached across her lap to stroke their pampered tabby on the top of her head before leaning back to look at her. After several moments of silence, he reached into a pocket of his deep brown topcoat and retrieved a letter. “This came for you from your publisher.”
She took the letter with a hint of trepidation and broke the seal. “They can’t be asking about the next book. I’ve only just started it.”
