He searched her eyes. “Is that what you think I want to do? Look after you?”
“I think you’re the sort of man who will always take care of those he thinks are weaker than himself.”
“Ah, and what sort of man is that?”
“A hero,” she said simply, and kissed him, wrapping languid arms about his neck.
“Francesca…” He smoothed her hair back behind her ear. “I’m no hero. I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve done and seen things I would not share with you, but I have found one redeeming feature in myself. You. I love you. I think I’ve loved you since the day you dragged me from the mire, and we trudged through that god-awful storm together. You have brought me back from whatever hell I’ve been gradually slipping into. You have made me strong enough to face up to who I am and what I must do.”
Her fingers trembled against his lips. “Hush,” she whispered, “don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
“Damn and blast it! Of course I mean it. I love you.”
She laughed shakily. “You love me? I thought this was my grand passion, and as far as I’m aware from my readings of the poets, such things always end in despair. Or madness.”
“Well, we can be different. Our grand passion will end in a long and happy marriage. That is,” he added, almost shyly, “if you will marry me.”
“Oh Sebastian,” she whispered. “I love you, too. I realized it the night of Lady Annear’s ball.”
He stroked her face, his eyes gentle.
“The life of an earl isn’t as dangerous as that of Mr. Thorne, but if it wasn’t for you, I would never have had the courage to face my past. You’ve changed me, Francesca. You’ve healed me. And I can promise you that I will cherish you forever.”
“You didn’t need healing,” she said. “You are already perfect.”
Sebastian grinned. “Wonderful! Now, I want you to repeat to me those exact words every morning over breakfast.”
“I haven’t said I’ll marry you yet,” she reminded him, smiling.
“Hmm. What else can I tempt you with? I have very large grounds,” he went on, and his grin turned wicked. “Perfect for running through. Naked. Perfect for satyrs and maidens.”
“Yes,” said Francesca promptly.
“Darling Francesca, I want to marry you more than anything in the world, and live my life with you. We can announce it at the ball.” He hesitated, frowned. “Am I invited?”
“You are. But if you’re thinking Uncle William will not approve, then you’re wrong. He’s a changed man.”
“I hope for your sake it is so.”
“And you’re an earl, Sebastian,” she teased him. “Uncle William will be beside himself. Can we marry at Greentree Manor? On the moors, in the middle of a rainstorm?”
He eyed her suspiciously, and she burst into laughter. “You wretch,” he said, holding her close. “No, we will not. We’ll marry here in London, and spend half the year at Worthorne Manor, and half the year in Yorkshire.”
“On the moors?”
“Very well.”
“In the thunder and lightning?”
“If we must.”
Francesca sat up, her hair a dark cloud about her, her eyes full of love and passion. “You would do that for me?” she breathed. “Sebastian, now I know you really do love me.”
Chapter 30
It was a very long time since the Tremaine house had hosted something as grand as a ball. Candles glowed, and greenery and flowers banked the staircases and filled the rooms. The sight brought Helen close to tears. Toby was in a jolly mood and seemed inclined to humor her, perhaps because he was looking forward to imbibing enormous quantities of free food and drink. Amy was also moved by memories of the past, although she was missing her husband.
“I will be returning home after the ball,” she told Francesca. “I have had enough of London.”