‘I swore.’ Yes, that is most definitely the beginning of a smile.
‘But not at me.’ He had her tight against him now and the old flannel wrapper seemed to be having no effect on his body’s responses.
‘No. At me.’ The ghost of the smile flickered and was gone. ‘Kate, you have a very short-sighted husband who could not see what was under his nose, nor read what his heart was telling him.’
It was suddenly very hard to breathe, let alone speak, so she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips until the gentle returning pressure gave her courage. ‘You can read it now?’
‘Yes. And I love you, Kate. I think I have loved you for a long time and had no idea what it was. I should have realised in that moment in the receiving line at the Larminster reception that what I was feeling was something far more than happiness.’ His voice was harsh, but the green eyes locked with hers were tender and vulnerable and full of promises. ‘I puzzled over why I trusted you despite your deceptions, despite what I heard with my own ears, and then it hit me in the Ship Inn. And I had been cold and grudging. I made you tell me your secrets as though I was forcing a confession out of you, when I should have taken you in my arms and held you and protected you and trusted you without reservation, without you having to explain a thing.’
‘Oh, my love. You aren’t a saint.’ She tugged at his arms and he came to his feet, held her by the shoulders as he stared down into her face. ‘We could both have trusted more, risked more—if we were perfect, but we aren’t. We are human and we had both learned the pain of love betrayed.’
‘You called me… Kate, you can’t…’ How could the fact that this strong, articulate man was having trouble getting a simple question out make her so happy?
‘I can. And I do. I love you, Grant. I have loved you for months and I did not dare tell you.’
‘Did not dare?’
‘You would have been kind to me, wouldn’t you? You would have felt sorry for me. I could live with loving you without hope of that being returned, but I could not bear your pity.’
‘Oh, Kate. That must be the only thing you would not dare.’ Grant pulled her in close so that she was against the hard strength of him, safe and surrounded by love. By impossible, wonderful love. It didn’t matter that Grant smelt of leather and sweat and horse. It simply made this moment more real, more certain that it was not a dream. ‘I love you so very much.’
‘Come to bed,’ she said into the crumpled folds of his neckcloth. ‘Show me.’
‘I’m filthy,’ he protested half-heartedly, his fingers already on the buttons of his waistcoat.
‘Most of it is your clothes.’ Her fingers were as urgent, pushing the coat back from his shoulders, tearing a ribbon on her old robe as she threw it aside. ‘I don’t care. I just want you. Now, always.’
There was no finesse left in either of them. They fell on to the bed in a tangle of limbs, of kisses, of desperate fingers, all impeded by Grant’s breeches, which he kicked off with a final heave before he rolled Kate over, covered her with his body and slid into her in one movement.
Then he stilled, propped on his elbows, his hips cradled by her thighs, his forehead resting against her brow. ‘Home. Home at last.’
His heart thudded over hers, his breathing was ragged, his fingers, always so sure, so controlled, shook as they sifted through her hair. The lack of control touched her as no skilled caresses could ever have done and she tipped her head to capture his lips, curled her legs around the slim hips and rocked him deeper.
It became a blur, a mixture of passion a
nd love, of relief and joy and urgent need. Kate knew she was talking, broken phrases, words, his name. ‘I love you. I love you. Grant…’
He stretched up above her on his hands, tightening the junction between their bodies so she could no longer tell where his pleasure ended and hers began. She looked up and saw he was watching her, even as he lost control and let the wave crash over him. ‘I love you. Kate. Now. Always. Kate.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
They went to church in the morning with Charlie and sat and thought about the old earl and then came home and spent the day talking about him. Grant told them tales about his own childhood and had Charlie alternately gasping and giggling about the tricks he used to play and the trouble he would get into.
‘Truly? You let all the hounds into the house while Great-Grandmama was having the Ladies’ Church Social and they ate all the cakes and peed on the Chinese rug? And you climbed all the way to the top of the great oak on the front lawn?’
Kate rolled her eyes at Grant, who grinned and shrugged. ‘And fell out and broke my arm and spent a month learning to write left-handed so I could do all the lines my tutor set me as punishment.’
‘Tell me again about Great-Grandpapa and the bishop and the bull at the church fête.’
Kate curled up in her armchair and indulged herself by watching Grant, relaxed and happy, sprawled on the hearthrug with his son. The day that could have been so sad, the anniversary of a loss where they could not be together, was turning into a happy time and, she suspected, the beginning of a family tradition. She and Charlie had planned it together, both of them, she was certain, convinced that this time Grant would be home in time.
*
After luncheon Charlie announced that he was going to write down the stories in case he forgot any. ‘And I’ll add my stories, too,’ he added, marching off to the desk by the window.
Grant put his arm around Kate and pulled her down beside him on the sofa at the other end of the room. ‘I must tell you where I have been these past days.’
‘I confess I am consumed with curiosity about Newport Pagnell.’ She curled into the crook of his arm and played with the curling ends of hair around his ears. It was bliss to be able to touch Grant without wariness, without being afraid that her gestures would be read, quite correctly, as signs of love.