“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice rougher than usual, for he understood what was to be lost and won. “I am a difficult man; I know this to be true. I like things the way I like them, as dukes often do. When I met the Duchess of Blackheath, I was prepared to loathe her.”
He caught sight of her standing but a few feet away.
She flinched. And his chest tightened. He couldn’t make a muck of this. He couldn’t, but it appeared as if she was ready to flee.
He refused to back down. For such a woman as Beatrice? He had to be willing to risk it all.
She stayed standing as still as a column, her face a mask.
At that look, he forced himself to continue, “I hated the way she castigated me. I hated the way that she corrected me. I hated the way that she made me feel as if I was not doing enough. I hated the way that she made me feel as if I was not listening to her. And I hated the way that when I danced with her on that first encounter…”
He hesitated and met her gaze again, trying to infuse his deep love for her into that look. Would she see it? Would she understand?
“I tripped on the floor because she distracted me so. I hated the way she made me wish to throw all the things that I had promised myself away. I hated how she showed me my fears.”
His voice grew rough, and he drew in a steadying breath. “I hated that when I was with her, I could think of nothing but making her smile and pleasing her. I hated the way I could not shake her from my thoughts, no matter what I did. And I hated the fact that I could not allow myself to fall in love with her.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and she covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a gasp, but not before he heard it. Suddenly, his heart soared with hope. Perhaps it was not all in vain.
Emotion flooded through him as he finally gave his heart its freedom.
Tears filled her eyes, and her hands seemed to clasp even tighter as she waited. Waited for him to dare.
Every instinct told Will to swallow back his emotion. To remain stoic. But he was done with that. So instead, he quieted and listened to the whispers of his heart.
His passion shook him and poured out on a tide with his voice reverberating for all to hear. “You see, I had promised myself I never would love, and I had never meant to break a promise to myself.”
Unable to bear the distance any longer, Will crossed to her and took her hand, lifting it reverently. He turned from the crowd and spoke to the woman he loved. The woman who had changed his life and woken him up from a never-ending nightmare of loneliness and sorrow.
“But the truth is, I love the way you make me feel not alone in this world. I love the way you correct me and make me better. I love the way you help me build a better world, and I love you, my darling Beatrice. All of you. From your passion to your pamphlets to your perfect person. This is for you,” he said gently, handing her the pamphlet he had written that cited everything he had spoken of just now.
His words trailed off as he looked down on his wife. The silence echoed in his ears, and he felt as a man waiting to hear if he was to dance at Tyburn.
She took the creamy paper in her hands and was silent as she took in his words written in black ink. Her gaze seemed to linger on the top line, Why I love Beatrice, printed in bold letters.
Her eyes shone with emotion as she shook her head in disbelief.
“You love me,” she whispered.
He took a step forward, his boot caressing the hem of her skirt. He cocked his head to the side, taking in his magnificent wife, and nodded.
She stared up at him, lips slightly parted, as if she could not quite reply.
For one brief moment he feared she would tell him it was not enough.
But then she seized the lapels of his wool coat and hauled him downward. She popped up onto her booted toes and took his mouth in a wild, wonderful kiss.
As their mouths met, the tension and fear left his body, and he knew with all his being that the world was well and all would be right.
Joy coursed through his veins, and he wrapped his arms about her, sweeping her up into a deeper kiss, not caring two whits who was watching. He wanted the world to know that he had finally admitted his love. He was the luckiest man upon the globe, after all.
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause so loud he could barely countenance it.
With a sigh of relief and contentment, she pulled back and held her hands behind his neck.
“Do you like the stage?” he asked, his eyes alight at last, as if all the love he had been hiding was now on full view. “Shall we take it around the country?”
“Oh yes,” she breathed. She beamed at him, still stunned. “Am I dreaming?”