Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

Her tone was crisp, briskly businesslike. Determined. Steady assurance shone through her composed façade.

Confusion swamped him. Didn’t she feel…betrayed? By fate, by his sister, by circumstance? By him? He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry.” He felt his jaw harden. “It wasn’t supposed to have been like this.”

Her eyes locked on his. “No, it wasn’t, but what happened was neither my fault nor yours. Regardless, however much we may wish matters otherwise, we’re faced with the situation as is, and we need to deal with it—to make the best of it. To take control and make it work for us, not against us.”

He mentally blinked. She was behaving as if what had occurred was some minor hiccup along their road. A challenge they’d deal with, vanquish, and leave behind.

She couldn’t be that understanding. She had to feel forced…had to resent the situation as much as he. He was missing something here; he didn’t try to hide his frown. “You’re a lot less upset than I expected.”

The look she returned was all cold, hard steel. Her features tightened; her diction grew more precise. “I am not pleased—I’m angry, nay furious, but I am not of a mind to allow Susannah to play fast and loose with our lives.” Strength of a kind he’d assumed was there but had never before encountered in her—the kind he associated with Lady Osbaldestone—radiated from her. “I am not going to let Susannah steal from us wh

at we, both you and I, deserve. I know you don’t understand, but I’ll explain later.” Alight with purpose, her eyes lowered. “Is that our announcement?”

He glanced down at the sheet of paper he’d forgotten he held. “Yes.”

She held out her hand, fingers wiggling.

He handed over the excruciatingly generically worded statement he and Handley had labored over.

Turning, she held it so light from the window washed over it. “Royce Henry Varisey, tenth Duke of Wolverstone, son of the late Henry Varisey, ninth Duke of Wolverstone and the late Lady Catherine Debraigh, daughter of the fourth Earl of Catersham, announces his betrothal to Miss Minerva Miranda Chesterton, daughter of the late Lieutenant Michael Chesterton and the late Marjorie Dalkeith.”

She frowned. “A lot of lates, but…” Face clearing, she handed the announcement back, met his eyes. “That will do.”

“So why, exactly, are you nothing more than ‘not pleased’? What is it I don’t understand?”

Halting before the wide window in Royce’s bedroom, facing the night-shrouded hills, Minerva let her watchful tension ease. Finally.

Finally they were alone; finally she could tell him on her own terms, as she’d intended.

At his decree, they’d dined privately in his sitting room; she’d come into the bedroom to allow Jeffers to clear the table and set the room to rights. Royce had followed; closing the door on the clink of cutlery and plates, he’d prowled to halt just behind her.

She drew a deep breath. “I know you thought, by remaining apart, to spare me the ordeal of facing the undoubtedly avidly curious company downstairs—I agreed not because I felt fragile or distressed, but because your temper was so aroused that I had no faith whatever that your sisters or one of their friends wouldn’t have said something to make you lash out—and that wouldn’t have aided our cause.” She swung to face him. “Our cause. From this morning on, it’s been our cause.”

She tilted her head, considered him. When he’d joined her in the morning room, his rage had been palpable, resonating in the words he’d ground out: It wasn’t supposed to have been like this. “I understand why you were so angry. Being forced, trapped, into marriage shouldn’t have mattered to you, but it did. Because you knew it mattered to me. You were enraged on my behalf—yours, too, but less directly.”

The incident had delivered to him exactly what he’d wanted and had been working to gain—her agreement to their wedding. Yet instead of being pleased, he, a nobleman who rarely if ever apologized, had abjectly apologized for something that hadn’t been his fault.

Because it was something she hadn’t wanted, and so something the protector in him felt he should have prevented, but hadn’t.

All day, in him, she’d been viewing love in action. Since that moment on the battlements, she’d watched love reduce a man accustomed to commanding all in his life to a wounded, potentially vicious beast.

While some intensely female part of her had gloated over such violent championing, she’d had to defuse his temper rather than encourage it. She’d been waiting for it to cool to have a better chance of him believing the truth of what she was about to say.

She locked her eyes on his, as always too dark to read. “I’d planned to speak now—this evening, once we were alone.” She glanced around. “Here—in your room.” She brought her gaze back to his face. “In your ducal apartments.”

Stepping forward, eyes locked with his, she placed one hand over his heart. “I was going to tell you, just like this. Tell you that, as of this morning, I’d decided to accept your offer—when you make it. That you could feel free to offer, knowing I’ll accept.”

A long moment passed. He remained very still. “This morning?”

Hope warred with skepticism, but hope was winning. She smiled. “You can ask Letitia, Clarice, or Penny for confirmation—they knew. But that’s why I’m not overwrought, distraught, unhappy. I’m none of those things—I’m angry, yes, but against that…” She let her smile deepen, let him see the depth of her understanding, and the sheer certainty and joy that was in her heart. “I’m thrilled, ecstatic, delighted. No matter Susannah’s actions, no matter their outcome, in reality, between us, nothing has changed.”

His hands slid about her waist. She raised hers, framed his face, looked deep into his fathomless eyes. “The only thing we might have lost was this moment, but I wasn’t of a mind to let that go, to let it be taken from us. From this morning, for me, it’s been us—our cause—and from this moment on, now that you know, there will be only one cause for us both—ours. It’s the right cause for both of us to give our lives to—we both know that. From this moment on, we’ll devote ourselves to it, work at it, if necessary fight for it—our joint life.” Lost in his eyes, she let a heartbeat pass. “I wanted—needed—to tell you if that’s what you want—if that’s what your offer can and will encompass—then I’ll accept. That’s what I want, too.”

A long moment passed, then his chest swelled as he drew in a huge breath. “You truly are happy to put this…hiccup behind us, consign it to history, and go forward?”

“Yes. Exactly as we would have.”

He held her gaze for another long moment, then his lips, his features, eased. Her hands fell to his shoulders; he caught one of them, carried it to his lips. Eyes locked with hers, he kissed her fingertips.