“The groom aiding you was one of my men. It’s all part of the plan, lovely.”
“The plan? You have a plan?” Her heart was beating so fast, relief and love and hope at odds for supremacy. But lingering beneath the surface of it all was fear.
The fear Cousin Bartholomew would find them, that he would do Rafe harm as he had threatened.
Rafe grinned, his dimples appearing. “I would’ve thought you’d noticed by now, sweet. Rafe Sutton always has a plan.”
Of course he did, and at the moment, it would seem his plan involved rescuing her. Which was everything she wanted, except that she could not possibly allow him to endanger himself and his family by incurring Cousin Bartholomew’s wrath.
“Cousin Bartholomew threatened you,” she blurted. “He told me he would have you killed. I cannot go with you, Rafe. I could never forgive myself if any harm befell you, knowing it was because of your association with me.”
“Is that why you left without word? You were trying to protect me?”
“My cousin is a dangerous man,” she said, rather than giving him the exceedingly complicated answer to his question. There was not the time for it.
Rafe’s dimples disappeared, his countenance turning hard and serious. “I ain’t afraid of the Marquess of Silwood.”
He knew Cousin Bartholomew’s title?
But then, of course he did. He was here, at Silwood Manor, was he not? He had found her.
“You should be afraid of him, Rafe. He is a powerful man, a peer of the realm.” And heaven knew that a different set of rules applied to lords. A lowborn man like Rafe Sutton would scarcely stand a chance against Cousin Bartholomew’s vengeance.
Rafe frowned, his jaw tightening. “Has he given you cause to fear him, sweet?”
Of course he had. Cousin Bartholomew was dangerous.
She wetted her dry lips nervously, the tightness in her chest growing more pronounced. “Please, Rafe. You do not understand the way of it. You must go. Save yourself. I have already agreed to marry him, which has been his plan from the moment my father died and he became my guardian.”
“You intend to marry him?” Rafe winced as if he had been struck. “Truly, Persephone?”
Tell him yes. Tell him yes to save him. His pride will make him leave. It is for the best.
Oh, it was too dratted difficult!
Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she considered her response. “I…”
“Say the words,” Rafe ground out. “Tell me he is the man you want. Tell me you want to marry him. Do that, and I’ll go. You’ll never see me again.”
Never see him again? She had told herself in an endless litany since Cousin Bartholomew had discovered her in London that she would accept her fate. That she and Rafe were not meant to be together, and that if she could not have him, she may as well surrender to marrying Cousin Bartholomew if it would keep Rafe safe. But now Rafe was here, holding her in his arms. How could she possibly tell him that she wanted Cousin Bartholomew, and that she was choosing him over Rafe?
The man she loved was before her. Rafe Sutton, with his blond curls worn too long for fashion, his easy smile and charm, his dimples, ready wit, and the sweet tenderness he seemed to reserve for only those closest to him…the man who had renewed her faith in trust and made her hope again. He was the man for her. He would always be the man for her.
“Say it, Persephone.”
A gentle mist had begun to fall, and the wind kicked up, making the cold drizzle pelt her in the face as she struggled to form the words.
“You can’t, can you?” He cupped her cheek, his gloved hands cool and yet retaining some of his warmth. Enough to chase the sting of the wind. “You can’t tell me you want to marry Silwood. Because it would be a lie.”
“Everything in my life has been a lie for the past seven years,” she blurted. “What would be one more, if it means keeping you safe?”
“Don’t do this to yourself, lovely.” His hazel eyes were boring into hers. “Don’t do this to us.”
“There is nothing else I can do.”
He kissed her then, his mouth crushing. Familiar. Warm.
Home.