Page 43 of A Wife for the Beast (Scandals and Second Chances #6)
Her passionate declaration filled the library with the sort of electric tension that seemed to charge the very air between them, while Lucian stood frozen with shock at hearing sentiments, he had convinced himself could never exist.
"Your scars do not diminish you in my eyes," she continued with growing conviction.
"They mark you as a man who sacrificed comfort and safety in service to principles greater than himself.
Your withdrawal from society speaks not of mental deficiency but of sensitivity that values genuine connection over superficial entertainment.
Your very determination to free me from our marriage demonstrates the nobility of character that made me fall in love with you in the first place. "
"You cannot mean that," he whispered with the sort of desperate hope that suggested her words were penetrating defenses he had constructed so carefully against exactly such possibilities.
"I mean every word," she replied with simple sincerity that carried more conviction than elaborate protestations could have achieved.
"Though I confess myself furious that your noble intentions nearly destroyed the happiness of both our lives.
Did you truly believe that sacrificing yourself would somehow benefit me?
Did you imagine I would thank you for eliminating the man I love from my existence? "
"I thought I was being honourable," he said with growing recognition of how completely he had misjudged their situation. "I thought you deserved freedom to choose happiness over duty."
"And what if my happiness is inextricably linked to our marriage?
" she challenged with growing intensity.
"What if duty and inclination have become so thoroughly entwined that I cannot distinguish between them?
What if the choice you thought to offer me is no choice at all, because my heart has already made its selection? "
The silence that followed her declaration stretched long enough for both of them to absorb the full implications of what had been said and what it might mean for their future.
Lucian's expression had transformed from resignation to something approaching wonder, as though he were seeing her clearly for the first time since their marriage began.
"I have been such a fool," he said finally, his voice rough with emotions too complex for simple classification. "Such a blind, stubborn fool."
"Yes," she agreed with the sort of loving exasperation that marked intimate partnerships, "though I suspect I bear some responsibility for failing to make my feelings sufficiently clear before misunderstanding could take root between us."
"Your feelings were perfectly clear," he corrected with growing conviction. "I simply could not believe myself worthy of inspiring such sentiments in a woman of your remarkable character."
"Then perhaps it is time you learned to see yourself as I see you," she said with gentle determination, moving closer until only a few feet separated them. "Not as damaged goods to be pitied or feared, but as the man whose strength and honour have earned both my respect and my love."
He reached toward her with tentative fingers, as though he could not quite believe she would welcome his touch after the deliberate cruelty he had shown her during their estrangement.
When she did not retreat, when she actually leaned into his hand as it cupped her cheek with reverent gentleness, something fundamental shifted in his expression.
"Evangeline," he murmured with wonder that suggested he was discovering her name for the first time, "can you possibly forgive me for nearly destroying what we had built together? Can you trust me not to let pride and fear poison our happiness again?"
"I can forgive anything except another attempt to sacrifice yourself for my supposed benefit," she replied with mock severity that could not entirely conceal the tears brightening her eyes.
"If you ever again try to determine my feelings for me, or decide what choices I should make for my own welfare, I shall never speak to you again. "
"Then I shall endeavour to confine my decision-making to matters that actually concern only me," he promised with the sort of solemn gravity that transformed the pledge into something approaching a vow.
"Such as?"
"Such as how best to demonstrate that your faith in my character has not been misplaced," he replied with growing confidence that suggested their conversation was healing wounds that went far deeper than mere misunderstanding.
"And how to ensure that the woman I love never again has cause to doubt the sincerity of my devotion. "
The phrase "the woman I love" hung between them like a gift long awaited and finally received, confirming what both had hoped but neither had dared to speak directly. Evangeline felt her heart flutter with joy at hearing sentiments she had dreamed of but had begun to believe impossible.
"Say it again," she whispered with the sort of feminine demand that no gentleman could refuse.
"I love you," he said with growing conviction that seemed to strengthen with each repetition.
"I love your intelligence, your courage, your stubborn refusal to be intimidated by circumstances that would have defeated lesser women.
I love the way you read poetry with such genuine appreciation, the way you defend those who cannot defend themselves, the way you see possibilities for good in situations that appear hopeless. "
"And I love you," she replied with equal fervor, rising on her toes to press her lips to his with the sort of desperate hunger that spoke of emotions too long suppressed by pride and circumstance.
The kiss that followed erased weeks of careful distance and formal courtesy, replacing them with the sort of passionate connection that transformed their library from a place of polite discourse into something approaching sacred space.
His arms encircled her with careful strength, while she threaded her fingers through his dark hair with the sort of possessive tenderness that marked genuine intimacy.
When they finally separated, both were breathing unsteadily, their careful composure entirely destroyed by the force of emotions that could no longer be contained by social convention or personal reserve.
"We have been such fools," Evangeline murmured against his scarred cheek, her lips tracing the damaged flesh with reverent gentleness that spoke of acceptance beyond mere tolerance.
"Speak for yourself," he replied with the sort of teasing affection that had marked their best conversations, "I have merely been overly cautious in my assessment of our mutual compatibility."
"Overly cautious?" she laughed with genuine amusement at his remarkable understatement. "You were prepared to dissolve our marriage rather than risk discovering whether your feelings might be reciprocated."
"A tactical error of considerable magnitude," he admitted with rueful humor. "Though I believe I may have learned from the experience."
Their conversation was interrupted by a discrete knock at the library door, followed by Morrison's carefully neutral announcement that several urgent communications had arrived requiring their immediate attention.
"Enter," Lucian called without releasing his hold upon his wife, his manner suggesting that nothing short of armed invasion could induce him to sacrifice their newly rediscovered intimacy for mere correspondence.
"Your Grace," the butler announced with the sort of diplomatic precision that suggested he was entirely aware of the significance of whatever information he bore, "word has arrived from various quarters regarding this morning's events.
Lord Pembroke has apparently departed London with considerable haste, leaving behind substantial debts and numerous creditors. "
"Fled," Evangeline observed with satisfaction at learning of their enemy's ignoble retreat. "How perfectly fitting for a man who proved himself a coward in every possible respect."
"Indeed, Your Grace. There is also this." Morrison presented a silver salver bearing an impressive collection of correspondence whose quality and quantity suggested that news of the morning's confrontation had spread through fashionable society with remarkable speed.
Lucian selected several items at random, scanning their contents with growing amazement at the transformation that a single morning's work had wrought upon their social standing.
"Invitations," he announced with wonder that suggested he had not expected such rapid rehabilitation of their reputation. "Lady Jersey requests our presence at her next assembly. Lord Castlereagh extends an invitation to dine. Even Almack's has sent vouchers for the remainder of the season."
"It appears that society has decided we are no longer social pariahs but rather romantic heroes whose love has triumphed over adversity," Evangeline observed with amusement at the fickleness of fashionable opinion.
"How remarkably convenient," Lucian replied with dry humor. "Though I confess myself more interested in our private triumph than in any public recognition of our circumstances."
Morrison cleared his throat with the sort of diplomatic delicacy that suggested additional information required their attention.
"There is also a communication from your solicitors, Your Grace.
The competency proceedings have been formally dismissed, and all associated legal costs will be charged to Lord Pembroke's estate—when such an estate can be located for attachment by his creditors. "
"Justice served with poetic completeness," Evangeline said with satisfaction at learning that their tormentor would face consequences commensurate with his crimes.
After Morrison departed with instructions that they were not to be disturbed for any reason short of actual emergency, Lucian and Evangeline found themselves alone once more in the library that had witnessed so many crucial moments in their relationship.
"What happens now?" she asked with the sort of practical curiosity that had always followed her.
"Now we begin again," he replied with growing conviction that their future held possibilities neither had dared to envision during their darkest moments. "Not as strangers forced together by circumstance, but as partners who have chosen each other freely and completely."
"A real marriage," she said with wonder at the concept that had seemed impossible mere hours earlier.
"The realest marriage imaginable," he confirmed with the sort of passionate certainty that left no room for doubt or reservation. "Built on love rather than convenience, sustained by genuine affection rather than mere duty."
She moved closer to him, her dark eyes bright with emotions that needed no words for expression. "Then perhaps it is time we properly consummated this real marriage we have discovered?"
Her bold suggestion sent heat coursing through his veins while simultaneously filling him with the sort of protective tenderness that marked genuine devotion. "Are you certain? After everything that has passed between us, all the pain and misunderstanding..."
"I am certain that I love you beyond reason or reservation," she replied with simple honesty that carried more persuasive power than elaborate seduction could have achieved.
"I am certain that our future together holds more promise than any alternative I could imagine.
And I am certain that we have wasted quite enough time allowing pride and fear to keep us apart. "
"Then come," he said with growing conviction, offering his arm with gallant courtesy. "Let us begin this real marriage with the sort of honest intimacy that we should have shared from the beginning."
As they made their way from the library toward the private chambers that would finally serve their intended purpose, both carried with them the knowledge that they had found something rarer and more precious than either had dared to hope for when their practical arrangement began.
Love had triumphed over circumstance, understanding had conquered misunderstanding, and the future stretched before them bright with possibilities that their marriage of convenience had never seemed likely to encompass.
Behind them, London continued to buzz with information of the morning's dramatic events, as news of Pembroke's disgrace and the Duke's vindication spread through every drawing room and coffeehouse in the metropolis.
Yet for Lucian and Evangeline, the true victory lay not in society's approval but in their success in claiming the happiness that had always been within their reach, waiting only for courage sufficient to seize it.
Their story had begun with practical necessity and mutual benefit, but it would continue with the sort of genuine partnership that marked the finest marriages in any age.
And if their love proved strong enough to weather the storms that had nearly destroyed it, perhaps it would prove equal to whatever challenges the future might bring to test their hard-won happiness.
The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of Grosvenor House, illuminating a residence that had been transformed from a house of careful strangers into a home where love had finally found its proper place.
And in the days to come, that love would light their way toward a future neither had dared to dream possible when their convenient arrangement first began.