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C elia rested her head against the cushioned seat, watching the rain patter against the carriage window. Of course now you come . Each drop provoked the beat of her heart. Where were you that night, hmm? If it had rained then, she wouldn’t have left her room. Barnaby wouldn’t have either.

She sighed, pressing a hand against her breast.

It hurt.

It really hurt.

She shouldn’t have left her maid behind. At least then she wouldn’t be left with only her thoughts. Because her thoughts were rather unbearable. But she’d left in such haste, leaving word she’d send the carriage back. After all, she just had a few hours of travel to her family estate.

But that meant spending hours with Barnaby in her head telling her over and over that they should forget all that unfolded between them.

That they should remain friends. As if the words weren’t a blade lodged in her ribs.

As if he had any idea what it had cost her to walk away from him after that, to leave everything unsaid.

Celia squeezed her eyes shut.

She had been ready. Ready to tell him the truth, to throw caution to the wind and risk everything, all the years of their friendship. But then he had spoken first. And his words had been a wall slamming between them, solid and final.

I should have spoken first.

At least then, the unspoken confession would no longer lie in her heart like a poisonous thorn. She didn’t see how things could ever go back to the way things were. He wouldn’t forget, she wouldn’t forget, and they both knew it in their hearts.

A tremor shuddered through her as thunder rumbled in the distance. The gathering storm had thickened the sky into a deep charcoal gray, and rain now pelted the carriage in steady, ceaseless waves.

Should she join the driver and enjoy the downpour?

She almost laughed at the thought—driving in the rain, letting the storm wash away the ache within. How foolish. And yet, it sounded better than sitting here, drowning in hopelessness and regret.

Would it always be like this?

Would she always hear his voice in her mind, feel his touch lingering on her skin, wonder what might have come to pass if only she had spoken first? Confessed?

Would he still have wanted to forget?

Lord, was this how he had felt when she told him to forget the kiss? But no. That would mean he would have cared for her as more than a friend even then. No, he must have felt relief.

The exact opposite to her.

“ Celia! ”

Celia snapped to attention, her breath catching in her throat at the roar of her name.

Heavens! She couldn’t be imagining things now, could she?

The storm was howling against the carriage, the rain drumming against the roof, but beneath it all, she swore she heard it—her name, again, raw and desperate, cutting through the downpour.

Heart hammering, she pressed her hands against the cool glass and peered through the window.

No, it couldn’t be. Her mind must be playing tricks. And her vision. She could scarcely make out a thing.

And yet, at that moment the carriage lurched to a halt and she heard it again—louder this time, closer.

“Celia!”

In fact, it sounded as if it was—

Her pulse leaped as the door wrenched open, wind and rain swirling inside, and there he was. Soaked to the bone. Handsome as ever.

Barnaby.

*

Barnaby stared at Celia, his breaths coming out in gasps, clutching the carriage door. Rain came down on him, but he didn’t care. In fact, he welcomed the drops, they seemed to sizzle on his skin, heavenly release from hell’s heat. A heat that had both affected his body and melted his damn mind.

How else could he have let her walk away from him?

A deuced addlepated idiot he was.

So he had chased her. He had shouted her name into the winds, ridden like a man possessed, and now—now he stood before her, the woman he had realized he could not live without. And if she knocked a reticule over his head and dashed off, he’d chase her again.

He’d chase her for the rest of his life.

Because this wasn’t about preserving what they had, it was about fighting for what they could be.

Celia blinked at him, her lovely green eyes wide, stunned. “Barnaby?”

Her voice was soft, uncertain, but the way it wrapped around his name made something inside him crack. She’d said his name a thousand times, but never had it sounded like this. Or perhaps it had and he had just never noticed.

A damn fool you are.

“You left.” The words came out rough, strained.

A flicker of something—hurt? hope?—crossed her face. “For our friendship.”

Regret twisted in his gut. “Forget what I said, Celia. I was a bloody fool.”

Her breath caught, sharp and startled, like she’d been struck. “What? Wait, no.” She shook her head suddenly, grabbed his coat, and yanked him into the carriage. “Get in before you get sick.”

Already drenched, he doubted it mattered. But she’d let him in—that was all that mattered. He sank into the seat opposite her, brushing the wet strands from his face. He had to make this right. He had to say what he should have said back in his study.

“Celia,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t want to forget. I never wanted to forget.”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

His fists tightened, caught between hope and dread.

“You might not feel the same, you might think I’m bloody mad, and perhaps I am, but I don’t want to go back to how we were.

I want to spend every day by your side. You were right, back in the garden—before the lake, before the masquerade. Let us get married together.”

Her eyes widened. “You and me. Together.”

Barnaby nodded.

“Is that a proposal ?”

“Yes.” He took her hands in his. They trembled the same as his. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away, but I have come to realize I have loved you half my life. First as a friend. Then as a lover. Now, if you allow me, I want to love you as a husband.”

“Barnaby—”

“Before you chase me away, just listen.” He bloody hoped he didn’t sound like a complete coxcomb.

“You said miracles happen to those who give them a chance. You were right. I do need a miracle. I do need a chance. But both of them will only come from your lips. Because I have already met the woman I was meant to. You.”

“I’m not going to chase you away,” she said softly.

Barnaby came up short. She wasn’t? Thank God.

“And I believe you.”

“You do?” Damn it, now he did sound like a complete coxcomb.

“Of course, you fool.” She wacked his shoulder. “Because I feel the exact same way.”

“Celia, forgive me, but this feels like a dream, so I must ask, I’m not mishearing this, am I?”

“Of course not! Has the rain pelted away your brain? I came to tell you that in your study, but then that whole nightmare came from your lips.”

Heat rushed up his face. “I said what I thought you’d want to hear. What I thought would be best.” But was that the bloody point? Dear Christ. She felt the same. “You love me?”

She didn’t need to say it. It was there in her eyes, but her words came anyway. “Yes. I love you.”

“Damnation. I’d pull you into my arms if I weren’t soaked.” He wanted her there more than anything.

“You can pull me into your arms anyway,” she murmured. “You are my duke now.”

But it turned out he didn’t need to. She threw herself onto his lap and smacked her lips against his, much as she had done in the garden.

Barnaby’s mind drew blank as he circled his arms around her, holding her close.

Whatever the future may hold—infernal heat, vexing bugs, and all manner of madness—he’d face it gladly, so long as Celia remained precisely where she was: in his arms, happy, and entirely his.

The End