Page 119 of Exile's Return

‘Family,’ he said. ‘Miss them when you’re away from them, and can’t wait to get away from them when you’re with them.’

Agnes smiled. ‘I love them all. They are to be treasured, Daniel.’

He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek. ‘I am glad you like them.’ His eyes softened and she read desire in their smoky depths. ‘You are lovely, Agnes.’

‘And you are drunk,’ she retorted.

He shook his head. ‘No, I am completely sober. I wanted all my wits about me tonight. This is our night.’

Agnes shivered. ‘And it’s a cold one, too. Come to bed, Daniel.’

Daniel picked up one of the dried rose petals, sniffed it, and sneezed. ‘What are these for?’

‘They’re not for anything.’

He rose to his feet, brushing the offending petals from the cover. ‘We don’t need me sneezing all night,’ he said, unbuckling his belt.

Jacket, breeches, and stockings fell into a pile at his feet, and he threw back the covers.

‘And your shirt,’ Agnes said.

All humour drained from his face.

‘Agnes … last time … I know you can’t … my back … ’ He coloured and sat down on the edge of the bed again.

Agnes knelt up beside him, tugging the shirt over his head, revealing his back to her. He lowered his head, his hair falling about his face, hiding it from her.

‘Agnes, you don’t —’ he began.

‘I do,’ she said, tracing each fall of Outhwaite’s whip with her fingers. ‘They are a part of you,’ she said. ‘Part of what made youwho you are. I’m not sure I would have liked the Daniel Lovell who existed before these were laid upon you. When he tried to break you that man Outhwaite may have killed the boy but he forged the man I love. It could have turned you into a monster like him, but it didn’t, because you are essentially a good man, Daniel. I saw it at Charvaley. You could have killed Ashby but you chose not to. That is the man with whom I want to spend the rest of my days.’

She bent her head and kissed each scar.

When he raised his head and turned to look at her, she saw tears in his eyes.

‘Agnes…’ he began but his voice cracked.

Winding her arms around his neck, she drew him down, her eager kisses matching his own as he slid the chemise from her shoulders. She shivered and he wrapped her in his embrace, pulling the bedclothes over them, burying them in a cocoon of their own that excluded the outside world.

The turmoil of emotion and events that had overtaken them over the past weeks were forgotten in their need for each other. No pity this time — Agnes gave herself to him as an equal.

When the first passion was spent they lay together wrapped in a tangle of blankets and sheets, too languid to move, but too alive in the moment to sleep.

Daniel rolled onto his back, carrying her with him. His hands circled her waist and he studied her face in the soft, shadowed light of the dying fire and the single candle that burned on the table.

‘You are perfect,’ he said in wonder, running his fingers along the soft curve of her hips and the curve of her breasts.

A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth and she straightened beneath his hands. ‘Far from perfect.’

She stooped to kiss him again, her hair tumbling around her face, and he circled her waist with his hands.

‘I do love you, Daniel Lovell.’

He released her, answering her smile with his own. ‘And I you, Agnes Fletcher.’

He gathered her into his arms, where she fitted as if they had been crafted by a skilled cabinetmaker.

‘I am content, Agnes,’ he whispered. ‘What has been no longer has the power to hurt us, either of us.’