Page 27 of Pride: The Rogue (Seven Deadly Sins #3)

A fter a wild-goose chase all over the Southeast of England, Latimer arrived at the Earl of Maxwell’s Kent estate, dusty, sweaty, bearded, tired, and all out of patience.

The pair of enormous, burly old men who opened the double-white doors, eyed Latimer suspiciously.

Latimer sized them up. One fellow reached a soaring seven feet in height, his partner, mere inches shy of that would be the last barrier between Latimer and Livian.

That’s fine and good. Having come to her, prepared to move mountains for Livian, it appeared he’d have to do just that.

When neither man made a move to admit Latimer, or for that matter, speak, Latimer fished a calling card from his jacket. “Good morning,” he began. “I’ve—”

“Not usual to get visitors here, Bram,” the bigger of the giants interrupted.

Bram scratched his bald pate. “He’s not one of the fancy sorts, Fowler,” his partner acknowledged. “There is that.”

The strange pair studied Latimer.

Based on their size and rough edges, he’d automatically taken them for threats. It became increasingly apparent they were anything but.

Having identified the fellow known as Bram as the one in greater control, Latimer opted to give him the calling card. “I’ve come to request a meeting with Miss Lovelace.”

The servant peered intently at the scrap in his fingers. “Hmm?” he asked distractedly.

Ah, the fellow could not read. He’d been illiterate once, too. The majority of those born in the streets never learned the skill on account there wasn’t a need.

“Lachlan Latimer,” he introduced himself. “To see Miss Lovelace,” he repeated.

The unconventional pair narrowed their eyes on Latimer.

Both men frowned at the same time.

“No one comes here and gets to see Miss Lovelace without going through the earl first.” Bram flicked the card at Latimer, and the rectangular scrap bounced from his chest and hit the floor.

“They sure don’t,” Bram’s associate reiterated. Looking squarely at Latimer, Fowler cracked his knuckles.

Latimer stared down at the piece between them and resisted the urge to sigh. It appeared he’d have to move mountains for Livian, after all. Given he’d climb into the pits of hell and battle Satan himself, taking on the Earl of Maxwell’s big servants would be a minor skirmish.

Bram took a step nearer Latimer for the first time, using his height to intimidate—or at least, trying to, anyway. It’d certainly be deterrent enough for any other man.

“What business you got with Miss Lovelace, anyway?” Bram asked suspiciously.

“Ah, but it is hardly my place to share personal details pertaining to Miss Lovelace with—”

“Uncles,” Fowler piped in. “We’re the lass’s uncles.”

Uncles.

That gave Latimer pause.

Taking down two big, overprotective, angry uncles would only complicate things even further.

“Fowler? Bram? Is there a problem?”

That unexpected intrusion brought Latimer and the lackeys’ gazes up to the top of the staircase.

With just a single glance at the well-built, elegantly clad, well-spoken figure marked the stranger as nobility. He’d asked the question of his men but kept his hard stare on Latimer.

The Earl of Maxwell, then.

Livian’s brother-in-law.

“This one’s come to see Miss Lovelace,” Fowler called up; the man’s gravelly voice boomed by nature.

The earl narrowed his eyes. “Has he?”

No words were needed to confirm not only did Maxwell know Latimer’s identity, but also that he’d caused her pain.

Yes, well, he’d not expected winning Livvie would be easy.

He cleared his throat. “My—”

“Do you know this one, boy?” Bram asked over Latimer’s intended greeting.

“Loosely,” Maxwell called down. “He is a recent acquaintance of Miss Lovelace.”

A look of understanding instantly filled the previously clueless fellows’ eyes.

“Is he the reason for Miss Livvie’s being sad,” Fowler whispered.

“Aye,” the earl snarled. “I suspect he is.”

The previous harmless expressions of the big men turned lethal.

Bram cracked his knuckles.

Latimer firmed his jaw. Forget moving mountains; he was going to have to kill for Livian. It was fine. He’d murdered men before and would happily do so now if it meant having a chance to beg her forgiveness.

“Permission to kill him, Malcom,” Bram boomed in jovial tones that belied the threat in his hardened eyes.

“And deny me that pleasure?” Maxwell called. “I think not.”

As their expressions fell, the earl softened that denial. “I will, though be sure and leave him alive enough for the two of you to have a go at him,” he said coolly, heading down to meet Latimer.

The earl’s promise appeared enough for the older men who fell back and waited with eager eyes, in the shadows.

The moment Maxwell reached Latimer he gave him a hate-filled once-over. “The bloody fucking gall of you to arrive on my doorstep, you rotten piece of shite.”

That crude greeting better suited a showdown in the Dials than an earl’s country estate.

To the man’s credit, he calmly delivered those icy insults to Latimer with a life-hardened, hate-filled, grin.

Alas, in Latimer’s fight for Livian’s love and hand, murdering her beloved brother-in-law would prove a complication. As such, Latimer called forth every scrap of restraint.

Several inches past six feet, Latimer wouldn’t be short by any stretch of the imagination. Maxwell, however, had an extra inch even on him, and now used that slight height advantage to give Latimer a scathing once-over.

Latimer, however, had spent the better part of his life being treated and viewed as a lesser—this time, given how he’d wronged Livian, he happened to deserve it.

Latimer cleared his throat. “We’ve not had the pleasure—”

“Of course, we haven’t, you bloody bastard,” the earl icily chided. “I wouldn’t be caught tossing aside coins at your ridiculously depraved, club .” He sneered. “Furthermore, you’ve got a pair of ballocks on you to refer to our meeting as a pleasure.”

Aye, he deserved Maxwell’s loathing and far worse.

“I’m here to speak with Miss Lovelace, Maxwell,” he said, keeping his calm.

“No.”

Latimer’s jaw rippled. So, this was how it was going to be. Her brother-in-law was going to make him work for it. That was fine. Latimer deserved that.

“I understand—”

“If you understood anything at all, you’d have known not to waste your time coming to my goddamned household and asking to see Miss Lovelace.”

“Has Livian indicated she doesn’t want to see me?”

Latimer’s use of her given name served its intended purpose.

It knocked the earl off balance—briefly.

Maxwell retorted with a question of his own. “Do you truly believe she wants to?”

“I don’t know,” Latimer acknowledged. Emotion made his voice rougher than usual. “She would have every reason not to.”

A dark rage contorted the earl’s features. “That’s enough reason for me to have your worthless arse thrown off my property.”

Hearing their master’s cue, Bran and Fowler stepped forward.

He was going to be turned away without even having a chance to see her. Desperation, despair, and fury sent a growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’m not leaving until she herself tells me to go to the devil,” Latimer warned, bracing for battle.

“Permission to kill him now ?” Bram issued that plaintive plea.

“She won’t have the pleasure of doing so, because I’ll kill you before I let you see her,” Maxwell bellowed, bumping his chest against Latimer’s.

Keeping calm in the face of the other man’s uncontrollable fury, Latimer smiled coldly. “If you believe Livian wants you making choices for her or needs you to protect her from me, herself, or anyone, you don’t know her as well as you think you do.”

The earl hauled back to strike Latimer.

“ Malcom !” That shout froze the other man.

Silence descended over the foyer.

“Lachlan.” Livian’s whisper was the first to penetrate the unnatural quiet.

His heart hammering, Latimer glanced up.

Livian stood at the top of the stairs beside a dark-haired, willowy woman, whose body positioning marked her as a sister—even if her coloring did not.

All of his focus, every muscle, every nerve-ending stretched and strained toward Livian.

Oh, God.

Her skin was pale where it’d always been filled with lively color. Her gaze, stunned, when last it had been hurting and pained.

Everything seized up inside him.

Funny, he’d spent dozens of hours searching for this woman, rushing for her, and found himself without a single, goddamned word, except for one.

“Livian,” he said hoarsely.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

Fighting for you.

“He’s leaving, Livvie,” Maxwell spoke with a quiet and calm that defied his earlier lack of restraint.

Livvie. That moniker hardly suited the fierce, proud, strong woman who’d stolen Latimer’s heart.

“Isn’t that right, Latimer?” the earl prodded, jabbing his elbow hard against Latimer’s side.

“I am,” Latimer promised. “That is, I will…if that is what you want.”

“It’s very much what I want,” the earl snapped.

“It should be obvious, I’m not talking to you,” Latimer said without taking his gaze from hers. “I’m talking to Livian.”

Say something. Say anything. Give some indication you are happy to see me; that you want me here. Tell me you love me even a smidge of how deeply, madly, and wholly, I love you.

The confusion in her expressive eyes deepened revealing nothing more.

His panic spiraled.

“Livian,” he stretched an imploring hand up toward her. “Please, I’d ask you to hear me out.”

“You don’t have to.” Maxwell made that vow to his sister-in-law before Latimer’s plea fully left his mouth.

“No,” Latimer said not taking his gaze from Livian’s. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to; not because Maxwell here or I ask it of you. I can only beg you to hear me out.”

Livian and the young woman beside her exchanged glances.

She’s going to send me away.

But then, why wouldn’t she?

Latimer’s muscles convulsed.

Livian said something.

The countess nodded.

A moment later, she held a hand out to the Earl of Maxwell. “Livvie would like a moment alone in the foyer with Mr. Latimer.”

A moment alone.

In the foyer.

He dragged an uneven hand through his hair. Neither of those portended the eager welcome and joy of a woman who wished to see him.

The earl and his two men gave Latimer a warning look before joining the countess abovestairs, and then slipping down the hall until Latimer and Livian were…alone.

Alone, with three dozen steps between them.

Livian stood there, uncertain as he’d never seen her—not even that first night he’d stormed her rooms and roused her from bed—and then gripping the gold railing, she ventured downstairs with equally hesitant strides.

He drank in the sight of her—all regal beauty and grace, even with a dusting of charcoal pencil on each of her high, proud cheeks.

If he reached his arms out, he could hold her. That whisper of rosewater that clung to her filled his senses, and he inhaled deep of the heady scent.

I want you more than I’ve wanted anyone or anything.

I love you.

She, on the other hand? He could not make heads or tails of what she was thinking, and it was eating him up from the inside out.

Latimer and Livian spoke at the same time.

“Lach—”

“Livian—”

They instantly stopped.

He took a deep breath. “Please,” he motioned to her, allowing her to speak first.

Livian moved her gaze over his face. “Why are you here?” she asked softly.

“To see you,” Latimer said, finding his way as the words were finally coming. “I wanted to see you. I needed to.”

Her eyes glittered. “I…see.”

That gave him pause.

The matter-of-factness in her tones indicated she did, in fact, see, but nothing in her voice, expression, or dazzling irises gave any hint of happiness.

He creased his brow. What was she…?

Livian drifted close, and when she spoke, she did so in the hushed tones of a woman clever enough to know her protective kin were close at hand, and straining to listen.

“I am fine.”

What exactly did that mean? Was she saying she was better off without him? When had he ever been at sea and so confused about anything ?

“Fine?” he echoed dumbly.

A pretty, pink blush filled her cheeks, the becoming color chased away that deathly pallor of before. “I am…not with child,” she said, her voice so hushed it took a moment for his mind to register what his ears had heard.

Not with child. Meaning, there’d be no wee babe born of the times they’d made love.

“I’ve had my menses.”

“Oh,” he said stupidly, his voice wooden and hollow to his own ears.

It was for the best. She would have felt trapped and scared and lost, and would likely have taken his offering for her, as him feeling obligated to do so.

Even knowing that, however, didn’t erase the enormous stab of regret for the child who’d not be.

“Not that I expected you would marry me because of that,” Livian said on a rush, misinterpreting the reason for his silence.

Her words sent an arrow through him.

“As I said from the beginning, Lachlan, when I asked you to make love to me, I didn’t hold any expectations.”

The poison-filled barbs kept coming. “You should have,” he rasped. “You absolutely should have.”

His beautiful, warrior princess bristled. “I beg your pardon?” she asked indignantly.

“You deserved better, sweetheart,” he hissed. “You deserved a man who’d respect you and honor you and treat you as his bloody queen.” His voice emerged sharper and harsher than intended.

Livian went silent.

Latimer’s guilt—this time over a different, but just as heinous offense—threatened to overwhelm him.

God, he was fucking up this entire exchange.

He scraped a hand over his face.

“I’ve never been one for pretty words.” A harsh, ironic, laugh burst from his chest. “Hell, I even mocked them. Now, for the first time in my miserable existence, I find himself wishing for just a scrap of Argyll’s charm.”

She stared at him in abject confusion.

Latimer let his arm fall to his side and tried again.

“I meant to do so sooner, but,” he grimaced, “you were quite hard to find.”

Her lower lip quivered. “Why were you look—?”

“I wanted to speak to you, love,” he said, “but before I did, I had business to see to.”

“Business,” Livian repeated woodenly, knowing she sounded like one of those brightly colored parrots Verity and Malcom had taken her to see back when the couple first married.

“Aye.”

I had business to see to.

She briefly closed her eyes and swallowed convulsively.

Of course.

That’s what drove Lachlan. That’s what mattered to him. That’s what he loved.

Why then, had he come?

Livian opened her eyes just in time to catch Lachlan departing quickly through the door.

Wide-eyed, Livian stared after him.

He is…leaving?

A small, hysterical giggle bubbled past her lips.

Since they’d parted, since she’d left, she’d alternately mourned the loss of him from her life and tortured herself with hopeless dreams and fantasies of him coming to her.

In those greatest of dreams, both waking and sleeping, he’d have arrived as unexpectedly as he’d done this day. In them, he dropped down on his knees, professed his love, and vowed Livian mattered more to him than the powerful connections the Duchess of Argyll provided or the grand gaming club he intended to build.

None of those happiest of dreams, however, had ever ended with him…turning on his heel and leaving as quickly as he’d—

“By God, did he just walk in and walk out?” her brother-in-law’s booming voice carried downstairs.

“…let me kill him now , boy…” Bram pleaded.

“Shh,” Verity whispered.

If her heart wasn’t breaking and her mind not muddled, she’d have laughed at the farcical exchange unfolding above, just out of sight.

Livian hugged herself in what had become an all-too-familiar, lonely embrace.

How funny. These past weeks, she’d convinced herself that just seeing Lachlan one more time would be enough to ease the hurt, only to—

A low, raspy, pant cut all the way through her anguish.

Out of breath, Lachlan, arms overflowing, angled his muscular frame back inside.

Livian’s eyes widened, and her eyebrows went shooting up.

Squatting, Lachlan set the enormous burden in his arms at Livian’s feet.

Wide-eyed, Livian’s arms went slack, and she let the useless limbs fall to her sides.

“Been carrying this,” he said when he’d straightened.

She stared at the familiar branch, large enough in size to be an entire tree.

“How…?” she whispered unable to form complete thoughts and trying to make sense of the cherished item at her feet—most importantly, why Lachlan had gone out of the way to find it and bring it to her.

Why…unless…?

Not allowing herself to hope, she wrenched her gaze from the branch and returned her focus to Lachlan. “I thought…it’d been chopped,” she said, her voice thick.

“Yea, I…may have set it aside before anyone could get to that.” He scrubbed the back of his arm across his forehead.

“W-Why?” she asked quietly when he didn’t say more than that.

Slightly panicked-looking, Lachlan turned his palms up. “I…I think…” He grimaced. “No. I don’t think, I know , even back then, even after only just meeting you, Livian,” he said hoarsely, moving his gaze over her face, “that my life was never going to be the same.” His eyes, filled with so much emotion, locked with hers. “That you were meant for me as much as I was meant for you, sweetheart.”

Her breath caught; and she touched her fingers to her mouth.

“I’ve been a bloody arse, Livian.” Lachlan stared at her with ravaged eyes. “At every step of the way, I fought it.”

Unnerved as she’d never seen him, Lachlan rocked on his heels; his gaze skittered about the foyer.

“Because men like me don’t believe in love, because we’ve never been loved, but then, there you were, sleeping in my room and fighting me like a prizefighter, and there’d never been anyone like you. There never will be, love.”

Livian’s mouth trembled.

Love . How many times had she welcomed that endearment from him and wished it’d been spoken in truth?—as it was now.

He stepped around the cherished remnant, the cause of their first meeting, so that no barrier stood between them.

His steady gaze radiated warmth and something that looked very much like…

“I love you, Livian Lovelace.”

Love . Livian’s breath hitched. It looked like love, because it was.

“You…love m-e?” she whispered, her voice catching.

“Ah, sweetheart,” he said gruffly. “I fell in love with you that night on first sight, and I want to spend every goddamned minute of my life making you smile and making myself worthy of you.”

Lachlan’s cherished visage blurred under her tears.

A sob burst from her lungs.

“Aww, sweetheart,” he begged. “Please, don’t cry.” He used both thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“But…but…” Despite his pleas, Livian couldn’t stop weeping. “The d-duchess. Y-Your club—”

Groaning, Lachlan swallowed her up in his arms and drew her to his chest. “There’ll be another club. But you, Livian?” he rasped, pressing a hard kiss against her temple. “There’s only one you.”

His words ran through her painting her with warmth and lightness and joy that left her light and giddy.

Cupping his hands at her nape, Lachlan edged back and crouched down so he could look her in the eye.

“You are my life, Livian,” he said, continuing to run a worshipful gaze over her face. “And without you in it, there’s nothing. I don’t want anything except you as my wife and partner in life. I’ve been a stupid shite, and I certainly don’t deserve you.” He fell to a knee.

Livian gasped.

“Please, Livian, marry me. Let us be a family and…babes…” he rasped. “I want a dozen little girls who all look like their mama, and have your spirit, and if you don’t want any babes,” he rambled, “then that is fine, too. You will always be enough for me. You will forever be all I need or want.”

“I do want them,” she said through laughter and tears. “Strong, proud, obstinate, honorable boys like their papa.”

Lachlan scrambled to his feet. “Fine, both,” he allowed, with all the confidence of a man who truly believed they had the power to deem it so. “I will devote every single moment of my life to your happiness and your wants and wishes and—”

“I only want you, L-Lachlan,” she whispered, thickly. “I love you.”

Emotion glinted in his eyes. “You do?”

“Yes,” she cried, her tears dissolving into laughter. “How can you not know that, you silly man?”

“Because I’ve not been a silly man, Livian. I’ve been the bloody stupidest one.”

“…damned right he has…” Bram and Fowler’s muffled mutterings reached Livian and Lachlan.

There came another loud shushing from Verity, and then silence.

“No, my lady,” Lachlan called up without taking his eyes from Livian. “They’re right.” He stroked his palm over Livian’s cheek with such tenderness, another powerful swell of emotion threatened to consume her. “I’ve been a bloody stupid arse. No more, Livian. I am damaged from life and imperfect in every way, but I am yours , in every way and any way you’ll have me, my love.”

Livian caught Lachlan’s spare hand in her own. “You are real, in every way, and that is why I love you. We are each imperfect souls, but together,” twining her fingers with his, she raised their joined palms, “we are perfect,” she said softly, placing a kiss upon the top of his hand.

Tears glinted in his eyes; this strong, powerful, formidable, warrior moved to tears because of her…

“I love you, Livian Lovelace.” Lachlan’s voice came gruff and hoarse. “Forever and always.”

And as he leaned down, taking her mouth under his, Livian closed her eyes and kissed him in return.

Forever and always.

The End