Page 24 of The Duchess’s Absolutely Delightful Dream (The Notorious Briarwoods #14)

I t was not easy to smile or to dance.

It was not easy to make conversation, and yet Ellie forced herself.

Hell’s bells, every part of her wished to retreat to her room, to hide away, to sink into her blankets and never look upon the light of day again.

Surely, it would be far easier to retreat to the cave-like chamber and never ever face anyone again. But she was stronger than that. She always had been, and she always would be.

She wasn’t about to give in or give up. Even if she felt like she was dying inside.

So, as she stood in the center of the long drawing room, as the storm rolled by, she made conversation with the Briarwoods and their other guests.

She forced herself to make pleasantries.

She knew that no matter how terrible life could be, she would not be crushed by it.

Somehow, she would go on. She would be strong.

She would drink up every bit of goodness that there was in this life, even if, at this moment, it felt like it had all been stolen from her.

The dowager duchess made her way across the room and paused before her. “You were wonderful tonight.”

“Thank you,” Ellie said, choosing to try to see the good in all of this. “I have discovered a newfound love for performing, which I never would’ve known if it was not for you. I think we shall have to make it a yearly summer occurrence.”

“How wonderful,” the duchess replied, though she did not look as joyous at the news as she might have done under different circumstances.

The dowager smiled sadly. “I read the book of poetry you gave me. Those stories? Those stories fill my heart with the strength of the old gods and the old ways. Ah, to have been a Highlander then.”

Ellie considered this, then shook her head. “No. Oh, to be a Highlander now. To usher this land into a new existence. That is far better. We might be on our knees,” Ellie declared, one duchess to the other, “but we will not be destroyed. One day, the whole world will wish to be a Scot.”

The dowager duchess laughed, a tone which suggested she had seen the hardest and best of times, and that she too had not been bowed.

The older woman took Ellie’s hand and squeezed it.

“Well said, my dear. This duchess already wishes that she was a Scot, for they have the greatest hearts, it seems to me.”

The room suddenly grew silent.

A strange sensation stole down Ellie’s back.

And somehow she knew.

She knew it was him.

Slowly, she turned. Her breath froze in her throat. Octavian stood in the doorway. His clothes were soaked, pressed to his hard body.

Then without hesitation, with a crackling power, he strode across the room and, in front of everyone, he pulled her into his arms, enveloping her in a passionate embrace.

He took her mouth with his. Their lips caressed and met and branded.

They claimed each other with that kiss.

When at last, he lifted his lips from hers, he locked gazes with Ellie.

“You gave me your love,” he growled fervently.

“And I’m going to keep it. And I’m never going to let it go.

And I give you mine to keep. Our love will grant me strength when I feel weak, because I know in my heart you will always be there whispering to me, encouraging me to go on.

To fight on. To never ever let the brutality of this life win.

Will you marry me?” he whispered. “A soldier?”

She held him close, hardly daring to believe what was happening, but it was. And she would not falter.

“I have always wanted you exactly as you are. I have never wanted anything different, and I never will,” she declared, holding onto him with all her love.

“Then be mine,” he said. “Be mine today. Be mine tomorrow and the next day and forever. Let us dream of when it’s all done and when we are together again.”

She lifted her hand to his cheek. “It is a beautiful dream.”

“It is our future, Ellie, and I will never let you go again.”