Harry wanted to throw his head back and rail like a savage beast. He examined the ribbon in his hand.
…They claimed every last blasted scrap of satin. It will forever remind me of the perils of love…
He eyed the fabric so long, seconds passed into minutes, which may have passed to hours. Edgerton’s words ran together as one. And his heart pounded hard, even as his tumultuous thoughts sought to make reason to that which he’d not allowed himself to consider before now.
Why would she give him this ribbon? Why, if he meant nothing to her? Why…?
“Certainly capable of making a better match than…”
He went stock-still as the truth crashed into him with the force of a fist being plowed into his midsection. The breath left him on a slow exhale. He looked at the satin frippery as Edgerton’s voice droned on and on; a ribbon, the sole precious strip Anne had clung to when her entire world had fallen apart. She’d given it to him. As a parting remembrance. And he’d been too enraged, believing the absolute worst of her that he’d not allowed himself to see the truth…until now.
“…even Lady Anne deserves more than being wedded to a depraved bastard like Ekstrom…”
I love her.
He— Harry blinked. “What?” he asked, the raspy one word utterance seemed to belong to another. Surely he’d heard his friend wrong. It had sounded as though he’d said she was to wed—
“Bertrand Ekstrom.” Edgerton waved a white-gloved hand. “A cousin, it would seem. Next in line behind the… Christ, Stanhope, where are you off to? I imagined you’d want to know…”
His words trailed after Harry as he charged back into the Vauxhall maze, onward. His breath came in great, gasping spurts from the force of his emotion, and he staggered to a halt. Anne stared wide-eyed up at him, in the exact spot he’d last left her. “Anne…”
“Harry…” her broken whisper ravaged him. She shoved herself up on her elbows. “What are you…?” She cocked her head. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Why are you still on the ground?” he shot back.
For a moment, the past week melted away and she was the sweet, smiling Anne he remembered. She sighed and gestured to her ankle. “I fell.”
“When?” He dropped to a knee beside her and pulled back her skirts.
“Earlier. I…what are you doing?” She shoved her gauzy shepherdess costume down.
He pushed it up once more and probed the skin in search of a break.
She swatted at his shoulder. “Harry, you shouldn’t…” She winced when he touched the bruised flesh. “I was going to suggest your actions were improper, but now I’d ask you to stop because it’s really rather unpleasant.” She wrinkled her brow. “Which I suspect is because I’ve gone and injured it.”
“Yes. It is sprained.” He shoved her skirts down and cursed. “You were going to allow me to leave you here?”
“You shouldn’t curse.”
His lips twitched. “That’s all you’d say?”
She screwed her mouth up. “It’s really not at all appropriate.”
Ah, God…I love you. Why was I so afraid to admit that to you before now? He studied her face, more precious to him than his own. She’d deserved those words from him. Long ago. Another firework illuminated the sky, bathing her face in a pale glow. He reached into the front of his cloak and fished out the small, metallic frames he kept close to his heart. “Here.” He perched the spectacles on the bridge of her nose.
“What…?” She touched her fingertips to the frames almost reverently. “I don’t understand.”
“You need them, Anne. They help you to see.”
“To read,” she corrected, taking them off. She dropped her fathomless gaze to the pair.
“Though I suspect it is I whose vision has been significantly impaired, Anne.”
“You’d have my spectacles?” she asked, perplexity underscored her question.
He snapped his gaze to hers. “It was because of me. The morning in Bainbridge’s office.”
She folded her hands into fists, clenching them so tight the blood drained from them and they stood a splash of white in the dark night.
Agony lanced his heart. “You believed I…that Margaret…” the words went unfinished at the confirmation in her tear-filled gaze. She’d released him of any and all obligation toward her, so he could be free to pursue Margaret. Even as it had portended her own ruination. “Oh, Anne,” he said achingly. He reached for her.