His grandmother moved sharply.
He glanced down at her, and back to the chamber at large. “I am blessed in that my father, Lord Gryffyn, and my stepmother, Lady Gryffyn, raised me as one of their own children. If they were not abroad, they would be here at my side. I hope to raise Lizzie and Otis with the same care and respect they gave me.”
With that, he made his way back to his bench, looking neither at his grandmother nor his solicitors. He just sat, his gut churning. He was absolutely certain that the vote would go in his favor.
But Eugenia had walked out. She had rejected him. He felt as if a hole had been blown in his chest, but there was nothing to do but sit, bleeding silently.
How had it gone so wrong? How could he have been so stupid? She had said she loved him . . . if only he had taken her in his arms at that moment.
If Eugenia truly loved him, wouldn’t she have smiled when he declared himself before the assembled aristocracy?
The Dowager Duchess of Gilner stood. She didn’t move toward the witness box or look at Ward. Instead, she told the Lord Chancellor in the firm, fluting voice of the aristocracy, “I withdraw my plea for a private act.”
There was a collective gasp. She stared straight ahead, so Ward saw his grandmother in profile. He recognized that nose: he saw it every day in the mirror.
“Very well,” his lordship said, and without further ado, he stood up. “This session of the House of Lords is dismissed.”
Chapter Forty-five
Eugenia walked from the great chamber and then actually broke into a run down the corridor leading away from the room. The moment Ward had spoken her name, every person in the room turned in her direction.
When Andrew died, she never expressed her grief in public. She wept at home; outside, she kept her head high and her eyes dry. Andrew would have wanted it that way.
But now tears were uncontrollably pouring down her cheeks. She caught sight of an open door and turned into a room, mercifully empty, fell into a chair, and tried to breathe.
Her mind was seared with the image of Ward standing before the rows of peers. He hadn’t looked like a gentleman, like one of them.
He’d looked like a king, glancing over velvet-clad lords without a shred of humility. He’d dominated the room from the moment he stood: his face intense, focused . . . commanding. With his words, he had petitioned for guardianship of his siblings, but in truth . . .
He had demanded it. The peers would no more refuse him than refuse the king. The children were his now. Her fear for Lizzie and Otis evaporated the moment Ward began speaking.
She had feasted on the way he looked, her heart yearning, secure in the belief that he was unaware of her presence.
And then—
Then he had stated that he meant to marry her. His eyes had taken on a ferocious intensity as he’d told the House of Lords that she was his, just as Lizzie and Otis were now his wards.
The only sign of tension she spied was when his jaw clenched while speaking of her.
Of the fact she had refused him.
The door opened and Eugenia’s head jerked up, her damp handkerchief clutched in her hand.
Ward stood in the doorway.
“What happened?” she managed, coming to her feet.
“The children are mine,” he said, striding toward her. Without another word, he tilted her head back and covered her mouth with his. His kiss was the equivalent of his speech before all those lords: it was a statement about her.
He had told a roomful of peers that he loved her, and suddenly Eugenia realized that he had said as much to her countless times.
While kissing her.
While luring her into the lake.
While waking her at night to make love a fourth time, and a fifth at dawn.
She returned his kiss with her entire being. She was his, and he was hers, until death parted them. How could she have forgotten that love was the most important thing of all? She, who had learned far too young that one cruel moment could snatch away love forever?
Ward drew back, still without saying a word, gathered her to him and swept her off her feet. Carrying her the whole way, he strode from the room, down the corridor, and straight to his waiting carriage. She was in the carriage before she could think what to say.
But it seemed no words were needed. His arms closed around her again with hungry urgency and he pulled her onto his lap. They kissed until Eugenia’s hair had fallen around her ears and her lips were bee-stung.
When the coach stopped, Ward helped Eugenia to alight on a street lined with large, graceful mansions.
“My London address,” Ward said, drawing her up the walk to one of the most imposing of these.
“I didn’t know you had a house in London,” she exclaimed.
“I bought it before I took the post at Oxford.”
The front door opened as they approached, and a liveried butler bowed as they entered. Eugenia caught sight of cream walls and a spotless marble floor, but Ward guided her straight to a closed door at one side.