The Duke I'm Going to Marry(104)
He stopped her when she opened her mouth to protest. “Dillie, you crawl around on carpets with your cousins, and your hair is never perfect. There’s always a stray curl dangling over your forehead or about your ears.”
She frowned. “Is there a point to your inventory of my faults?”
He reached out to tuck back her hair, surprised she’d taken his words the wrong way. “They’re not faults,” he said in a throaty whisper. “They’re all the reasons I wish to marry you. I don’t want cold, society elegance. I’ve lived with cold my entire life. I want chaos and meddlesome warmth. I want someone who gives a fig whether I live or die. I want someone who will love me even though she thinks I’m an idiot.”
“Oh, Ian. I haven’t called you that in a long while. And you know I never really thought you were an idiot.”
He nodded. “The point is, I don’t want perfect. I want you.”
She shook her head and laughed. “I think that was a compliment. If so, I’ll take it. Although it isn’t quite the down-on-your-knees-desperate-to-have-you speech I was hoping for, but it’s a good start.”
He was about to withdraw the letter he’d tucked into his boot when Dillie suddenly let out a soft cry. A butterfly had landed on her hand. “Ian, look! It’s so beautiful,” she said in an excited whisper, her eyes widening in delight. “Look at how the colors on its wings shimmer, the emerald green and purple amethyst. I’m afraid to move or even breathe. I want it to stay. I want to hold on to it and never let it fly away.”
“You have to let it go.”
She frowned lightly. “No. Why should I?”
“It has to move on in order to survive. You can’t—” He suddenly felt as though an anvil had been dropped on his head. Dillie’s desire to hold on to that butterfly was no different from his desire to hold on to James’ death. All his life, he’d been trapped by his memory of that dreadful day. He hadn’t moved on. He’d never been able to let James go.
Bloody hell.
He stared at Dillie, wondering just how she’d manipulated him into saying the words aloud. Let it go. Move on. She wasn’t looking at him, but smiling at the butterfly. “How...?” He shook his head. “Never mind. You’re scary, you know that?”
She cast him an innocent gaze, her gorgeous eyes wide as she took him in. “Because I like butterflies?”
“Yes.”
She laughed and shook her head once more, tousling her curls. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The butterfly flitted away, and they watched it disappear over the stone fence. Dillie turned to him, her gaze soft as she nestled against his body, her curves fitting so perfectly against him. “All I know is that everything feels right when I’m with you. I don’t understand why.”
“Blame it on the Chipping Way curse,” he said.
She looked up at him and smiled. “It isn’t really a curse, thank goodness. I’m so happy when I’m with you. I love being with you. Even when facing down blackguards in a stable or a fashionable London street.”
“You’ve always believed in me.”
“It wasn’t hard to do.” Her eyes were sparkling as she continued to gaze at him. “I love you, Ian. My heart twists in knots every time I think of the pain your family has put you through. James’ death was an accident. If the situation were reversed, you jumping in to rescue James, I know you would never have blamed him.”
“Dillie,” he said, his voice and every limb in his body shaking. He wanted to say more, but didn’t know where to start. Instead, he reached into his boot and withdrew the letter he’d just finished reading when she came upon him. He led her back to the tree where he’d been sitting and handed her the letter. “I’d like you to read it. Hell, I don’t know what to make of it.”
She sat on the grass, propped her shoulder against the trunk of the old oak tree, and unfurled the letter. Ian felt too much on edge to sit beside her, and instead began to pace along the water’s edge. “Tell me what you think, Dillie.” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “You’re the only one I trust to tell me the truth.”
***
Dillie’s heart was pounding through her ears as she began to read. Ian trusted her, valued her opinion, and she simply couldn’t make a mistake. He’d handed over more than this mere letter, for along with that sheaf of paper, he’d handed her his heart. She knew this was the most important letter she might ever read in her life.
For that reason, she took her time going through it, not just once but several times before she dared to set it down. However, she still had questions. “Ian.” He stopped pacing and cast her a grim smile. Indeed, grim was an apt description of how he must be feeling, his insides painfully knotted and thoughts confused. “Who is this Mr. Badger?” She was referring to the gentleman who’d written the letter.