Unforgivable(87)

He trailed off, his gaze going from earnest to puzzled, and she supposed it must be the sight of the smile that had broken out over her face that made him stop talking. It was a laughing-and-crying sort of a smile, watery and wobbly but possibly dazzling too—it certainly felt as though she was smiling just as widely as she could.

She put her mittened hands—absurd mittens!—on his chest and said, “No, I do! That is, I love you too, Gil.” And it was such a relief to say those words aloud. Words that had been rattling around in her sore heart for so long.

He took hold of her shoulders, his hands a little too tight. “Do you?” he asked hoarsely. “Despite everything?”

“Yes. Yes, despite it all.” She wanted to explain it to him, but that would mean she’d have to stop smiling and clutching his waistcoat and drowning in the expression of stunned disbelief arresting his dear face. She gave a joyful little laugh.

“God, Rose—” He pulled her closer, dipping his head to capture her lips with his own in a hard, desperate kiss, and she returned his embrace feverishly, crushing her mouth to his and welcoming the invasion of his tongue, the rasp of his bristles on her jaw.

When he finally pulled back, he cupped her face in his hands and stared down at her for the longest time. Then he dropped to his knees, heedless of the frosty ground, and took possession of her hands.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked.

He looked up at her, serious and determined. “Rose Davenport,” he said. “Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife in truth? A wife I will love and cherish and honour every day of my life?”

She returned his gaze with the same gravity, clutching his ice-cold fingers with her own mittened ones. “I want to,” she said, after a heartfelt pause. “I do love you, Gil. But you must understand that I can’t go back to the way things were before.”

He shook his head. “Nor can I. I want a real marriage this time. If you’re prepared to give me one last chance, I swear that I will spend the rest of my life trying to earn your forgiveness.”

She met his intent gaze, seeing her own hope and fear mirrored there. Her own love.

“You don’t have to earn my forgiveness,” she whispered. “You have it already.”

He paused, staring at her, then closed his eyes. “I don’t deserve that.”

“Well, that’s the point of forgiveness, I think. What use would it be if it was given conditionally?”

He laughed ruefully. “I never realised how wise you are till now. I need you to come back so you can keep me on the right path.”

She smiled and tugged at his hands till he gave in and got to his feet.

A single white snowflake drifted between them.

“Let’s go inside,” she said, “and get warm.”





Gil had been greeted by Harriet when he first arrived at Weartham, but by the time he got back to the house with Rose, she had returned to her cottage. Making herself tactfully scarce, Gil realised gratefully as Rose pulled him toward the stairs.

He felt twenty again, his heart light as a bird. He felt as though he had pure happiness running through his veins. When they reached the earl’s chambers, Rose leaned against the door, looking at him through half-closed eyes, inviting and challenging. He couldn’t stop grinning. He loved her. She loved him. It was a miracle.

Bracing one hand against the wall, he lowered his head. Her eyes gleamed, breathing quickening. When his lips finally, finally reached hers, descending slowly to meet and press and meld, it felt like breathing for the first time in forever.

He poured everything into that kiss—lust, need, love—and Rose sent to him all her own yearning and joy. He didn’t even know how long he kissed her before he was hefting her into his arms, kicking the door open and striding into the bedchamber.

Once inside, they made their way to the bed in an inelegant tangle of arms and legs, undressing as they went. A path of discarded clothing mapped their route.

And God, but holding her in his arms was heaven itself. He’d never felt this perfect mingling of lust and love before; a coincidence of body and soul that elevated his lust to a spiritual thing and made of his love something even more profound. Perhaps the difference, he thought hazily, was knowing that he was loved in return.

Rose loved him. She loved him.

Soon, all thought was gone. There was only feeling. Gil moved without thinking, senses reeling. Her skin was satiny against his lips, her familiar scent surrounded him and she sighed in his ear, breathing his name like a prayer.

He surged into her, fusing his mouth with hers, groaning as he kissed her. Her legs wrapped around him, her thighs clutching him as he drove into her again and again. He could feel her rippling around his flesh in waves as they climaxed together.