“That was my price,” Alex said. “Gerry deeded me Heverley End, and in return, I give him the grand honor of turning Barrington in to the authorities himself. Otherwise, I would have done it, and God knows I would have strung Gerry up by the heels, as well.”
“No, you wouldn’t have done,” she said instantly.
He hesitated, regarding her curiously, a smile finally turning his lips. “No, probably not,” he said. “But Gerry didn’t know that.”
By some silent accord, they both settled back in their chairs. Another warm wind swept the terrace. Alex tipped his face back to the sun and shut his eyes. The sight struck a dagger through her, unleashing a sense of terrible urgency: so long as the conversation remained on these other matters, he could stay. He could stay as long as he liked.
It would not last, though.
It would break her heart when it ended, and she could not bear the wait. “You would never be happy here,” she blurted.
One eye opened. “No? Why not?”
“You hate the country,” she said. “The city is where people with ambitions go. The country is dull. It’s a boring cousin to the city.”
The eye closed again. “God above, I am a pompous prick sometimes,” he said. “Gwen, I made Gerard deed me Heverley End. Had you asked me a year ago, I would have named it, above all places in the world, as the last place I should wish to live. And now I own it. Think on that, a moment.”
She hesitated, too afraid, briefly, to speak. “I don’t follow,” she finally whispered.
Now he looked at her, mouth quirking, becoming a wry slant. “It’s the only property I own outright. Always thought about investing in land, but—well, to the point. I told you, the next time you decide to marry, you really need to pick a man with a roof of his own. One that doesn’t leak. Heverley End doesn’t.”
The breath seemed to have leapt directly into her lungs; it was more a silent gasp than an inhalation, really. “Alex—”
“You might like it,” he said. “I was not eager to return to it yesterday. I walked its halls half expecting to choke. And then—I began to imagine you there beside me. I wondered what you might see when you looked out its windows. And I discovered, in the process, that the place is rather pretty. More than pretty. My childhood prison is quite charming. And it would be no prison if you were there with me. It would be . . . a home.”
“Heverley End,” she said in disbelief. “You would . . . live there. Again.”
“With you,” he said. His light eyes never left her face. “Anywhere with you, Gwen. That is the freedom I was always seeking. Not to be beholden to any place but to a person—one person. You. And without you . . .” He smiled a little, a wry, almost lost smile. “What difference where I am? On a city street flooded with people, on a ship bound for a new port . . . without you, it won’t matter. Might as well still be that boy suffocating alone in an echoing room, waiting for footsteps to come. Only now, I will be waiting for your footsteps. Only yours.”
He watched her a long moment as she struggled with what she wanted to say, what she had to say.
But habit won out. What she said was, “You love me. You do love me.” She sprang to her feet, but he remained sitting. He looked up at her, shading his hand to block the sun from his eyes.
“For God’s sake, Gwen,” he said gently. “What matter that I love you? That’s not the bit that’s always been missing.”
Her lips parted. They wished to ask a question she could not bear to bring herself to ask. He was never less than honest. The answer, then, was bound to be wrong.
So she did not ask it as a question. “You won’t leave me,” she said.
He drew a long breath. “There,” he said, quietly, fiercely. He came to his feet. “That is the answer to this riddle. The promises I can make, and the one I can’t. Gwen.” His hands closed on her wrists, tightening until she swallowed and found her courage and looked up at him. “I will never leave you willingly,” he said. “Life is a risk, and so love is, as well. But I swear to God, you will not regret the gamble.”
The light was so bright that it pricked tears into her eyes. Instead of squinting, she widened her eyes further so the sun blinded her. She saw him as a silhouette, a dark shape against the sky. So easily his face began to fade.
But she knew his features well enough to see him in the dark. And his hands were warm and alive and vital. The strength in him was tremendous. She could feel it, leashed in the tension of his grip.
“I love you,” she whispered.