“Careful with that trunk, Pawl. I have some breakable things in there.”
Brant slid in past Pawl and stood in the front hall of the Warren looking around. Trunks and boxes filled it and his heart sank. Olympia was leaving. She had not said a word about that in the fortnight since she had been shot but he should have known she could not stay in London indefinitely. She had a son who was undoubtedly eager to see her, if only to see with his own eyes that she was well again.
“Olympia?” he called, and smiled when she turned from making sure a trunk was securely closed to look at him. “You did not tell me you were leaving.”
“I hinted at it many times, Brant,” she said as she took him by the hand and led him into the parlor. “Ilar has been very patient but I have been gone from home for far longer than either of us had anticipated.”
“I know.” He waited until she took a seat on the settee and sat down beside her. She was looking very healthy again and his body tightened when he thought of all the ways he wished to take advantage of her good health. “I had just thought we would have a day or two to enjoy your recovery before you left.”
Olympia knew that the heat his words stirred in her body was coloring her cheeks so she turned her attention to pouring them both a small glass of wine. She would like nothing more than to slip upstairs with him. It had surprised her how much she ached for his touch even though she knew she loved him. Having had nothing to do with men, never feeling any great passion or even mild desire, she had never thought it would be something that could plague her night and day. It did though, and it plagued her dreams as well.
For a moment she faltered in her decision to leave but then straightened her backbone and shored up her determination. This was the best way to handle this matter. He was the man she wanted and she doubted she would ever want another but he needed to heal himself. She wanted him whole and loving her and he was not here yet. Even Artemis, before he had left for home, had told her that the sorrow in Brant, the heavy, dark guilt, had actually grown, not lessened. She was not the one who could clean him of that darkness no matter how much she loved him.
Brant put his arm around her and tugged her close after she had finished filling the glasses. “I need to speak to you of something.”
“You have finished seeing to the punishment of all those who shared your mother’s guilt?” Despite her best intentions, she leaned into his hold, savoring the heat and strength of him.
“Nearly done. No, I meant I wished to speak about us.”
This was not the way he had planned to do this, he thought a little crossly. Brant had planned a romantic dinner, lovemaking, and soft words of love followed by his proposal. Sitting in the parlor while the sounds of people packing echoed through the door was not romantic. There was no time to waste, however. He could not take the time to go to Myrtledowns and court her for several weeks yet but he did not want her to leave without knowing how he felt.
“Us?” Olympia said and met his gaze. “What of us, Brant? You have never really indicated that there would be an us after Agatha was safe.”
“No? I became your lover.” He grimaced when she just cocked one brow at him. “Fine. That may not have been the greatest of clues, all things considered. Curse it, Olympia, I love you.”
She was both thrilled and amused. “Curse it, Brant, I love you, too.”
“You do?”
“Aye, I do.”
“Then you will marry me.”
“Nay.”
He sat back, more shocked than hurt for he was sure she had just confessed to loving him. “You do not wish to have a husband, is that it?” He knew she was a very strong, independent woman but he had never considered the possibility that she would not want to marry.
“I want a husband if that husband is you.” She reached up to stroke his cheek with her hand. “I said I love you and I do not toss those words about lightly as some do. I love you to the depths of my soul.”
She allowed him to silence her with a kiss, sinking into his embrace and soaking up all the pleasure she could from his kiss. Once he ended it, however, she moved out of his arms and stood up. A little uneasy about what she had to say next, she picked up her glass of wine and downed it all. Carefully placing the glass back on the table, she looked at him, not surprised to find him scowling at her in anger and confusion.
“I love you. Never doubt that. I will not marry you though. Not yet. You see, I will not tie my life and my heart to a man who carries around a ghost.”
“A ghost?”
“Faith’s ghost or rather the grief and guilt over her death that you have never let go of. And, oh, how you have added to that load in the past few weeks. You carry so much that it is as if you have a whole other person inside you, one bent beneath the weight of it all.”