“If you hadn’t noticed, I started my career as a reporter by falsifying a report that I was infected with syphilis. I’ve presented my share of false references in my time. You may not be good by the standards of the rest of the world. But you’re perfect for me, and I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
Oh, he wished that were true.
He looked over at her, at the fierce expression on her face. Her hair spilled around her shoulders in little curls, tickling his arm. And he felt a sense of unimaginable wonder. He’d thought to keep her safe, and yet here she was, insisting that she would protect him. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what this could mean.
He didn’t realize he was shaking until she set her hands on his shoulders. He didn’t know how cold he felt until she curled up against him, her body so warm.
God. He didn’t know what he was going to do when she left him.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “when I asked you to marry me, I thought I loved you.”
She stilled in his arms, turning to him.
“I’ve thought I loved you ever since the evening you told me you weren’t trying to empty the Thames with a thimble, that you were watering a garden instead. I felt like you changed my entire world from futility to hope over the course of one conversation.”
“Edward.” She turned to him, placing her hand on his shoulder.
“You can’t know what it’s like to have no hope,” he said. “To believe that the best you can manage is survival. I wanted you so much.” His fingers slid over her bare shoulder, down her hip. “I wanted you so much I thought it was love. I stopped being able to envision a world without you in it to light the way.”
“You keep speaking in the past tense.”
“That’s because I was wrong. A desperation to possess at any cost—that’s not love.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss against her lips. “This is.”
The kiss felt like a slow awakening, a sensation of warmth, a steady glow that enveloped the two of them.
But she drew away from him. “Edward. I—”
He set his finger on her lips.
“No. Don’t say it. It’s hell enough realizing that I want only to protect you from harm.” His voice dropped. “That I’m the one who will hurt you.”
She shook her head. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. I know you better than that.”
He smiled sadly. She didn’t.
“One of these days, you’ll understand,” she said. “I love you, scoundrel and all. And I’ve known you could never hurt me. Ever since that same day.”
He kissed her again. “Tell me that tomorrow.”
It was particularly sweet—stomach-churningly sweet—when she nodded her head.
“I will. And the next day, and the day after, and the day after. I’ll tell it to you day after day, night after night, until finally you believe it’s true.”
FREE AWOKE IN THE MIDDLE of the night in a cold sweat, flailing her arms, trying to escape—
“Shh,” she heard Edward say. “Shh. Free. It’s all right.”
Her heart was racing away from her. Her mouth was dry, and it took her a moment to understand that she was in bed with her husband of…several hours, not being held in place, not tied down in a government hospital.
Her pulse slowed. Her muscles loosened. She let out a long, slow breath.
“You’re safe,” Edward said. “I have you.”
“It was only a nightmare.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“Of course it was,” he said. “And now I’m only holding you.” He folded his arms around her. “See how that works?”
Marrying him had been impulsive and foolhardy. She hadn’t even had a chance to inform her family of her marriage—and after she told them, there’d be many explanations demanded.
But if they could just see this, just feel this moment—the warmth of his arms around her, the comfort of his touch, those cold fears washing out of her as he stroked her face—why, they’d all understand why she’d done it.
The morning would bring a demonstration, a reunion with Amanda, and a trip to gaol—but it would also bring him. And once everyone she loved grew to know him, they’d understand. Edward was the best thing she could ever have impulsively grabbed for.
Chapter Nineteen
“I’M SO GLAD YOU COULD spare a few moments,” Genevieve said.
The morning had dawned crisp and cool, with scattered clouds obscuring the summer sun for once. Amanda shifted a bag on her shoulder and smiled at Genevieve.
“Of course I did,” she said. “Don’t I always?”
Always. It was hard to remember that always, when it came to Genevieve, meant only a handful of months. They now met when Amanda came into town, and at this point, that meant they saw one another nearly twice a week. It seemed as if they’d known each other longer than that.
Amanda caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the side table. It had taken her months to learn not to wince and look away from her own reflection, and there were times…
“Ah, ah,” Genevieve said.
Amanda looked at her. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just noticing that I still have ink stains on my fingers.”