But whoever he was, the lucky bastard would not—could not—love her as Connor had.
Bollocks, he couldn’t go on like this. He couldnae stand here staring at the stars, going mad with longing for a woman who wanted him as much as he wanted her. Even if she didn’t know it yet.
In his mind’s eye, he conjured her image. She’d studied his face, searching for something. Something he hadn’t offered. Something she fiercely wanted, given the sheen of moisture in her gorgeous blue eyes.
I love her. Now. ’Til the end of time.
Couldn’t she see that he loved her? Couldn’t she taste it in his kiss and read it in his touch?
Bluidy idiot! He cursed himself for a dolt.
He loved her. For better and for worse. Until the moment he drew his last earthly breath. And beyond.
But like a damn fool, he’d never told her. God knew he’d shown her passion. He’d loved her with his body. But he’d never uttered the words.
He’d never taken that ultimate risk with the rusty thing in his chest he called a heart.
He loved Johanna. He’d cherish her and protect her and devote himself to her. And it was bluidy high time she knew it.
Chapter Forty-Two
Serena and Laurel’s happy conversation dangled in mid-sentence as Johanna approached the table. Serena’s mouth thinned. Keeping her gaze fixed on Johanna, she reached for her water glass.
“I take it my brother told ye what was on his mind.” Serena sipped from the crystal goblet.
“Yes. I presume you knew what he planned.”
“I’d hoped ye’d be receptive. I’ve seen the way ye look at him… I deduced incorrectly.”
“Deduced incorrectly?” Johanna selected a chair across from Serena. “My heart is not a puzzle to be solved.”
Serena tapped a fingertip against the vessel. “I am sorry, Johanna. I thought…well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. But it’s best that ye know what’s on my brother’s mind.”
“In any case, I will still be pleased to help you get your bearings in Philadelphia. I trust your story was true.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t lie to ye.” The patter of Serena’s finger against the crystal sped up. “After all, I did tell ye he would be here.”
“Indeed.” Johanna wished she could magically transport herself to some other place—any other place. Laurel’s focus hadn’t left her since she’d rejoined them. Did the child have any idea what had occurred? Later, Johanna would reassure the child that she’d never leave her again.
Serena squeezed Laurel’s hand. “Let’s order something good to eat, shall we? My brother has taken care of the arrangements.”
Laurel nodded enthusiastically. “There he is. He’s come back to celebrate with us.”
Serena and Johanna both turned to witness Connor’s approach. Serena’s forehead furrowed like a washboard, and her top teeth worried her bottom lip. “Oh, dear.”
Given Serena’s reaction, one might have expected Connor to be scowling fiercely. But his face bore no trace of anger. To the contrary, a sly smile that might’ve won the hearts—and decidedly more carnal interest—of every female in the room curved his lips. Not that he would’ve had any difficulty on that account. With his raven’s wing hair, powerful shoulders, and the tantalizing way the tartan draped his lean hips, it appeared every woman in the dining room who’d lived less than a century followed his path with their appreciative gazes.
Johanna’s mouth went dry. She gulped a drink of water, as if that would tamp down the instinct to flee. She had no desire to face him again. Not now.
And especially not here.
Standing before Laurel, he met the girl’s curious eyes. “I’ll be needing another word with yer aunt.”
Laurel blinked. “Is this about your birthday…about your present?”
“As a matter of fact, it is. But what I have to say, I can say right here. Right now.”
Johanna popped from her seat. “That is not advisable.”
“I’ve decided it is.”
Ah, his husky burr melted something glacial and hard within Johanna, a frigid shell encasing her vulnerable heart. But this was not the place. Not the time. She glanced about the spacious dining room. Curious onlookers had pivoted to take in the unexpected entertainment. “You…you are causing a scene.”
“If I wanted t’do that, ye’d be over my shoulder and out of this place.” Something in his wicked grin told Johanna he meant every word.
“This is not amusing.”
“’Tis not meant to be, mo chridhe.” He caught her hand in his. “I am a bluidy dolt, Johanna. I’ve no idea what I’m doin’… No idea what the right words are to make ye mine. But I know I love ye.”
His words seemed a confession. How desperately she wanted to believe him. She ached to trust him, to surrender to the tender emotion she could not deny.
Beneath her heavy skirts, her knees wobbled. She longed to tell him the feelings that swelled her heart nearly to bursting. But the words would not come. She, who made her living putting words to paper, could only look into his fine green eyes and murmur a single question.