“I was so frightened,” Susannah whispered as Will rose above her. “I should not have followed Effington. I should have sought help instead, should have let others face him who were better equipped, but I could not.”
Will could barely make sense of Susannah’s words, he wished so badly to join with his lady, to be with her in the place beyond even the most beautiful words.
“You are brave,” Will said, finding her heat, finding his home. “You have endless courage.”
“All the way across London, I was afraid, Willow. I’ve been afraid. I feared to pay the wrong compliment, wear the wrong dress, cast the wrong glance.”
“Chained in a pit,” Will whispered, “no hope of escape.” Save her damned sonnets, written by a dead man who’d understood both captivity and freedom.
“But I thought, ‘Willow will find me, Willow will come. I’m afraid, but he will not fail me.’”
Will had been born to find her, born for this moment, when Susannah’s trust, her courage, her love poured through him and became a sharing of limitless joy and passion.
“I will never fail you, Susannah, and I will always love you.”
The room became silent, save for the gentle rustle of lavender-scented sheets, the slide of flesh on flesh, a giggle.
A sigh.
A groan.
When even those had ebbed on the tide of gratified passion, Susannah fell asleep beside Will, her breath tickling his shoulder. She had offered him everything she had, her courage, her fears, her past, her future, her love, and she deserved more than an understanding in return.
Will rose from the bed, dressed, kissed his beloved’s brow, and left her dreaming. He’d made her a promise, and he intended to keep it.
He would not fail her, not ever.
*
“The reward money must go to Ash and Sycamore,” Will said, stroking a hand over Georgette’s head in a gesture Worth had seen countless times before. “For I’ve been told in no uncertain terms, the rewards will be forced upon me. Even Mannering has babbled something about restitution, and Yorick—Fortinbras as he’s to be known—never suffering want in Mannering’s care.”
The evening was mild, crickets chirping on Worth’s back terrace. Upstairs, Jacaranda was tending to the baby, while Meda dozed at Worth’s feet.
Though Willow appeared a figure of quiet repose in the last of the day’s light, Worth was reminded of when he’d first made the acquaintance of the woman running his country seat more than a year ago. Jacaranda had striven mightily to present herself as a mere housekeeper, but her violet eyes had flashed lightning at Worth’s flirtation, and her muttered asides had been the first rumblings of thunderbolts.
One underestimated a Dorning at one’s peril. Reliable sources said the Mannering twins were off on an extended repairing lease in Paris, to the relief of every debutante, hostess, and bachelor in London.
“Ash Dorning will have no need of coin,” Worth said, because somebody had to speak sense to Willow. “He’ll have steady employment with me, at least. Lady Della’s association with Quimbey and his nephew will also apparently result in a sizable, if quietly conveyed, dowry.”
A trust account here, some lawyerly obfuscation there, an obliging Earl of Bellefonte nodding benignly as he appended signatures to a few documents at a private meeting or two. Worth had handled similar situations for many wealthy families, a resolution of the equities—and the requirements of honor—far from the sight of Society.
“Lady Della’s to be well dowered?” Will asked, crossing an ankle over his knee and wincing. “Then I leave to Ash what he does with his half of the rewards. He might turn the funds over to Casriel, invest them on behalf of our other brothers, or consider investing them in a venture I’m intent on beginning myself.”
Worth did not consider himself any sort of hounds and horses man. He was a pounds and pence fellow, after he was Jacaranda’s devoted swain and tireless lover. And yet, at the mention of the word “investing,” Worth knew exactly how the hounds felt when they raised the scent of old Reynard.
“Say on, Willow. I’m a papa, you know, and my precious princess likes to hear my voice as she drops off to sleep.”
Meda cast him a look at that bouncer, but kept her chin on her forepaws. She’d be up in the nursery when the child was laid in her crib, though how the dog knew when to assume guard duty was a mystery.
“Jacaranda can spare you for a few more moments,” Willow said, shifting to prop a foot on the low table before them.
Jacaranda was Worth’s queen, and their daughter the princess. Worth let the distinction pass, because Willow Dorning talked dogs, training, cheese, and rewards without ceasing, but in Worth’s experience, investments had never earned more than Will’s fleeting notice.
“You mentioned a venture involving money,” Worth said. “I know a few things about ventures involving money, and can tell you the Dorning menfolk as a tribe are sadly in want of that knowledge. You will please hound Casriel on this topic at every opportunity. My brother’s finances are finally coming right, and that’s after generations of neglect.”