Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

"W hy did you fight him?" Hannah asked. She and James were seated side-by-side in Lady Carleton's luxurious, velvet-upholstered carriage as the driver guided the horses at a leisurely walk over the cobblestones. The carriage lamps were lit, casting a faint glow over the darkened interior of the cab.

"I shouldn't have," James said as Hannah applied her handkerchief to the edge of his lip. His mouth was set in a pensive frown, his gray eyes watchful. He'd been studying her face ever since they left the Octagon Room, seeming to be gauging the measure of her reaction to the altercation she'd just witnessed.

"No, indeed," she said, dabbing at the blood. "Not at the Assembly Rooms, at any rate." She paused before softly asking again. "Why did you?"

"Because he deserved it," James replied gruffly. "And because…I'd had enough."

Hannah met his eyes with slow dawning understanding. "He said something about your family?"

"After a fashion." His frown deepened. For a moment, it seemed he wouldn't expound on his answer. And then: "He made a comment about your cat article."

Hannah lowered her hand from his face. Her handkerchief remained clutched limply in her fingers. "Lord Fennick read my article?"

"The animal journal was at the draper's shop, apparently. Jack says they were giving them away."

Hannah nodded. "Miss Winthrop distributes copies there. It helps her to get the word out."

"She's succeeded. Fennick saw it, along with Miss Paley and their friends. He took the opportunity to remark on it, after I'd explicitly warned him that he wasn't to mention your name."

She stilled. This was news to her. "Why ever would you have issued such a warning?"

"Fennick and I have been at odds since university," James said. "If he thought for a moment that he could get to me by hurting you, he wouldn't hesitate to do it. And I won't permit him, or anyone, to hurt you. Not ever. Not even if I must make a thorough spectacle of myself."

Guilt assailed her. However tender the sentiment in his words, the meaning was the same. He'd lost control because of her. He'd subjected himself to scandal. No wonder he was looking so grim, so unrelentingly somber. He must have at last realized the price of any connection with someone as eccentric as herself.

"This is my fault," she said. "If I hadn't exposed myself to ridicule, you would never have felt obliged to fight with Lord Fennick. And now you're upset with me?—"

"I'm not upset with you," he said.

She looked up at him anxiously.

"I'm angry with myself," he said. "All this time, I've been so bloody careful, trying to convince you that you can trust me with your heart. I had hoped that, after this evening, you might be close to changing your mind about me. Instead, all I've done is provide you with incontrovertible evidence of my true character."

Some of the tension eased out of her. "Yes. I suppose you have." She brought her handkerchief back to his lip, pressing it gently against his wound.

His eyes met hers with rueful humor. "I've wanted to pummel Fennick since my first year at Oxford. I never succumbed to the impulse, despite ample provocation. Not until tonight. And then…God help me. I couldn't seem to stop myself."

"I can well understand it."

"Can you?"

"Naturally," she said. "One will go to extraordinary lengths to defend someone they love."

James stared down at her. He didn't speak.

Hannah felt a scalding blush rising in her cheeks. But she wasn't ashamed to have mentioned it, even if she must be the one to mention it first. "You do love me, don't you?" she asked.

"More than life," he said.

Her vision clouded with tears

He covered her hand with his, drawing it to his chest. He held it there against the heavy beat of his heart. "I believe I've loved you since the night I encountered you in the Beasley Park stables," he said. "I knew then how very special you were—how very essential to my happiness. But it's your happiness I've come to care about, not mine. If you don't return my feelings?—"

"Oh, but I do," she said in an earnest rush. She leaned into him. "I do love you, James, so very, very much."

His solemn expression fractured. It seemed to her that, for a breathless moment, his eyes shimmered too. And then, his arms came about her and his mouth seized hers, kissing her fiercely, sweetly.

She encircled his neck, kissing him back.

"You don't have to accompany me to London," he said several scorching moments later. "So long as you're mine, and so long as I know you're waiting when I return?—"

"Of course I'll accompany you," Hannah said.

She understood him now. Knew that he needed her to stand beside him. Not as a hollow trophy, or as some flawless approximation of a society wife, but as an ally. A partner. Someone to fight for him and defend him, just as Hannah would do for anyone else she loved.

"There's no question of that," she said "Not anymore." She paused. "I've only one condition."

"Anything."

"You must ask me again that question you asked in my parents' drawing room that day."

He bent his head to hers. His voice deepened on a husky confession. "I'm afraid to ask it."

Hannah smiled. She smoothed the hair at his nape. "You? Afraid? I don't believe it."

His mouth hitched with wry humor. "I promised your father that if you rejected me again, I would leave Bath never to return."

Her brows shot up. "Papa made you promise that ?"

"He did," James said. "You can see why I've been reluctant to frighten you off."

"There's no fear of that. Not anymore." She prompted him softly, "Ask me, James."

He drew back just enough to meet her eyes. The carriage lamp shone over his face, no longer merely handsome, but infinitely dear. "Will you marry me, sweetheart?"

Hannah returned his gaze as the carriage rolled steadily toward Camden Place. Her eyes blurred again, even as her heart brimmed over with love for him. She had long thought him perfect. Now she knew, beyond all doubt, that he was perfect for her.

"Yes," she said. "I will."