Chapter Seventeen

She awoke before the maid came in to build up the fires.

And somehow she knew. Because the difference between a room containing Magnus and a room that did not was like the difference

between a fire in the hearth and ashes.

They had dozed for a time, then awakened and quietly made love twice more.

She knew she had slept in his arms. But he wasn't in the bed; she slid her foot over to find that the sheets were already

cold.

She sat up abruptly.

The pillow still held the indent of his head. She ran her hand gently over it.

She slid from the bed and opened the clothing press.

All of his clothes were gone.

She sat down hard on the bed, pulling the sheet around her, her gut gone cold with shock.

And then she saw, on the little table in the main room, a sheet of foolscap, folded and sealed with red wax.

She scrambled for it and, with shaking hands, broke the seal and read.

My dearest Alexandra,

I know a little about having no choice.

Because I fell in love with you twice.

My heart decided for me when it first saw you. It gave me no choice in the matter at all. I knew nothing about how to love

or how to be loved. I only knew I loved you from the moment you crossed to me in that white marble foyer of your home. I had

never seen anything so beautiful. My heart recognized its true home.

But here are the things that I did know: How to fight. How to win. I felt my very existence would be imperiled if somehow

you were not mine. One of the many things I have learned the hard way is that love is deaf to reason. I did, as you realized,

what I thought I had to do. I did not believe a woman like you would ever want or love me, but by God, Alexandra, I meant

to make you happy. I meant to try.

So I fell in love with you twice. The very first time I saw you.

And these past few days, all over again.

With all that I knew from the first that you are: beautiful and brave, witty and kind, loyal and stubborn, and proud and passionate. For things I cannot ever hope to put into words. I am not a poet. And I'm not even a particularly brave man. For both you and I have discovered the limits of my bravery. Which is why I am not standing in front of you, speaking, and you are instead reading this letter.

But please never doubt that you are extraordinary.

These are the things important for you to know now:

By the time you read this, I will have departed to board a stage at Rossington Arms Coaching Inn. I am leaving for America,

to live in the New York property.

Yes: I am going to America in your place. I made all the arrangements for this yesterday.

I do not know when or if I will return to England.

Mr. Lawler will remain at your service in all matters. He is in possession of legal documents which make possible the following:

All decisions about what to spend, where to go, who to see, where to live, and how to live belong to you utterly. To you and

you alone.

The town house is yours, for as long as you live, or until you choose to sell it.

The carriage and horses are yours.

And of course, all decisions about who to love are yours. I truly wish you happiness.

My heart is also yours. I'm afraid there's not much I can do about that. I hope you will not view it as a burden; I shall make no demands upon it. I have no need of it anymore, for I can't imagine giving it to anyone else ever again. Perhaps you can view it instead as a souvenir of the time you conquered a conqueror.

I cannot quite ever forgive myself for my selfishness. For not giving you, or allowing you to have, the kind of life you'd

likely dreamed of.

But you are a kinder person than I am, Alexandra. Perhaps one day you will find forgiveness in your heart for a man who knew

everything about war but nothing about love.

I loved you then. I love you now.

I love you always.

Goodbye and be well,

Magnus Brightwall,

Earl of Montcroix

Glory.

There could be no other name for the golden exhilaration that poured through her now, illuminating every cell, pooling around

her wounded, caged heart.

And shattering the lock.

She now took her first full breath of free, loved air.

She gave a soft laugh now, and suddenly she heard again Magnus standing outside of her cell in Newgate: Let her out , he'd ordered.

Goose bumps spangled her everywhere. That was what he'd been doing yesterday morning. Planning, and getting those documents in order. Ever the strategist.

"Oh, Magnus."

He loved her. She loved him. He knew she loved him, too. He must.

For if she was not mistaken...

Her beloved beast had called her bluff.

Alexandra hurtled out of The Grand Palace on the Thames as though she'd been lit on fire, startling a pair of yawning maids

who were desultorily applying feather dusters to things in the sitting room. She carried only her shoes and her bonnet, and

a little pocket watch.

She leaped right into his carriage—now her carriage, apparently. It shocked her not at all that it had been waiting just outside

for her, near the little garden. Magnus would have seen to that. Still, she prayed it meant her instincts were correct.

"Rossington Arms Coaching Inn, please!" she told the driver, who probably already knew. "Please hurry, if you can."

She was thrown back in her seat when he cracked the reins. She finished lacing her dress and smoothing her hastily pinned-up

hair and tying her bonnet in the carriage.

At the end of the Barking Road, a slow-moving costermonger's cart ahead of them ate five precious minutes of the mere seventeen or so she had to get to him, and it was all she could do not to leap out of the carriage and run. Instead, she closed her eyes and prayed. She squeezed her little watch in her palm until it was sweaty and willed time to slow. There was no hope for her heart slowing. It raced ahead of her. It was already with him.

But the driver understood his mission, and he was skillful. At 7:00 a.m., Rossington Arms Coaching Inn at last came into view,

and oh thank God the stagecoach was still visible, its gleaming red bulk rising above a teeming crowd of travelers and well-wishers and spectators,

all threaded through with barking dogs and children and costermongers. The departure of a stagecoach was always a spectacle.

But the horses were harnessed and trunks had been lashed to the top. The driver was clambering up into his seat. He reached

a hand down to help up another man who would be enjoying the cheaper, more scenic, and considerably less comfortable ride

on top.

And this, if she was not mistaken, meant at least some of the other passengers had boarded. They could leave any second.

When the coach halted, she leaped out and plunged into the fray, which refused to cooperate by parting for her.

"My husband. I'm looking for my husband. Please, sir, madam, if you'd just let me through—it's urgent!"

Surely Magnus would be obvious in the crowd. But her path everywhere was blocked by milling humans around which she could

not see, and her voice scarcely penetrated the hubbub.

"I'll be your husband!" a man called cheerily. "Step right over here, miss."

She ignored him.

"He's the Earl of Montcroix. Colonel Brightwall? He's very tall—you really can't miss him! Please, have you seen a very tall

man?"

She was babbling. She knew it sounded like lunacy even before people shied away from her wild eyes and shook their heads.

An excitedly barking dog nearly tripped her.

A man stepped in front of her. "Of course he's an earl, luv," he called. "And I'm the King of England. You'd best try your

luck with me." His fingers scrabbled at her elbow, attempting a grip.

She spun and snarled, "Take your hand off me or I'll stab you with a hairpin."

He leaped backward.

A thicket of people clogged her path in every direction. Every time she feinted to the left or to the right, someone stepped

in her way. She couldn't see around them or over them. She'd had nightmares like this: running and running to try to reach

someone as the distance grew ever longer.

"MAGNUS!"

If a countess howling his name like a battle cry at a coaching inn caused a scandal, so be it. If they hauled her off to Newgate

for jabbing interferers with a pin—well, this seemed unlikely. But wasn't it convenient that she knew how to manage that,

too?

Only one thing mattered.

She would shout down the walls of Jericho if that's what it took to find him.

"MAGNUS!" She whirled. Why wasn't she taller ? She wanted to be taller. The wind tugged her bonnet from her head. But this time her ribbons were secure.

And then it occurred to her: if she didn't see him, he must already be aboard the coach.

And perhaps he was sitting inside, this man who had waited all of his life to be wanted , his heart shattered, believing she hadn't come for him.

A cold horror gripped her.

She spun and elbowed her way through outraged people to get closer to the carriage. An employee of the inn was crouching to

do a final inspection of the wheels.

"Excuse me, sir—I need to see whether my husband is aboard."

"They all say that, madam. Where is your pass?"

"Well, I haven't a pass for Rossington Station—"

"Then we can't let you on the coach to look," he said maddeningly reasonably.

"If you could just ask—"

"We have a schedule, madam." He sounded nervous now. His eyes cut to a few red-coated soldiers standing on the perimeter.

"Please step back." He stood and spread out his arms as if to shield the carriage from her advances.

She was very close to panicking now. What if she was wrong after all? What if he'd sent her here so he could safely depart from another coaching inn? What if he'd never made it here at all because a slow cart had halted his progress?

She staggered back when someone jostled her roughly.

She righted herself and saw a rare clearing about the size of one person in the thicket of people. She instinctively plunged

into it and pulled in another breath for another shout, her voice frayed now. "MAG..."

And suddenly, there he stood.

Everyone milling about, of course, cleared the way for him and the madwoman who'd been so desperate to find him.

He was an island in a gently heaving human sea.

She feasted her eyes. Held fast by a sort of beautiful terror and exultation. She pressed her knuckles against her lips to

stifle a sob of relief.

He didn't look surprised to see her. He was, however, as radiant as a lamp.

He paced to her at once and, without preamble, gently collected her with one arm and pulled her into his body. He wrapped

both arms around her, enfolding her completely, and oh , thank God, this was home. Here in his arms.

He merely held her tightly a moment. One of his hands fanned the back of her head.

She curled her fingers into his shirt and clung. She could feel the relief in him as he released a huge breath.

"I wanted you to be able to choose," he murmured into her hair.

"I know," she replied. "So I chose. I choose you."

She knew, too, that he'd wanted desperately to be chosen.

For a moment she just savored the feel of him breathing.

"Magnus?"

"Yes?" His voice was a rumble against her cheek.

"I wondered..." She swallowed.

"Yes?"

"If you would consider staying here in London."

He lifted his cheek from her head to gaze down at her. "Oh? Why would you like me to stay?" His tone was so gentle. But it

was an absolutely brutal question.

His hand trembled as he lifted a strand of hair from her now wet cheek.

She shook her head. "Tell me." Her voice was a rasp. "I want to hear it in your voice. In your words. Tell me."

His shoulders moved as he took on air for courage. Knowing what she now knew about him, she understood laying himself thusly

bare required take-a-bullet-for-General-Blackmore bravery.

"I love you, Alexandra."

Oh, it broke her open completely. And inside she was made of nothing but light. Blazing light.

"I love you, too."

Her voice had gone small and cracked and he was at once a beautiful blur made of light, too: it shone from him. He radiated

through her tears.

That she could make someone so happy with those three words seemed miraculous, a gift she hardly deserved.

He groaned softly, a sound of profound joy and relief.

And heedless of the milling crowds, he kissed her. Softly, lingeringly.

"Magnus, don't go to America. Please don't go. I'm sorry I hurt you. If I could undo it all... if I had only known...

I want to stay here with you."

"Oh, my love." His lips brushed her wet cheek. "My sweetheart. I'm sorry, too. But it's all right now. We'll go together one

day, if you'd like. But never again will I go anywhere without you if you don't want me to. I am yours, however, wherever,

whenever you want me."

"I want you now, I want you here, Magnus, and I want you forever. You were right from the beginning. We do suit."

His smile was slow and brilliant. "Very well, then. Forever starts today, Mrs. Brightwall."

He linked his arm through hers, and at long last, the Beast took his bride home.