Chapter Thirty-Seven

Oscar was glad that Warring and Hartley arrived when they did. He'd had the blade to Ladrón's throat, and he wasn't entirely

sure what he might have done because he couldn't stop seeing the image of Honoria being held against her will.

For a moment, just a moment, he felt his own monster deep within. But in that same moment, he knew that if he let it out,

he would never forgive himself. And that wasn't the man he wanted to be.

All his life, he'd either been running from something or chasing after someone. He hadn't spent enough time in one place to

figure out what he wanted out of his own life.

He knew it now. And he wanted her.

Unfortunately, there was a little matter of a betrothal contract and the real Vandemere to contend with.

"Couldn't have planned the timing better myself," Warring said with a wry grin that lifted a dark slash of eyebrows higher

on his forehead. "Remind me to ask for Miss Hartley's assistance the next time there's a suspect guilty of piracy and murder

to apprehend."

Oscar growled, his gaze traveling to where Honoria stood with her father and scowling brother, and looking as though she were

getting a tongue-lashing. "Any man who underestimates her is a fool."

"I'd say any man who dares to love her is a fool, but I believe I'm looking at one right now."

"Aye. And unfortunately, her betrothed showed up at the abbey just before I left."

"What was that?"

Oscar shook his head. "I'll fill you in another time. For now, I need to speak with her. Alone. I know I've asked a great

deal of you, but would you do me one last favor?"

"Do you have any idea how many accolades I'll receive for turning in Ladrón and his thugs? You can ask for favors until we're

one hundred," he said, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. Then he gave him a little shove. "Go. I'll take care of the rest."

Grateful to his friend, Oscar strode over to Honoria, surprised that he managed to appear calm and collected when he had five

thousand demons running amok inside him.

Turning to her father, he asked if he could take her away from all this. When her brother opened his mouth as if he might

answer, Hartley cut in and gave his permission. Honoria had the good sense to appear sheepish when she looked up at him, but

Oscar knew better.

Thankfully, Raglan was no worse for wear and managed to drive them away from the commotion as the villagers started clamoring,

discussing what fun their play had been, without knowing the truth of it.

When their retreating carriage was met with a round of applause, he shot a glare to Honoria, his back molars grinding. "If

you dare sketch a bow or even wave at your audience, I will throttle you."

Her sheepish facade faded in a flash, and she narrowed her eyes. "Try it, and I will remove your bollocks with a dull knife."

Damn, but he loved her. But that didn't stop him from being furious with her.

The instant they were away from the crowd, he unleashed all the worry and terror and dread her actions had wrought on him.

"You little idiot! Why didn't you listen to me? You shouldn't have been anywhere near Ladrón!"

"I was trying to save you, you ungrateful beast. And don't you dare underestimate me. I'm not just an ornament to hang on

your arm."

"Save your outrage." He scoffed. "You know very well that I never treated you like a porcelain doll. More than anyone, I know

how capable you are. But today you went too far, and you bloody well know it."

She threw her hands up. "Was I supposed to stand by and simply wait for him to kill you one day? No. Not when I could do something

to prevent it. I couldn't have lived with it. Don't you understand? I cannot lose you. Not you."

"Why?"

"You know why! Aren't you the blackguard who always sees through me?"

"There's only one reason you'd be foolish enough to put your own life at risk." Reaching across the carriage, he took her

by the shoulders and pulled her to him, even though he wasn't sure if he wanted to shake her or kiss her. "And that reason

is because you love me."

She pushed at his chest. "You're wrong. I hate you."

"Try again, Signore. You love me. Say it."

"Stop. Stop it."

"Say the words," he commanded, shaking his head when she tried to cover his mouth with her hands. "Tell me you love me as

much as I love you."

A growl of frustration tore from her throat, her eyes glistening with angry tears. She glared back at him in challenge, her

lips clamped shut, her arms folding beneath her breasts.

But he knew what was there, behind her mulish silence. Knew that she was clutching at her own heart, trying to keep it from

breaking free.

He gave her a tiny shake. "Do you know what I thought when I saw his sword at your throat?"

"You're a sapskull if you thought I'd let him hurt you!"

She grabbed him just as hard, then crushed her mouth to his.

All at once, they were lost in a frenzy of hard breaths and groping hands. Mouths devouring, tongues fencing and tangling.

Teeth raking over tender flesh.

He tore off her spencer and threw it out the window. Then he dragged down the shoulder of her gown, tugged the corset and

chemise aside and feasted on her breast. Her nails bit into his scalp as she held him there, neck arching.

They were too far gone for gentle love play. There was too much need and urgency. They had to feel each other, to drive away

the memory of what might have happened. And they both understood that sometimes life was demanding and harsh, and the only

thing to ease the ache of it was the connection of skin to skin.

Straddling him, she clawed at the fastenings of his breeches. Gripped his turgid flesh. Anchored him beneath her core and

impaled herself in one slick slide.

He took her hips and drove deep, deeper still. As the carriage raced on, they ate at each other's mouths, feeding each other

primal grunts and groans, abandoning themselves out of need, out of a love that neither one of them wanted or expected. But

it was there in every fevered kiss and punishing thrust. It was there in every thundering beat of his heart and hers.

He felt her body clench around him, gripping him. Milking him as she shattered on a garbled moan of pleasure. The need to

spill inside her, to claim her, was almost unbearable. But he held on and on, even as her climax threatened to rip out his

soul.

"I'm close. I need to..." His hands tightened on her hips, ready to lift her the instant her spasms subsided.

But she took his face in her hands in the way that always undid him. "Stay. Stay inside me."

Then she pressed her mouth to his. And Oscar stayed, surging up on a choked shout, filling her again and again, even as she cried out and slipped over the edge, tumbling headlong into another quake that wrenched the life from both of them.

***

Honoria tried to catch her breath as she sagged against Oscar.

She was still absorbing everything that had happened—how close she'd been to losing him, the desperation in their lovemaking,

her command for him to spill inside of her.

She could still feel the pulse of his flesh wedged deep. Feel the ripples of pleasure running through her veins, even as the

fear began to take hold.

What had she done?

She knew what that could bring. Her friend, Meg, had been belly-full after a single interlude in Italy. Her family had been

understanding. Honoria's, however, believed in matrimony before progeny, even if that meant a mad dash to Gretna Green. After

all, Truman's birthday fell barely seven months after the anniversary of her parents' nuptials.

But now, the children she'd been too afraid to have, too afraid to risk losing, were a possibility. Her only excuse was that

she'd wanted, needed , to feel him, to celebrate being alive with him. In those moments, she'd felt so free, so open to the joy of living that

she'd forgotten the pain and sorrow that could accompany it.

She had always kept her heart safe from that pain. But now? She felt utterly exposed to it. Instead of a reliable brick wall

surrounding her heart, that traitorous organ had slipped through the cracks and sank kitten claws into Oscar, refusing to

let him go.

And it terrified her.

"I need air," she said, easing up and away from him, wincing from the tender sting that sudden emptiness can bring. "Could

we stop the carriage? I need to breathe."

An instant before he closed his eyes and blew out a breath, she glimpsed the frustration and impatience. Then he reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a handkerchief. Before he could tend to her as he'd done after their previous occasions, she took it from his grasp and discreetly cleaned the slick of their fluids from between her thighs.

Looking out the window and seeing the abbey drawing near, he cursed. Then he tapped on the roof and called up to Mr. Raglan.

"Take us down by the lake."

The carriage turned, rumbling and bouncing over the uneven path as they regarded each other from opposite sides.

He was still breathing hard, taking up all the air she needed. His face was marked with the intensity of a thousand questions.

Or perhaps just one. And she chose to turn her attention to the view beyond the window.

When the carriage stopped, she reached for the door latch.

He laid his hand over hers. "Come with me. Let's hie away to Gretna Green."

"Now?"

"I want a life with you. I may only be a beggar, a pickpocket and a gambler, but I'll work at making you happy all the days

of your life if you'll have me."

"To be clear, you are asking me to marry you... now?"

"Yes, Honoria," he said with a small laugh as if she were the one going mad. "As my mother once told me, sometimes all we

have is a moment. I didn't realize how true that was until today. And even though I've been offering wisdom to you on how

to live your life to the fullest, I didn't know that I haven't been living until today. Because in order to live, to truly

live, you have to risk it all—your heart, your soul, your past and your future. You have to lay all your cards on the table."

"I... I need air," she said and bolted from the carriage. She heard him follow, the crunch of his boots on the occasional

twig not far behind her. "You're talking a good deal more than you usually do."

"I'm trying to make you understand."

"Oh, I understand," she said, pacing in a flurry of wrinkled skirts and disheveled hair. "I just don't think you grasp the enormity

of the question you've posed. Otherwise, you wouldn't expect me to answer you now... after the day we've had."

"There will always be days like this." When she turned and gaped at him, he shrugged. "Well, not exactly like this. There

will be difficult days ahead, however. No one can avoid them. But I firmly believe that we will weather them better together."

Honoria was scared. Terrified. As she listened to him tell her that she'd have to make herself vulnerable in order to live,

and promised her difficult days ahead, she knew she should be running in the opposite direction.

And yet, she was rooted to this spot, gazing into Oscar's eyes and wanting more than anything to not be scared.

As if reading her thoughts, he reached out and took her hand. "You won't be alone at that anvil in the blacksmith's forge.

I'll be there beside you, and for all the days that follow."

Devil's doorknocker! Why didn't she run screaming in the opposite direction when she had the chance? It was too late now.

He'd pushed her over the edge, and her heart was no longer her own.

"Oh, Oscar. I suppose I do—" She saw a man enter the clearing between the trees and the lake and said, "Someone is coming."

Oscar turned, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. "You again. Look. I don't have time to deal with you. Honoria, I

believe you were about to answer—"

" You are Honoria Hartley?" the man interrupted, agog.

With her hair in a wild tumble down her shoulders and her dress torn, she could imagine what type of woman he thought she

was as his gaze turned from glazed to lurid.

"I am. And you are...? Wait." She pointed, her brows lifting. "I saw you in the village earlier."

"Yes, I was on my way home. Here, at Dunnelocke Abbey, that is. I'm Vandemere. The real Vandemere. I don't know who this impostor is, but I've already sent for the magistrate."

Her gaze whipped to Oscar, and she saw the horrible truth written on his face.

"I planned to tell you," he said.

"Whatever you want to say to her, you can tell the magistrate. Doubtless you will be charged with fraud, at the very least.

And if you're fortunate, you'll only be exported for your crimes."

"But I needed you to make your choice," Oscar continued as if the other man hadn't spoken. "It has to be your choice, Honoria.

I won't take that from you."

"Gretna Green," she whispered in understanding and glanced toward the carriage where Mr. Raglan waited.

They still had time...

But the thunder of hooves beating on the long drive to the abbey drew her attention to the riders and carriages approaching

in the distance.

"That will be the magistrate," Vandemere said smugly. "Before he is upon us, I'd like my father's ring, if you don't mind."

Reflexively, Honoria wrapped her fist around her necklace and his brows rose. Then he took a step toward her.

Oscar moved between them. "Don't even think about touching her."

"Toby," she said, glancing over Vandemere's shoulder at the young man's approach. "I'm glad you're here, for we could very

much use your assistance. I don't know who this man is, but he's—"

"Take hold of his arms, Shellhorn." Caught by surprise, Shellhorn took Oscar's arms as Vandemere punched him in the gut.

Honoria rushed forward to shield him as he doubled over, coughing.

"Stop it. Stop it at once!" She pummeled Vandemere with her fists. But that was when he wrapped a hand around her necklace and yanked it free. "No!"

She tried to take it back, clawing at his fist even as he turned to walk away. But he shoved her to the ground, and she fell

hard.

"See here, Vandemere," Shellhorn scolded. "You cannot treat a lady like that."

Without a word, Vandemere stripped the ring from the chain and slid it onto his finger.

"I think I can do whatever I want," he said, then he hurled the chain and locket into the lake before he strode back toward

the abbey.

"No!" Honoria screamed again, her hand covering her mouth as her most precious possession fell beneath the surface.

Oscar suddenly shrugged out of Shellhorn's grasp and dove into the water.

She wanted to stop him, to call out. They still had time to make their escape.

But the moments ticked by, and he didn't surface. All she saw were ripples, bubbles rising from beneath.

"I didn't know, Miss Hartley," Toby said forlornly as he helped her up from the ground. "That Vandemere said he'd put us out

on our ears if I didn't do what I was told."

As the horses thundered up the lane, she stood by the water's edge waiting for Oscar. And in those terrifying moments, she

felt the utter aloneness and impotent fear that had been with her, locked inside of her, for most of her life.

Then she saw something—a blur of white just beneath the surface—and her breath stalled.