What a Lady Most Desires (31 page)

 

Chapter 72

S
tephen sat in the study of Nicholas's London house—­a guest this time, at least until he decided what his future would hold. He crumpled yet another sheet of writing paper. A field of others already littered the rug. How many letters had he started, only to realize he had no idea how to win Delphine back?

He had seen the vulnerability, the fear in her green eyes when he asked if he could call. He was certain she still had feelings for him, or at least he hoped she did. He loved her. All her boldness, her flirtations, were just a façade, a shield to protect a tender heart. He'd gotten behind that shield and wounded her deeply—­even more deeply than Durling had.

She'd healed his hurts, given him back his life. Now it was his turn.

Except that she refused to see him, and he had no idea how to convince her in a letter.

A diplomat would analyze the situation and offer terms, a compromise.

A soldier would demand complete surrender.

But a man in love—­he stared down at the blank page. He had never revealed such deep feelings before, laid his soul open and bare. He had always kept his emotions hidden, as a rule, to avoid complications. But then, he'd never the kinds of feelings before that he had now for Delphine.

He had received an offer of a diplomatic posting. He had a few short days to decide if he would take it, and leave England. It was the kind of mission he'd once dreamed of, but now it meant nothing without Delphine.

He took up his pen once more, and sighed.

 

Chapter 73

“I
have arranged letters of credit for the banks in Paris and Naples,” Lord Ainsley said to his children. “I have hired an interpreter for you, Sebastian, and I've written to Lord Snelgrove in Venice. He will be pleased to welcome you both, show you the sights.”

Delphine jotted down her father's instructions, since Sebastian wasn't paying attention. Her brother slumped in a chair next to her own in front of their father's desk and looked bored. He only wished to get away from the dullness of winter in London, and their departure tomorrow could not come soon enough. Delphine fidgeted with her pencil, dropped it, and watched as it rolled away under the desk. She knelt to search for it.

There was a knock at the door. “There's a caller, my lord,” the butler said, handing Ainsley a card.

“Lord Stephen Ives,” Ainsley read aloud. “Castlereagh's protégé. Send him in.” Delphine gasped, and tried to stand up. She hit her head on the desk, and stars whirled. “Papa, no—­”

But he was walking through the door. She ducked under the desk again. Sebastian looked at her oddly, and she waved him to silence.

“Good morning, my lord,” Stephen said, bowing. Delphine peered out around the edge of the desk.

He took her breath away, just the way he always did.

“Are you here to see Del?” Sebastian asked. “She's right—­”

She pinched his calf, hard. Her brother bit back a cry and shut his mouth.

“I am, but I also wish to speak to you, Lord Ainsley,” Stephen said.

“Excellent,” Ainsley said. “I am most interested to hear your opinions about the Vienna Congress, and Waterloo, of course. Castlereagh speaks highly of you. I hear you've been offered a diplomatic post in Italy. Do sit down.”

Italy? Delphine shut her eyes. Sebastian resumed his seat and set his hand on the top of her head, drumming his fingers on her skull, indicating boredom.

“I've actually come to—­” Stephen began, but the door opened again.

Her mother entered in a flurry of ruffled silk. “I can't imagine how my nerves will survive my children's follies. The Continent! I cannot bear the idea of Delphine going away, though I hope the trip will give Sebastian a bit more polish—­oh, we have a guest,” she said, noticing Stephen.

“This is Lord Stephen Ives,” Ainsley said. “He's come to tell me of his adventures.”

“His adventures?” Lady Ainsley said. “Aren't you the one who was accused of cowardice?”

“He was acquitted, Maman,” Sebastian said, twining a lock of Delphine's hair around his finger, tugging gently, trying to coax her out. She knew she should stand up, come out, but that would look odd indeed, since she'd been hiding for too long already. “It was all thanks to Del—­” Sebastian began, and she pinched him again. He tugged hard on the strand of hair.

“I was hoping to speak to you on another matter, Lord Ainsley,” Stephen said. Just the sound of his voice drew a ragged fingernail over Delphine's frayed nerves, set them quivering. “Can we talk privately?” he asked.

“Privately?” Sebastian said. “Whatever for? I'm quite interested in your experiences as well, Ives.” He shifted his leg before Delphine could pinch him again. She watched as Stephen's feet changed stance. He hesitated.

“Actually, I wished to say—­that is,
to ask
—­” He stopped again, and Delphine held her breath. He would ask to see her. No doubt he was here to tell her of his new posting, say that he was leaving England, and her. There would be words of gratitude and farewell, a handshake, a brotherly kiss on the cheek, and he would go. She shut her eyes. She could not endure that, not after—­well, everything he'd been to her.

“Go ahead,” Sebastian said. “We're all family, Ives.”

“Yes, but if I would prefer to speak to you privately, my lord,” Stephen tried again, and Delphine heard the edge of embarrassment in his voice. Her eyes flew open in dread. Surely he didn't intend to tell her father that she—­they—
Oh, no
. Her cheeks flamed. He wouldn't. She imagined her father's face as Stephen described the picnic on the riverbank—­she glanced up, saw Sebastian regarding her with curiosity and amusement. She glared at him, tried to rise, but Sebastian put his hand on the top of her head and pressed her back down again.

“What's this about, Ives?” Sebastian prompted, but there was another knock at the door. “His Grace the Duke of Temberlay,” the butler intoned, and Stephen turned.

“Nick!”

Nicholas bowed to the earl and countess and grinned at Stephen. “Well?” he asked. “I have to leave for Temberlay at once, and I just wanted to see if—­wait, where's Del?”

“I haven't seen her yet,” Stephen said sharply. “Is it Meg, the baby?”

Nicholas nodded. “Yes, soon, but the first thing she'll ask me is whether or not Delphine said yes.”

Delphine clapped her hand over her mouth. Dear God, he'd come to propose.

“Yes?” Lady Ainsley asked. “What was the question? Did I miss that part?”

Nicholas frowned at Stephen. “Haven't you—­” His brows flew upward when Stephen shook his head, his face flushing.

“I haven't had the chance!”

“You haven't—­? What are you waiting for?”

“A bit of privacy would be nice,” Stephen said through gritted teeth. “I hadn't imagined that I would have to do this before an audience.”

“You could rent a hall, sell tickets,” Sebastian quipped. “Anyone else waiting to come in?” he asked the butler.

“What did you wish to say, my lord?” Lady Ainsley asked. “Perhaps you'd better bring tea, Barton, and extra cups.”

Stephen looked mortified, but he carefully smoothed his features to diplomatic blandness. “I have come to see if—­” He ran a hand through his hair, and fell silent. Every eye in the room was fixed on him expectantly. It was so quiet the clock sounded like thunder.

Nicholas folded his arms over his chest. “I don't think anyone is going to leave now, so you'd better get on with it.”

Stephen glared at his friend. “I had thought to speak to Delphine first—­after I saw Lord Ainsley, of course. It doesn't seem fair that she should be the last to know.”

Delphine swallowed, her heart pounding. She couldn't breathe, or move. Stephen began to pace, and she watched his boots move across the carpet. “I am not the kind of man given to public declarations,” he said, and stopped walking. “But I—­” He took a gulp of air, and turned to face her father. “I wish to marry Delphine.”

Lady Ainsley yelped and clapped a hand over her heart. Delphine peered out from her hiding place. Her father regarded Stephen calmly. “I think we must consider—­” he began, but Stephen interrupted.

“I know, Delphine's feelings. That's why I've come. To see.”

“She has refused others before you,” Ainsley said. “Why do you wish to marry my daughter?”

Stephen shifted. “It's not about money, my lord, or your title, though I'm certain you would be a fine gentleman to be related to by marriage.”

Sebastian stifled a snicker, but Delphine didn't pinch him. She was staring at Stephen.

“I, that is—­”

“Say it,” Nicholas prompted.

“She loves me,” Stephen blurted.

There was more silence.

“I mean, I love her. I
love
her.” He paused, took a breath. “If she is here, I would like your permission, sir, to tell her that, and to ask her to be my wife.”

Sebastian gripped Delphine's head and nodded it up and down for her. She was too stunned to resist.

“Delphine? Do you have anything to say to this gentleman's request?” her father asked, leaning forward to look under the desk.

Stephen turned. They all turned, and Sebastian offered her his hand. Mortified, her cheeks blazing, she stood up. Stephen stared at her in surprise, his brows rising even as his jaw dropped.

Nicholas grinned.

Her mother's eyes widened, and the countess opened her mouth to speak, but Lord Ainsley took his wife's arm firmly. “You have my permission to speak to Delphine, my lord. We'll clear the room and give you the privacy you wanted.”

But Stephen didn't bow, or move, or speak. His eyes remained on hers. He slowly crossed the room toward her. He took her hand and dropped to one knee before anyone could leave. They all stopped where they were, clustered by the door, and watched. “I love you, Delphine St. James. Will you marry me?”

She looked at him, her heart pounding, and the answer hovered on her lips.

Then he swallowed, and she realized he looked afraid. Terrified, in fact.

“No,” she said, her heart falling.

“Delphine!” her mother gasped.

“Oh for—­” her brother began.

Nicholas sighed.

Her father regarded her carefully. “Are you sure, Delphine? A goodly number of men have come to ask me for your hand, my dear, but I have never received such a heartfelt proposal before today.”

“No,” she whispered again. “I can see the fear in your eyes, Stephen. You feel you have to do this because we—­” Her face flamed. “But you don't. I forgive you.”

He got to his feet. “Afraid? Of course I'm afraid! I was afraid of
this
, Delphine—­of no, instead of yes.” He closed his eyes. “I'm not making sense. I
want
to marry you. I'm not afraid. I love you. It took blindness for me to see that, to understand that without you, I will always remain blind and broken and wounded. You are my eyes, Delphine. You showed me the man I want to be, with you by my side, my wife, my lover. I want to grow old with you, wake up to your smile, the sound of your voice, your touch.” He paused, swallowed. “Will you at least allow me to start again? Not from before the picnic, or from the moment I asked you to dance at the duchess's ball—­from the moment I met you, when I was still perfect in your eyes. You said I turned away. I was a fool to do so, I know now I was in love with you even then, I was just too foolish to see that you were—­are—­everything I've ever wanted. It would be impossible for me to turn away now. If you give me your permission, I will court you, woo you, for however long it takes to convince you that I love you, and to prove to you that I am not afraid.” He sank to his knees again. “Will you allow me to call upon you, my lady?”

Delphine looked into his eyes again. She saw herself reflected in the gray depths, saw her place in his heart. There was no one else in the world that mattered to him, or to her.

She fell to her knees too, threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Yes.”

“Oh, Delphine!” her mother began to cry, and reached for her husband's handkerchief.

“At last,” Sebastian said.

“Meg will be pleased,” Nicholas chuckled.

Stephen looked confused. “Yes to which question?” She laughed and kissed him again.

She looked up at her family, beaming from one face to the other. “I love him. I have no idea if he's a Tory—­are you?” she asked him, but he was too stunned to reply. “I don't care!” She looked at her father. “Is that all right if I marry him, Papa?”

Her father regarded her with a warm smile. “You don't need my blessing, dear girl, but you have it.”

Nicholas grinned. “I assume it's safe to tell Meg you said yes?”

“Yes,” she said again, her eyes on Stephen, his on her. “Yes.” He smiled at her, and there was only love in his eyes. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her properly.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I know.”

One by one everyone else left the room, but Stephen and Delphine didn't even notice. They had each other at last, and it was enough.

 

Epilogue

June 1816

Naples

S
tephen was bared to the waist and grinning. Delphine shaded her eyes against the sun and laughed as he pulled another sheep from the pen and began to clip the fleece from the struggling creature. He wasn't quite as proficient as the shepherd working next to him, but he was doing fine—­until he looked up to smile at her, and the ewe took the opportunity to wriggle out of his grip. Two strong lads caught her, and he turned over the shears to them and came toward Delphine. She stood in the strong Italian sun and opened her arms to him, kissing him quickly, ruffling his sun-­streaked hair. He set his hand gently on her swelling belly. “All right?' he asked.

“Hmm, better than that,” she said. She pulled a bit of fleece off his chin. “You must be the only diplomat in the world who shears his own sheep.”

He grinned at her. “I'm getting better at it. You shall card the wool and spin it and knit blankets for our son,” he teased.

The baby kicked. “Our
daughter
is going to be a champion boxer some day,” she whispered back, and he rewarded her with a kiss. He picked up his shirt and went to the pump to wash.

“I had a letter from Meg this morning,” Delphine said, watching him. He still took her breath away. “Baby David is teething. Nicholas says there's an estate for sale near Temberlay, if we're interested.”

He looked up with a smile. “We can go home next spring, when the posting ends,” he said. “Not just rent a farm in Italy, but own land of our own.”

“Are ye askin' me, m'lord?” she teased.

“Do you fancy being a farmer's wife?”

“We'd be home in time to plant crops,” she said. “We could spend the evenings by the fire, and I'll read to you, and bake cherry tarts—­when I learn how.” She watched him shrug into his shirt, and helped him button it.

“I'll plant you a rose garden for summer days.”

“Perfect.” She sighed.

He reached down to pluck a daisy from the side of the path, and tucked it behind her ear.

“Perfect indeed,” he said, studying her, his eyes growing hot. “Shall we have a picnic supper by the river?”

Delphine laughed as she slipped her hand into his, and they walked up the path together.