by Lily Maxton
Her hands clasped tightly, painfully in front of her, she gazed at a point in the center of his chest as she finished. “That’s the only reason I didn’t leave him. I hate him, but I was prepared to give myself to him for the sake of my child. The day he returned I wanted to give myself to him so he would honor his part of the contract.”
Adam didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. His face was a mask of granite.
“But I couldn’t do it,” she said hoarsely. “I couldn’t bear his hands on me.” She shuddered out an unsteady breath. “I failed. I failed my own child.”
Her breath lodged in her throat as she waited for his response.
“Why do you think you’ve failed? You clearly already love your child. You already worry about protecting it. I wouldn’t call that failure,” he said.
At his words, she closed her eyes, too overwhelmed to meet his gaze. He truly didn’t think any less of her. Not for making that sort of agreement with a man she despised. And not for failing to see it through.
She opened her eyes and gazed at him through a sheen of tears, her chest squeezing painfully. “But…how could I ever stay and ask you to pick up the pieces of my foolish mistakes?”
His eyes softened to a tenderness so poignant her heart nearly broke in two. “My love, how could you not?”
Unconditional.
The word seemed to give her wings.
“If I stayed…” she whispered shakily, “could you love Riverton’s bastard?”
“I can love your child,” he said.
She studied his face, the dear lines she knew so well. The face she used to dream of, even when she wouldn’t let her mind conjure him in her waking thoughts. Her gaze traced the strong line of his jaw, the nose that was just a little too long. She looked into the depths of his eyes and felt a spark, a recognition, deep in her soul. It caught fire, and expanded, and filled her very marrow.
She hadn’t needed to ask the question. Of course he could love her child as his own. That was the kind of man he was.
“I have something to show you,” she said.
She slid past him and up the stairs, and his heavy tread followed her. When she entered the spare chamber where she kept her things, she moved across the room and knelt by the bed. From under it, she pulled out her small rosewood chest.
Adam remained standing. She felt his presence next to her as she opened the chest.
The contents were sparse. Her gaze immediately went to a battered, well-used copy of Robinson Crusoe, one of the few gifts her father had given her. But she wasn’t after the book itself, only the object tucked inside it. Of all the mementos in that box, it was worth the least.
But it meant the most.
She opened the book and, with trembling fingers, gently touched the delicate wildflower.
She gazed down at the crushed blossom, an undying symbol, and thought about what it meant. “You gave this flower to me. I’ve kept it all this time. I’ve carried you with me.” She looked up at him with her heart in her throat.
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “I always have.”
It was a breath of sound. It was barely audible. But it was enough.
He reached out to grasp her hand, to pull her to her toes and bring her up against him. They clung tightly to each other. They sought warmth and solace and strength in one another, and they both found all of those things, and more.
They found a love that was unconditional.
Chapter Fourteen
Adam eased quietly from bed when the sky was just beginning to lighten. He glanced down at Julia, who was still asleep. One hand was tucked under her face, the other stretched out toward him. He kissed her before slipping away.
He walked up to Blakewood Hall, through dew-covered grass, and thought about the conversation he’d once had with Julia about dawn being his favorite time of day.
He rounded the corner to the back of the house and knocked on the servant’s entrance. He was relieved when he saw Cassandra’s worried face peek out at him instead of one of the other servant’s.
“What in the world are you doing here?” she hissed. “The gossip is all over the estate. They’re saying you attacked Riverton for no reason.”
“Believe me,” he said drily, “there was a reason. May I come in?”
“I don’t know if I should let you,” she said.
“I want to speak with him, that’s all.”
“About what?” she asked suspiciously.
“About Julia,” he answered.
She sighed and opened the door wide enough that he could slip through. “I hope I don’t regret this.”
“Thank you,” he whispered, squeezing her hand gently before making his way to the servant’s staircase.
“Here,” she said, plucking a candle from the table and shoving it toward him.
He didn’t run across anyone else as he climbed up the shadowed stairway. It was still early enough that most of the servants were sleeping. He stepped carefully and silently, going along the corridor that led to the master’s bedchamber.
When he peered into the bedchamber, he saw Riverton in the faint light, asleep under the bedclothes and snoring slightly.
Adam set the candle holder on the small table next to the bed. He was tempted to wake Riverton with the cold water that had been left in the washstand. But making him angry and unreasonable wasn’t his goal, so he grabbed the man’s shoulder and shook him awake instead.
“What the dev—” Riverton began groggily, blinking. His eyes widened when he saw Adam standing above him. He shot straight up.
He opened his mouth, but Adam quickly cut him off.
“I wish to speak to you,” Adam said curtly. “And then I’ll leave for good.”
The marquess eyed him warily. “Can I have my dressing robe, at least?” he asked.
Adam grabbed the garment and threw it at the marquess, who pulled it on as he slipped from bed. He was almost as tall as Adam, but not quite.
“Very well, Mr. Radcliff,” he said lazily. “Convince me why I shouldn’t send for the magistrate right now and have you hanged for breaking into my house?”
“Try it,” Adam said. “I’ll be gone before word has reached him. And maybe, since I’ll have a price on my head anyway, I’ll kill you first, for the sheer pleasure of it. I think I would enjoy killing you very, very much.”
The marquess blinked at the barely concealed venom in Adam’s words, and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re boring me,” he said levelly. “What do you want?”
“I want you to honor the contract you made with Julia. I want you to support your child.”
Riverton laughed incredulously. “That’s ridiculous. Julia didn’t honor her side of the agreement.”
“Why should that matter? You created a life. You have a child. And now you’re going to abandon it?”
“It is no concern of mine,” the blackguard said.
“It should be.”
“Why?” Riverton exploded. “Because a whore failed to get rid of the blasted thing? For all I know she tricked me—”
The marquess’s words were cut off abruptly when Adam’s fist connected to the side of his face and his head snapped back. “You’re a slow learner, my lord.”
“You bastard!” Riverton cried, pressing his hand to his jaw, where a red patch was already blooming. “You dare to put your hands on me? You’re a lowly gardener…a servant! You are worth nothing—”
Adam cut him off with a sharp motion of his hand. “Men like you disgust me,” he said vehemently. “You speak of honor, you speak of being a gentleman, but those aren’t things you can just put on and take off like an old coat—they’re with you all the time. They’re with you when it’s convenient, and they’re with you when it’s not convenient. You have no choice. That’s what honor is.”
“I know what honor is,” Riverton snapped.
“Then you’ll support your child.”
The marquess hesitated, but only briefly. “No.”
<
br /> Slowly, Adam lowered himself to his knees on the floor, but he kept his head up and met the other man’s startled gaze calmly as he said, “Please, Lord Riverton.”
“Good God, man. Get up!”
Adam shook his head. He meant to see this through.
“You’re begging for a courtesan. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“And you’ve never made a fool of yourself over anything, have you?” Adam said, letting his disdain seep through in his voice. “You don’t know real honor. You don’t know love. And you never will if you don’t change. Love humbles you. It transforms you. It makes you willing to do anything just to make someone else happy. It doesn’t matter if that makes you look like a fool, because that person’s happiness is the only reward you need or want. And you know with dead certainty that she would gladly look like a fool to make you happy, too.”
Riverton just glared.
“Tell me. Who would look like a fool for you, Riverton?” Adam demanded quietly.
The other man’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t speak.
“Julia was the first woman who ever rejected you, wasn’t she? You thought with your fancy title and your untold wealth, everyone would always give you everything you asked for. But she chose me, a lowly gardener, a servant, over you. Why do you think that is?”
“Because she loves you,” Riverton admitted sourly, reluctantly.
“Why does she love me?”
The marquess cast a superior glance over him. “The reason eludes me.”
“She once told me I’m a true gentleman. That I didn’t just play at it. You are the one who is worth nothing, Riverton. But it’s not too late to change that. Not yet.”
With sure, deliberate movement, Adam got to his feet.
The marquess glared at him. The other man’s fingers gripped his upper arms, though he was trying to look unconcerned. He didn’t manage it.
Adam finally asked, “What kind of man do you want to be?”
When there was no response, Adam shook his head scornfully and turned. He walked to the door with even, measured strides.
“Fine, I’ll support the child. I’ll honor that ridiculous contract, if you’re going to impugn my honor over such a trifle,” Riverton barked out furiously. “But don’t expect me to be a bloody doting father.”
Adam turned back. “I wouldn’t let you,” he returned. “I’m going to be its father.”
The marquess looked surprised. “You truly are a fool, Radcliff.”
“Perhaps. But a grateful fool,” Adam said, and sketched a sliver of a bow. “Thank you, my lord.”
Riverton stared at him, and his expression was one of such baffled anger that Adam almost took pity on him.
Almost.
The marquess had a long way to go before he was worthy of pity.
“Go to the devil,” Riverton spat out as Adam strode from the room, his lips curved in a smile.
…
Julia rushed out of the cottage when she saw Adam walking back from the hall before the sun had even risen. She hadn’t had time to get dressed. She stood in front of the cottage in nothing but her night rail, barefoot in the damp grass, as she watched him stride toward her.
Her throat ached. Good Lord, what had he done? Why would he have gone to the main house after what Riverton threatened? Had he murdered the marquess?
She didn’t much care what happened to Riverton. But Adam. Oh, Adam. He would be hanged for killing a peer. He would have no chance to defend himself—they would tear him apart.
“Where were you?” she asked. Her shrill voice broke the silence of the dawn.
He glanced up and grinned. The bastard actually had the nerve to grin at her.
She flew to him, half furious, half terrified. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” He folded her against his warm chest, protecting her from the cool morning air. “Lord Riverton and I just had a little chat.”
Her lips parted. She stared at him. “A chat?” she asked, disbelieving.
“Aye.” He kissed her nose. “He’s agreed to support the child.”
She made a noise that sounded like a squeak. She shook her head. “He couldn’t have.”
“He did,” Adam said.
“But how?” she exclaimed. “What did you say to him?”
“I asked him what kind of man he wanted to be.” Adam looked down at her lovingly.
She wondered if he’d been hit in the head. “And Riverton capitulated. As easily as that.”
Adam laughed. “Not exactly. I treated him to a scathing speech, too. And I begged a little. But I was dignified about it.”
She drew in sharp breath. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
“No, I’m simply happy,” he said, placing a chaste kiss against her lips. “The sun will be coming up soon. Shall we watch the sunrise before we gather our belongings and leave? I can tell you all about what I said to Riverton.”
“You’ll have to,” Julia said with a frown. “I’m not convinced the magistrate isn’t going to appear at any second and haul you off to the gallows.”
“He won’t,” Adam assured her.
She sighed. She still wasn’t entirely convinced, but when he pulled off his coat and wrapped it around her, she let him lead her up to the top of the hill, to the folly where she’d first seen him after fifteen long years.
He sat down among the wildflowers, and she lowered herself beside him. Then, with nothing said between them, and no preamble, they smiled at each other. That smile signified more than any words ever could. She slipped her arm through his and leaned against his warm, powerful body.
After a minute of companionable silence, he nudged her. “I’ll ask the vicar to read the banns this Sunday.”
She turned her head to look at him, and the mischievous light in his eyes made her smile. “Arrogant, aren’t you?”
“A little,” he admitted unrepentantly.
“It’s odd,” she said, thoughtful. “I don’t recall you actually asking me.”
He frowned. “Of course I—” His frown deepened into chagrin. “Well, clearly an oversight.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “Julia Forsythe”—he kissed her nose—“I want to fill every inch of my walls with your paintings and let you beat me at cards every night—”
“Let me?” she exclaimed with a gasp of mock outrage.
He quirked a brow and continued, “I want to hear your laughter every day. And touch you as much as possible. I want to protect you from hungry bees.”
She laughed, mirth and joy and love welling up inside her until she felt like a goblet overflowing. Her life, and her heart, felt so amazingly full.
“The truth is, I’ve loved you for half my life, and I’ve missed you with a longing that bordered on agony at times. I can’t go forward without you. I can’t live another day without you.” He pressed a last, lingering kiss to her lips. “Julia Forsythe, will you marry me?”
There was only one possible answer to that. “Aye, Adam Radcliff. I will.”
Laughing, he scooped her onto his lap. And they were so caught up in one another—so invested in celebrating their betrothal—that they completely forgot about the sunrise.
Epilogue
Julia stood at the open window of the bedchamber, cradling her daughter in her arms, and hummed one of the lullabies she remembered from her own childhood. She paused when she heard the door creak behind her.
“You’re already out of bed?” Adam asked worriedly.
She turned. “Giving birth does not make one an invalid,” she said pertly. “And if I stay in bed any longer, I shall go raving mad.”
He smiled slightly, and crossed the room in a few long strides. “May I?”
She pressed a kiss to the smooth, fragile skin of their daughter’s forehead before relinquishing her. “Support her head,” she advised.
He sent her a superior glance and cradled the baby in his strong arms as though he’d done it thousands of times before. T
ender amusement flashed through her. She tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, unsure what to do with her hands now that she wasn’t holding their daughter.
Suddenly, she heard a noise from downstairs that sounded a lot like a crash. She blinked. “What was that?”
“I would guess it was Sarah and Thomas. They fight rather ferociously.” He peered down at his daughter with a stern gaze, which he only maintained for about a second before it softened into adoration. “I hope you won’t fight like that with your siblings, Isabella Aoife.”
Isabella had been Julia’s mother’s name, which Adam had decided on, and Julia had picked the Irish middle name. She liked the way it rolled off Adam’s tongue so smoothly—eefa.
“Molly brought the children?” she asked.
He nodded. “And her husband. And my mother. And my brothers. She should have been an army general. Once she received my letter, she managed to organize things so everyone would arrive together.”
Julia gaped at him. “They’re all here?”
They all fit? Their cottage at the Duke of Hawksworth’s estate, where Adam had been employed since the old head gardener retired, was slightly larger than the one at Blakewood Hall, but it was still a cottage.
“Molly thought you should have your family with you.”
At his words, a sweet ache spread through Julia’s chest. Tears filled her eyes, and she ducked her head to hide them.
But her perceptive husband called her out. “Are those tears of happiness or tears of sorrow?”
“Happiness.” She sniffed. “I never dreamed I’d have a family again. And now…now I have all of you.”
“We all come as a packet. When you marry one of us…” he trailed off ominously, grinning when she laughed. “And I do think Molly claimed you first, even before I did.”
“So, I’m truly a Radcliff?”
“Truly,” he agreed. “There’s no backing out now.”
“Then it’s a good thing I am exactly where I wish to be.”
He reached out a hand to draw her toward him, and she nestled into his side while they watched their daughter blink sleepily at them.