The Offer
Page 32
It was done. He had offered for her and she had declined.
Still, she had only declined because she didn’t believe him.
He halted in his path. Could he make her believe him? But how?
He began walking again. The duke was his only witness. If the duke had led Lucy to believe the offer of marriage had been part of some mercenary bargain, he had no proof to convince her otherwise—nothing but his own word, which was worthless to anyone.
Damn. Why had the duke done it?
“Bex.”
The soft voice stopped and spun him as firmly as though a strong hand had gripped his shoulder. “Lucy?”
She was there, out of breath, her cheeks flushed with exertion, looking very much as though she had run after him. Hope tugged at him.
“Bex, stop,” she said unnecessarily, for he’d stopped the moment she’d said his name the first time and would not have moved for anything—save her command.
“Lucy, I…” Damn. He had another chance—maybe a last chance—but he didn’t know what to say. He was too afraid of squandering the opportunity.
She walked up to stand in front of him, close enough that his arms could close around her. He wanted to reach for her. He wanted to grab her and hold her to him until she believed him, but he didn’t want to scare her away. He had never felt so powerless.
“Bex,” she said, “I love you.”
And all the power returned to him. He felt as though he had the strength to hold back a battalion of men, but he only needed to hold her. He did. His arms closed around her and he was enveloped with the scent of sweetness and sunshine.
She clung to him for a long moment, then pulled back. “I am so sorry,” she said, tears brightening her eyes. “I was so desperate for you to mean what you were saying, but I was too afraid to believe it. I didn’t think it could be true.”
Bex reached for her again. “Oh, Lucy, it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said and loving you is the truest thing I’ve ever done. This ship may sink in the Atlantic and I will still want you to be with me. I know I shouldn’t ask it of you, but I want you by my side even if we are starving.”
“Oh, Bex, I want that more than anything.”
He held her back from him then, looking down at her in disbelief.
“Well, I don’t mean the starving part. I don’t want that more than anything, but if I am starving, I’d like you to be starving too.” She shook her head and released a frustrated breath of laughter. “Oh, you know what I mean. I love you.”
He bent down and brushed his lips to hers. “I love you too, Saint Lucy of Beadwell,” he whispered against her mouth. “No matter what happens next, I love you too.”
And he did his best to show her that—right there, in the middle of Grosvenor Square in the bright light of a summer evening.
Epilogue
May 1819
“Aren’t they splendid?” Lucy asked, gazing out over the veritable armada of white-sailed ships that filled the view from the London Docks.
Her question was answered by William, Viscount Brantwood, who pointed a chubby finger toward the vessels and proudly declared, “Hip.”
Lucy hugged the infant closer. “Yes, darling, ships. Which one is ours, do you think?”
To this new query, William’s answer was similar. He jabbed again with his outstretched finger and repeated, “Hip.”
His insistence elicited a laugh from both Lucy and William’s mother.
“I think he would like to claim them all,” Emma said, stepping forward to stand next to Lucy at the quay’s edge.
“Do be careful,” called a stern voice from behind the women.
“There is no need to fret, dear,” Emma assured her husband.
Despite her reassurances, the duke stepped forward and collected his son from Lucy. William was quite pleased with the improvement to this elevated vantage point as he was settled into the arms of his father, and he giggled in appreciation.
“Please do step back from the edge, ladies,” the duke requested, doing so himself. Lucy imagined if he could have scooped both his wife and his son into the protective cocoon of his arms at that point, he would have done so.
“I know you are protective, but we shall be perfectly all right,” Emma insisted, nevertheless complying with his request. Lucy did the same.
The duke glanced about at the rocking ships and scurrying dockhands with pursed lips. “The docks are not generally a place for genteel ladies.”
Emma’s smile was indulgent as she faced her husband and patted the arm that encircled their son. “We are far from delicate. We are well accompanied and it is the middle of the day.”
“We couldn’t possibly have missed this,” Lucy added. “And besides, little William loves the sailing ships, don’t you, darling?” She widened her eyes while poking a finger toward him, and he rewarded her with a shriek of giggles.
No, Lucy thought smiling in satisfaction, she would not have missed this. She was here to see Bex’s ship. His ship. The first two shipments of raw cotton for the weaving operation in Watford had been sponsored by the newly established Brantwood Trading Company, but the ship itself had been owned by another merchant. Now that the weaving shed was in full operation, Bex had put profits from that endeavor and the first two cotton shipments toward the purchase of his very own ship at auction. Lucy could not wait to see it.
“We are impatient to see this grand vessel,” the duke said, echoing her thoughts. “Where is your husband, Mrs. Brantwood?”
“I am here,” came a call from farther down the quay, and Lucy spun, involuntarily, at the sound of her husband’s voice. Joy filled her heart as it always did when Bex was near.
He raised a hand in greeting to their small group and Lucy swelled with pride at the confidence in his stride and the excitement in his handsome visage. She resisted the urge to lift her hem and hurry toward him. When he reached her, he took her hand, placed a kiss on her forehead, and said, “Come, darling, she’s just this way.”
Bex led her down the quay to the prow of a double-masted ship that loomed massively in front of her, as though the masts pierced the very clouds. He released her hand and stepped toward the ship, arm outstretched in presentation. “My dear, allow me to introduce the Lady Claire.”
“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Lucy breathed.
“Yes, she is,” Bex said softly, and when Lucy faced him, she saw that his attention was directed at her, not his ship. Her cheeks warmed under his appreciative gaze.
“She’s a grand lady,” the duke declared, reaching the front of the ship with his small family.
“I cannot believe you are the owner of this massive ship,” Emma declared. “It’s so large.”
“She’s a brigantine, ma’am. One hundred and ten feet, rigged for speed.”
The group turned to attend to the tall man with sun-streaked hair and weathered features who had stepped forward to make this declaration.
“Allow me to introduce Captain FitzHarris,” Bex said. “New captain of the Lady Claire.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Captain,” Lucy said, and the others greeted him in kind.
The captain smiled broadly in return. “Would you like to come aboard and see her?”
Emma looked toward her son in her first display of uncertainty since they’d arrived at the docks.
“You may have your tour with FitzHarris,” Bex insisted, reaching to take William from his father. “I’ve already been aboard and I will stay here with the boy.”
“Yes, you go first,” Lucy added with an encouraging wave to Emma and her husband. “I shall stay with Bex and have my tour next.”
Lucy watched Emma blow a kiss to William before taking her husband’s arm and following the captain to board the Lady Claire. Then she turned back to Bex, unable to keep the wide, satisfied grin from her face as she gazed up a
t him, child in arms.
“She is beautiful,” he said, looking out over the boat and the harbor.
“You love her already and she’s been yours less than a week,” Lucy pointed out with a laugh.
Bex’s brow lifted. “I loved you before you were mine,” he said, “so you’ve no reason for jealousy.”
“I’m not envious,” Lucy said, gripping her husband’s free arm with both hands. She lay her cheek against his shoulder as the two of them looked out at the brigantine, rising majestically above the harbor. “I think I love her as well.”
“With so much love, she could be the mother of an entire fleet of merchant ships, don’t you think?” Bex asked.
“Oh, I do,” Lucy declared. “I know that she will be.”
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THE CHASE
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About the Author
Sara Portman is an award winning author of historical and contemporary romance. In addition to being named the 2015 winner in the Historical Category of the Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart® contest, Sara has been a finalist and winner in several other writing competitions. A daughter of the Midwest, Sara was born in Illinois, grew up in Michigan, and currently lives in Ohio. In addition to her writing endeavors, Sara is a wife and mother in a large, blended family.
Visit her at www.saraportman.com.