The Rogue's Proposal

by Jennifer Haymore

  They all settled in with tea and sweet cakes the cook had prepared, chatting comfortably among themselves. Luke gazed at them, from Esme, the youngest of them all, to his brothers and Sarah and finally to Emma. She gazed at him with what could only be described as adoration in her eyes.

  It was fitting. Because he damned well adored her, too.

  For the first time, they were all gathered together. He’d wanted this. He’d planned it.

  He and his siblings spoke of their mother with far less tension than they had in the past months. Emma had told them everything Morton had told her, and they no longer had that black cloud of her possible death hanging miserably over them.

  “She’s all right,” Esme said. “I truly believe that.”

  Everyone agreed. There was still the matter of finding her and Steven Lowell, but to Luke it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His mother was alive. He just hoped that wherever she was, she was happy.

  “I would make it a personal mission of mine to find her,” Sam said. “If only…” He sighed, glancing toward the window that looked out over Cavendish Square.

  They all knew what he meant. Tomorrow he was leaving on yet another mission for the Crown, he’d told them, and he’d no idea when he’d be returning to London. To abandon that mission to find their mother would be considered nothing short of an act of treason.

  “We’ll keep looking,” Trent assured him.

  “Always,” Mark agreed, and Theo nodded.

  “But she’s alive,” Luke said. “That’s what matters. And I hope this gypsy man is what she wants.”

  Mark shrugged. “Our mother is so whimsical. Perhaps it’s what she wants for now. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she came wandering back to Ironwood Park one of these days, full of apologies for making us worry.”

  Esme made a low growl in her throat, and all eyes turned to her. “If she does, I do believe I shall throttle her.”

  “You and me both!” Theo agreed.

  Luke laughed as the odd image of his two gentlest siblings—Esme and Theo—throttling their mother invaded his mind. They all joined him in laughter. Even Trent.

  When the laughter began to die down, Luke took a steadying breath and rose, shocking everyone silent. Emma gave a small gasp as his body separated from hers.

  He raised his hand, asking for quiet, even though everyone was already staring at him. “There’s something I need to say. I want all of you to listen and to hear me.”

  Suddenly his heart was beating so fast his vision went blurry. He blinked hard and calmed himself. He’d do this. For Emma and for himself. And for hell’s sake, he refused to faint.

  It was his only chance at happiness, and he needed to grab on to it with both hands and hold it tight.

  * * *

  Emma gazed up at Luke, confused. He stood over her, looking tall and handsome in a tailcoat that hugged his broad shoulders and an embroidered waistcoat and snowy cravat that she had worked so hard to tie just right. A part of her had wanted to show his family how very perfect Luke could be. And he was perfect, standing over her. He looked so hale and strong, too—the paleness of his skin over the past three weeks replaced with a flush of color.

  She smiled up at him, waiting. She didn’t know what he wanted to tell all of them, but pride bloomed in her chest at the sight of him. He was confident, healthy…and virile. Right now, there was no hint of that sullen, angry man whose face his family had seen too often.

  This was a man who made her proud. And she knew he’d made his family proud, too. None of them could stop talking about how he’d gone after Roger Morton. About how he’d leapt in front of her. How he’d taken a bullet for her. How he’d saved her life.

  In their eyes, he was a hero. In her eyes, he was everything.

  He looked down at her, and their gazes locked. He reached down with one hand, gesturing for hers. She raised it, and he clasped it in the hard strength of his fingers.

  “Emma,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “I need to do this here and now, with my entire family to bear witness to it.”

  A frown drew her brows together. “What…?”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Two months ago, I was a lost, wandering soul. I didn’t know who I was or where I belonged. And then I met you.”

  Her breath caught.

  “You were kind but firm. Gentle but resolute. And so very beautiful. At times I wondered how you could be real.”

  “Luke,” she began, her voice a reedy whisper, but he raised his hand to stop her.

  “You really are my angel, Emma. You’ve helped me to find my way. You’ve taught me how to be a man. How to love.”

  As Emma stared up at him, the room seemed to shrink. His surrounding family members faded into the background, leaving only Luke. Only his firm grip on her hand, the expression of devotion on his face, the clear look of unadulterated love in his blue eyes.

  “I love you, Emma,” he murmured. “When we are together, I am”—he drew in a shaky breath—“a man who is whole again. Who is complete.”

  Very slowly, carefully due to his injury, he lowered himself to one knee. He brought his other hand up so he was clasping her one hand in two of his own. “I know I am difficult. I am changeable and moody and temperamental. I am not an easy man to live with. You know this—you’ve seen all of my darkness. But you have pushed me toward the light. You make me want to be a better man. Moreover, you make me believe I can be that man.

  “I will never stop loving you, Em. Since the first moment I saw you, you have been the only woman for me. That will never change. You bring me peace. You bring me light.”

  He bowed his head, brought her hand close, and pressed soft lips against her knuckles. Then he looked back up at her, his crystalline blue eyes shining.

  “Be mine, Emma. I want you.” His voice rasped as he spoke. “For the rest of my life, and yours. Be my wife.”

  For a few seconds, silence filled the room. That last word, wife, resonated over and over inside Emma’s head.

  Be his wife.

  She slid forward, off the sofa and onto her knees before him, her skirts belling around her.

  “Yes,” she whispered. There was no hesitation, no second thought, no concern or insecurity. Unlike in her first marriage, this time she knew her heart. Luke had become as essential to her as her next breath.

  She looked up into his handsome face, into those compelling eyes. “I love you so much, Luke. I want nothing more in this world than to be your wife.”

  “Em…” he choked out. He released her hand and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. She held him tight, her breaths short and rapid, her heart pounding in a staccato rhythm against her breast.

  Luke’s wife. Luke, in her heart and in her life…and in her bed, for the rest of her life. She raised her face toward him. He captured her lips with his own in a tender, possessive kiss.

  “Mine,” his kiss said. “Mine. Forever.”

  And she was. His. Forever. He was right—it wouldn’t be easy. They hadn’t solved all their problems completely, not his nightmares or his tendency to run or drink. But he’d showed her that he was willing to work, willing to make adjustments…and try. She had a feeling that that was what people in love did. Make compromises, change, grow.

  Hearing movement from somewhere beyond, Emma jolted back to the present. She jerked backward, heat slamming into her cheeks. She’d completely forgotten about Luke’s family.

  Luke kept her pressed tightly against him as he glanced over his shoulder. Mortified, she peeked up, but all she saw were smiling faces.

  She blinked at them as they gathered round: the Duke of Trent and his wife, Sam, Mark, Theo, and Esme. Sarah and Esme helped Emma stand as the brothers crowded around Luke, helping him to his feet as well.

  Congratulations and laughter, hugs and backslapping reigned for several minutes. Through it all, Emma and Luke were acutely aware of each other, of the powerful new bond they’d forged between them�
�a bond that neither would ever break.

  Epilogue

  Luke’s intuition had led him back to the rambling mansion Morton had bought in Chiswick. He brought workers with him who tore down the walls in those two rooms with new paint.

  As soon as the first hunk of plaster crumbled away, money began to pour out of the walls. All in all, they found eight thousand pounds hidden within that old house’s plaster.

  It only accounted for about a third of the money Morton had stolen from Emma’s father. But Mark had taken it upon himself to look into Morton’s affairs, and he’d assured them that they would probably double that amount once they’d sold off Morton’s “assets”—many of which they found in the house’s ballroom.

  They’d never have all the money the man had stolen—no doubt he’d spent much on personal extravagances—but it was enough. Enough for Emma’s father to rebuild his family’s life in Bristol.

  Two days after they found the money, Emma and Luke married by special license in London. It was the most beautiful day of Emma’s life. Watching Luke express his love to her in a church, before God and his family, was intensely emotional for Emma. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as they spoke their vows.

  They were married. They were one.

  The very next day, they headed for Bristol in a private carriage. A second carriage containing the most renowned heart doctor in London, as well as three servants, followed. They arrived at the house on a snowy winter’s day.

  The days since Luke’s proposal had been the happiest of Emma’s life, but the dismal sight of her father’s house through the falling snow sobered both her and Luke.

  Emma left the carriage, huddled against Luke under the umbrella the coachman held for them. They ascended the steps and went to the tall, black door and knocked.

  Emma glanced at Luke. “It’s so odd to be knocking on the door of the house I considered home for so long.”

  “You should walk right in, then.”

  “No,” she said softly. “My home is with you now.”

  It was Jane who answered the door. Emma’s sister looked tired and thin, with dark circles of worry smudged beneath her eyes and her lips turned down in a frown. But when she saw who was at the door, she threw herself into Emma’s arms with a low exclamation of joy.

  “Oh, Emma! You’re home! I missed you so very much!”

  Emma held her sister fiercely. “I missed you, too.”

  It took several seconds before Jane gathered herself and pulled away, then she flushed as she glanced at Luke and the servants who had gathered behind them.

  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “You mustn’t stand here in the rain. Please, come inside.”

  They all gathered in the entry hall, where Emma made the introductions. She hadn’t sent a letter home since Luke was recovering from the gunshot wound. At that time, Luke had insisted she send a hundred pounds to cover any immediate expenses and debts. But that had been before the proposal. Before the marriage. Before they’d found the money Roger Morton had stolen.

  “Jane,” she said now, “I’d like to present Lord Lukas Hawkins. My husband.”

  Jane’s mouth fell open. Her gaze darted between Luke and Emma. Smiling, Luke slipped his hand over Emma’s and threaded his fingers with hers. She grinned at her sister.

  “Close your mouth or you will trap a fly,” she teased. Their mother used to tell them that.

  Jane’s mouth snapped shut. “It’s winter,” she said, using the retort that had once earned Emma a swat on her bottom. “There are no flies in winter.”

  Emma just smiled, and Jane’s expression softened. “I…suppose I should say congratulations,” she murmured. “I am surprised…but”—she glanced at Emma—“your letters. I could tell you possessed strong feelings…”

  “As I do for her,” Luke said softly, squeezing Emma’s hand.

  “I am so glad to hear that,” Jane told him.

  “Is Papa in his bedchamber?” Emma asked. “We want to tell him the news.”

  Jane smiled and nodded. “He’ll be so happy to see you.”

  They went upstairs to Emma’s father’s room. Her heart constricted as she entered the room, Luke staying near the door while she went forward to greet her father. He was as she’d left him, small and fragile, his hair now completely white, his features swollen from the dropsy.

  He looked at her, his eyes not seeming to recognize her for a long moment. Then his expression softened. “Emma,” he said in a cracking voice that had once boomed across the Bristol docks, “you’ve come home to me.”

  She bent down and hugged him the best she could. “I’ve brought something for you.”

  “Will I like it?” he huffed out.

  “I think so.”

  She introduced Luke first. Her father was wary but accepting, and Luke—oh Lord. Her heart surged at the way he behaved toward her father—with such polite deference she’d never thought possible from him. But she knew why—because the man in the bed was her father, and Luke had told her he’d wanted so much for her father to like him.

  Second, she introduced the doctor, a man who was known for his excellent work with ailments of the heart.

  Third, she had the servants carry in the large satchel into which her father’s money had been carefully packed.

  “Twelve thousand pounds, Papa. I know it’s not everything, but we’re promised more.”

  “I’d heard…you’d found Morton,” her father said, breathless and wide-eyed, “but the money…I didn’t know…God Almighty, Emma.” He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, his brown eyes showing a rare clarity. “You have become a magnificent woman.”

  By the way Luke smiled, she knew he agreed.

  * * *

  Later, they ate a meal with Jane prepared by the cook they’d brought with them from London. It was clearly the first excellent meal Jane had partaken of in some time, for she ate with rare enthusiasm. Afterward, they went into the drawing room, where the doctor joined them.

  He told them their father suffered not only from dropsy but from melancholy. The dropsy he could treat with a very exact prescription of digitalis along with certain other remedies, and he was confident that that aspect of their father’s illness would improve.

  The melancholy had begun after the death of their mother, and it had grown worse with the theft of their money along with the encroaching illness and the feelings of helplessness resulting from both. After hours speaking to Emma’s father, the doctor developed a plan for a cure. It consisted of prescribed interaction with people outside the house, daily walks, social events, adding furniture back to the house to infuse some sense that the living actually inhabited it.

  After listening to what the doctor had to say, Luke, Emma, and Jane all agreed to join to work on curing this aspect of their father’s illness together.

  They began that very evening, helping him down into the drawing room. He lay on the sofa covered in blankets, and for the first time in a very long while, he played a game of chess with his eldest daughter.

  * * *

  Emma and Luke remained in Bristol until the spring, when the snow melted away, the sun shone brighter and warmer, and the daffodils began to reveal their cheery yellow faces.

  Emma, with Luke and Jane’s help, had restored the house to its former glory. Emma’s father was on the long path to recovery, though he’d never be the powerful man with the booming voice she remembered from her childhood.

  Bertram had come for a visit every month. They’d begun with an overnight visit, which in the subsequent months had stretched to a week. And now he was going with them to London, along with Jane, who was to have her second Season this year, and their father.

  They’d received word a few days ago that Sarah, the Duchess of Trent, had given birth to a healthy baby boy, who was to be named Lukas Samson Hawkins after the duke’s two eldest brothers. Trent and Sarah had asked them to be the child’s godparents, so Emma and Luke’s first order of business in Lo
ndon would be to attend the christening.

  After the christening, Luke planned to talk to Trent about locating their mother once and for all. In his letter, Trent had alluded to some kind of clue relating to the whereabouts of Steven Lowell. It seemed like the brothers were finally close to a long-overdue reunion with the dowager.

  Emma’s family all seemed excited about traveling to London, especially her new brother-in-law, Bertram, who’d taken to painting Jane wearing different-colored dresses and suggesting what colors she should ultimately wear in Town.

  “Janie,” he’d say, “sky blue it is. Blue is so so pretty.” But the next day he’d change his mind to lavender. Then buttercup. Then lilac. Then primrose. Bertram loved colors.

  Luke and Emma had lived and loved hard over the past months, their bond growing ever stronger, their relationship ever closer, as the days flew by. There had been nightmares. There had been arguments. But Luke and Emma’s fierce love and loyalty for each other never wavered.

  Now they stood outside the house on a fine spring day, hand in hand. Servants bustled about, preparing for their departure by loading their luggage into the carriages. Emma raised her face to the sun and inhaled a deep breath of warm air. Then she glanced at Luke, who smiled at her.

  “London,” she murmured.

  “London,” he agreed.

  “Home,” she said, and she heard the lilt of surprise in her voice. His hand squeezed hers tighter.

  “Is London home to you?”

  “It is. I’ve missed being there with you.”

  He bent down and kissed her softly on the lips. “Me too. I’ve been thinking of my bed. All the things I did to you there. All the things I wish to do to you in the future.”

  She shuddered and said in a voice lower than a whisper, “Will you tie me to the bedposts again?”

  “Most definitely. I’ll tie you in intricate knots of silk, Em, your legs and arms bound for my pleasure. Then I’ll have my wicked way with you all night long.”

  “Oh…” she breathed as a warm flush of arousal bloomed within her.

  A cocky glint entered his eyes. “You want me, don’t you?”