She heard the book snap shut. “You’re sorry?”
Tasting bile in her mouth, she braced herself for the worst. She could survive this. She could go back to her old life. Somehow.
“I can’t imagine,” he went on, “why you think you need be sorry.”
Bewildered, she peeked through her fingers. A wisp of hope rose within her.
Until he began to laugh.
She lunged for the carriage door.
“Violet, no!” He caught her by one arm, then the other, and held her in her seat. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I shouldn’t be laughing. I’m not laughing at you.” He sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself.
Her blood roared in her ears. If she couldn’t escape outside, she wished she could sink into the floor or fade into the walls. Or turn invisible. Anything.
“It’s just the thought,” he continued, “of treating tonight like an exam…” Shaking his head, he slid his hands up her arms and over her shoulders to cup her cheeks. “It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Pardon?” The roaring diminished.
“But you needn’t worry, my love.” His famous smile stole over his face. “Tonight is going to be absolutely perfect.”
She swallowed again. “How do you know?”
“Because it’s the two of us together.” Bright and full of promise, his eyes bore into hers. “How could we ever be anything but?”
SIXTY-NINE
IT WAS PERFECT.
Later that night, Violet lay nestled under Ford’s arm, admiring the lovely blue brocade canopy overhead. “The bed-hangings are new,” she remarked.
He laughed. “Have you only just noticed?”
Smiling, she thwacked him with a matching blue cushion. “Perhaps I was a bit preoccupied.”
That was an understatement. By the time they’d entered Lakefield House, she’d been a bundle of nerves and anticipation. But Ford had said it would be perfect, and she’d known she could trust him.
And now she knew she would never doubt his love again, not for a single second as long as she lived.
His love was a part of her now. Everywhere he’d touched, she’d felt him sinking into her skin, washing over her soul: a sense of belonging so sure and so right, it was truer than any truth she’d ever known.
Now she settled into Ford’s arms, and for long while he held her close, kissing her hair and drawing in its flowery scent. He didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the spell. Usually one to turn over and go to sleep, he decided she must have enchanted him.
“I never gave you your wedding present,” she finally said softly.
“It can wait until morning,” he protested, but the moment was lost. He held her fast for one more kiss before letting her go.
When she slid from the bed, his gaze followed her all the way across the room and back. With her hair trailing down her back, her skin aglow in the dying firelight, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He could hardly believe she was all his.
“Stop,” he said. “Right there.”
“What?” Her eyes darted furtively around. “Is there another hairy spider?”
“No.” He laughed. “I just wanted to look at you. You’re perfect.”
“I am not.” Self-consciously she folded her arms across her chest. “I’m neither tall like Rose, nor petite like Lily. Neither plump nor slender.”
“Exactly. You’re perfect. Now, what have you brought me?”
“Just this.” Slipping back into bed, she handed him a package wrapped in fabric, gathered and tied with ribbons on both ends.
He felt its shape. “Another book?”
She blushed prettily. ”Just open it.”
He pulled off the ribbons, letting the fabric fall open.
And the breath left his body.
He stared down at the old book a moment, then raised his gaze to meet hers. “Secrets of the Emerald Tablet. How—how did you get this?”
“I bought it. With my inheritance.”
“From Newton?”
“From you.”
He pushed it into her hands. “Give it back. I won’t have you sacrificing your own dreams for this book. I’ve already given it up, and I’m not sorry for the bargain.” His voice sounded rough to his own ears, and he forced himself to gentle it. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful, my love. It’s just that—”
“No. You’re not understanding. I bought it, Ford. In the first place. Rand told me you’d instructed him to sell it, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. I couldn’t let you sacrifice your prized possession just to convince me of your love.”
His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. It was a moment before words would come, and when they finally did, he had only three.
“I love you.”
SEVENTY
IT WASN’T THE first morning Ford had awakened next to Violet, but it was the first time he’d awakened next to his wife.
He just lay there a while, watching the rise and fall of her breathing, admiring the color in her cheeks, her lips still rosy from their kisses. Finally, unable to help himself, he reached out, brushing the side of her face with the backs of his fingers.
“Ford?”
“Hush, my sweet. Sleep.”
With a sigh, he rose so she could do so. Quietly he padded to the washbasin and splashed his face, then reached for a towel.
He stared at himself in the mirror.
What kind of a man was he? He’d thought he was doing the right thing, the responsible thing, when he’d sold the book to save Lakefield. He’d been so pleased with himself when he’d managed to make his home livable and still have money left to last for a while until the estate could turn a profit. It was the first time in his life he hadn’t spent every shilling the moment he laid hands on it.
Last night, when Violet returned the book, he’d been stunned and thrilled to discover the depth of her love and generosity. But as he studied himself this
