A Hasty Betrothal (23 page)

“Wait just a second.” He rounded the desk, irritation and confusion rushing through him. And another emotion, one he couldn't quite put his finger on, but it felt unaccountably close to relief. “What is your purpose in coming here? To order me about and tell me to go places? I won't have it, Bitt.”

Her chin lifted and her slender fingers pulled the reticule up like armor. “I am simply letting you know that I'm home. That I'm not going to spend the rest of my life hiding in a library.” On the last words, he thought he heard a tremble, which had the effect of dampening all of his irritation.

“I'm happy to hear that,” he said quietly. How was it that after days of travel, she still smelled like roses? Before he realized what he was going to do or say, he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I did entertain an irrational thought that perhaps you might choose to sequester yourself away from life forever.”

“Like Anastasia?”

He jerked, his hand falling to his side.

“Miles...” Her smile drooped. Her eyes were great orbs, shining with what looked like compassion. “I know about Anastasia's battles with melancholia. It must have been very difficult for you.”

“But how?” He felt as though she'd slammed that satchel, which was no doubt filled with books, across his head.

She winced, looking a tad guilty. “Grandmother took me to task and told me more of your marriage. That I had better prove to have more mettle than...” Her voice trailed off.

“Anastasia was a bright light,” he said hoarsely. “She burned so hotly with all that she felt that she could not keep the emotions from consuming her. She had a great many fine qualities, including a deep compassion for others.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly, her face pale. “You loved her dearly. I understand that. I never expect you to love me the same way, but I ask that you pay me a kindness. Do not compare me to your first wife. If, as I suspect, you worked as hard at being a good husband as you do at being an employer, than I have no doubt that there was nothing you could have done to save your wife.”

Miles crossed his arms. Inside his chest, there was only the icy awareness that Elizabeth
knew
. She knew and she had married him anyway. “I hired doctors.” He had spent thousands of pounds trying to woo Anastasia back to laughter. To rekindle the light in her eyes. But in the end, to no avail.

“Simply understand that I am not her,” Bitt was saying, gently. “Ours is a different relationship and a different marriage. I shall never take her place in your heart nor would I ever try. Now, if you will excuse me, I am in need of refreshment.”

Before he could stop her, she was leaving him, his mouth dry, his feet rooted to the floor.

Bitt didn't blame him for what happened. She
knew
. And she had chosen to come to London anyway, to give him another chance to prove himself worthy. Had God forgiven him, then? For it was true, he had loved Anastasia deeply and her death had carved a wound he thought might never heal.

He had never meant to make Elizabeth feel as though she were being compared to his first wife, but now he understood that he had done exactly that. He had pushed away his feelings for Bitt because he did not want to fail her.

Or rather, he did not want her to fail him. To hurt him even more.

He remembered the look on her face on their wedding day. The shock, the disillusionment. Had she fancied herself in love with him? Quiet, reserved Bitt? Not so reserved when he thought of it, though. For she had smacked him with a reticule, yelled at him and returned his kiss with an intensity that had shaken him to his very core.

And now she was his bride. Married to him.

Squaring his jaw, he followed her. He had been given another chance to love, and he would not waste it.

* * *

How very exhausting to be the heroine in one's own story.

Elizabeth found the library behind the next door over and took refuge there. It had been rather tiring, stomping into Miles's office that way. He had looked up, all surprised maleness, his hair a wild riot on his head from where his fingers had been digging through it as he worked. So handsome that it had taken her several seconds to gather her faculties. How very shocked he'd looked to see her.

The memory brought a smile to her lips. She did so enjoy shocking him. He deserved it, too, after all his years of teasing her.

“Ah, a smile upon lips the color of a rose.”

She gasped, as Miles strode into the library, a crooked smile lighting up his face. This was the Miles she remembered, crinkles and sparkles and a laissez-faire attitude.

He dwarfed the small room, shrinking the space further as he advanced. She waited, her heart fluttering like a tiny butterfly dancing upon a flower petal. Why did he look at her so?

Without meaning to, she touched her birthmark, covering it with her palm.

“Nay, Bitt.” He took her hand and removed it from her cheek. “You are lovely in every way. Do not cover yourself.”

“But,” she stammered, deeply conscious of how neatly her hand fit within his. “Our wedding day. You couldn't kiss me...” Ashamed, hot flushes of self-consciousness washing through her, she averted her eyes.

“Bitt—” His voice broke. He tipped her chin with his forefinger, bringing her gaze back to his. A green intensity worked in his irises. “I have been wandering this house, doing infernal paperwork for over a month, feeling miserable. Trying to ignore how much I want you as my wife in every way.”

“You were afraid.”

“Yes, to fail another woman. To not be the husband you need.”

“About Anastasia,” she blurted out. “I'm so very sorry, Miles, but you must understand.” She curled her fingers more tightly around his, willing him to see the earnestness in her eyes, the utter conviction. “It wasn't your fault.”

His throat worked. “Perhaps not, but I will always feel that I could have done more.” He drew closer. “And that is why, when you burst into my office, reality knocked me on the head. I refuse to live my life afraid that I shall make the same mistakes, nor can I live expecting the same behavior from a different person.”

“I am me, Miles.”

“Yes.” His lips curved upward. “You are beautifully you, and I adore every facet, from your dreamy escapes to your haughty disdain.”

“I am far from haughty.”

“Not that far, sweetums.” His grin widened. “It has taken your courage to make me realize what I should have known long ago. You're intelligent and compassionate, and this entire time it's been right beneath my nose. How did I not see it?”

“You hadn't your spectacles handy,” she said lightly, but her knees were quivering and her pulse rioting because Miles looked at her so deeply, as he had at Vauxhall. He looked as though he would kiss her again, just as she so desperately wanted him to.

He traced the ragged edges of her birthmark. And then he leaned forward, cupping her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the warmth of his breath upon her cheek, his lips settling upon the awful blemish that for so long had marred her confidence.

“Have you ever noticed,” he whispered, his voice a husky caress, “how the shape of your birthmark looks like a heart? Indeed, when I look at you, I am reminded of that tender organ, of how it pumps within you, sweet and caring. When I look at you, Elizabeth, I see love.”

She had not opened her eyes. She was afraid. Her heart drummed within, uneven, cacophonous, drowning out her thoughts. Making her forget the reality in which she loved him and he did not love her.

“Open your eyes, Bitt.”

Reluctantly, she did so.

“Do you understand what I am telling you?” His closeness rattled her senses.

She shook her head, unable to will her vocal cords into movement.

He chuckled then, a throaty sound that chimed through her in silvery, happy notes. “I thought not. What I am telling you, Elizabeth Hawthorne, is that I love you deeply and dearly, as a man who cannot imagine his world without you in it. Always, I have wanted to see you. Always, I have looked forward to finding you in the library so that I might tease you and make you laugh. Or even irritate you, for you are quite beautiful when you frown at me.”

Elizabeth blinked, but her eyes did not cooperate, choosing instead to sting and to burn and to be traitorous in every way.

“You have always been beautiful to me, and I have been a fool. A scared fool, but no longer.” He grasped her hands, his thumbs moving in long strokes across the skin. “Will you marry me for more than convenience's sake? Will you join your heart to mine?”

“I love you, Miles.” The admission was a welcome relief.

“And I love you, my sweet bibliophile. I have loved you in many ways, and now I shall love you as a husband loves his dearest wife.”

He leaned forward, captured her mouth with his own and, in that moment, Elizabeth's story truly began.

* * * * *

If you enjoyed A HASTY BETROTHAL,
look for
THE MATCHMAKER'S MATCH
by Jessica Nelson from Love Inspired Historical.

Keep reading for an excerpt from
A FAMILY FOR THE RANCHER
by Louise M. Gouge.

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Dear Reader,

Little did I know when I started
A Hasty Betrothal
how tragedy would affect my family.

Lady Elizabeth came to me fully formed, a flawed heroine in need of a new perspective. I empathized with her self-consciousness because of my own personal struggles with skin issues. I could only imagine how she felt in the Regency upper class, where vanity and superficiality were rampant.

But then her childhood nemesis, Mr. Miles Hawthorne, appeared in my imagination, and I liked him immediately. Strong and confident, with a touch of charm, I knew he was the perfect man to woo her from her self-induced isolation.

I didn't know much about him, only that he had a great trauma in his past that had forever poisoned him against marriage. His first wife was a shadowy, selfish figure to me. But then, halfway through the book, a tragic loss occurred in my family's life. Suddenly Miles's hurt and that of his first wife's were magnified. I had not fully comprehended the pain
both
of them had felt until suffering through it myself.

I didn't anticipate that what I alluded to in fiction would become a reality in my own life. But it happened, and now my world, my perspective, is different.

If you know someone struggling with depression, take note! There are many places to find help. I am learning that it is better to be uncomfortable with interfering than to be grief stricken that I didn't.

I pray peace and blessings for you. Thank you for reading this story! I love to hear from readers, so feel free to contact me via Facebook, Twitter or email,
[email protected]
.

Sincerely,

Jessica Nelson

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