Jane Lark - The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

“Enough to do what?” She held his gaze, fighting the urge to believe him. His hands made her feel safe not in danger, but the words I love you were easily said and they’d been spoken with a pitch of frustration and laughter not from any depth of feeling, they did not sound as though they had come from his heart – and he had said in his letter he did not even know what love was…

“To become my wife. I was not talking of physical intimacy, sweetheart. I am speaking of marriage.”

“What would it be like to be your wife?” She had never looked into his eyes in the daylight this close, the hazel had now turned to the depth of light shining through amber. She looked beyond the colour trying to see into his soul.

He looked back at her with as many questions as she wished to ask. But she could not see any artifice.

Did he feel for her?

Put us together Mary, darling, make us one, a single being. I want you. I cannot say I love you, not yet, I do not even know what on earth love is, but I do know that I cannot sleep for thinking of you, or avoid dreaming of you.

Were the words true?

“I hope we would be happy. I want to make you happy. We will buy our own estate and make it a home. It needn’t be large. It will take time to become profitable, but I will make it so.”

I think of you and I lose my breath, I see you and my heart begins to pound, I hear you and my spirit wants to sing. I am yours, Mary. Be mine.

“And children?” She longed for her own life and her own family.

His smile dropped, and his gaze turned inward, no longer looking at her but lost in thought.

Didn’t that prove his earlier words true though, if he could not hide when he needed to stop and think to answer?

She touched his cheek. For the first time believing she saw something real in him, a hidden reality. This was not the Lord Framlington of dangerous rakehell fame. This was Drew, the man who had written those impassioned words.

His gaze came back to her. “I have never thought of children.” He spoke in a solemn voice, as if the thought shocked him.

She pressed her palm to his shaven cheek. He was a man, human, as vulnerable as any other, no matter his reputation.

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