Page 62 of Dukes for Dessert

“And don’t say you’ll stay with me out of pity. I couldn’t bear—” He broke off, swallowing. “No, I am a liar. I could bear your pity without much struggle at all. Because you’d be with me.”

Sophie gave him a bleak look that seared his heart. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I don’t imagine you did. You don’t have it in you.”

David glanced away again, drawing strength from the soaring ruins, then turned swiftly to her and seized her hand.

“My dear, I will tell you directly instead of dancing around it: I want you. In my life, by my side, in all ways. I’m what you always call me—a blackguard—for wanting it. Lackwit Laurie made your life hell. Why should you bind yourself to another man after that?” David forced his self-deprecating smile. “But if you do not want to entangle yourself legally, which I can understand, we could always live in delicious sin. Do as we please, go where we please. You’d always be free to leave me at any time, no questions, no recriminations.”

Sophie gazed at him in astonishment. “Could you hold yourself to that—no questions or recriminations?”

“Oh, yes.” David nodded fervently. Sophie could do whatever she liked with him, whether wife or mistress. “Though you might have a good many of both.”

A smile pulled at her lips. “You’d ruin me in truth.”

“Not ruined. Celebrated. We wouldn’t live among stuffy Englishmen who condemn anything enjoyable while guiltily committing the same sins in secret. We’d travel the world, be welcomed by princes and kings—they have terrible manners but excellent wine.”

Sophie laughed, her green eyes so beautiful. “You are ridiculous.”

“I am. I can’t help myself. I always will be.” David drew another breath. “But I want to be ridiculous with you at my side. As my mistress, as my wife—which one will make no difference to me.” He caught her other hand and pulled her closer. “I want to share my life with you, Sophie Tierney. On whatever terms you wish.”

Sophie flushed, her uncertainty breaking his heart. “The carefree bachelor will throw away his freedom?”

“It isn’t freedom, dear lady. It is loneliness. I watched the young Hart Mackenzie pretend to be wild and free—his original plan for life was to marry a woman, set her up in a house, and leave her there while he did what he pleased. Then he met Eleanor, and she changed everything. I learned from Hart and El what it means to share a life, and that is what I want. To share my life, as wretched as it is, with you.”

Sophie’s lips had parted, and now they trembled, but she remained silent. Trying to decide how to turn him down gently? It couldn’t be done.

David’s words became edged with despair. “I’ll understand if you’d prefer to run far way, to dig up the world with Pierson and forget about the hell your life has been. I will not blame you.” He made himself release her hands, to take a step back from her, to let her go. “I will only miss you. And love you.”

When Sophie said nothing, David’s pain gripped him. He pressed his hands together to try to summon the serenity of this place, but it eluded him. Perhaps he could be like the monks, withdrawing from the world to do nothing but tend his garden and carefully inscribe words in books.

Sophie was so beautiful in the sunlight, the green of her hat’s ribbon bringing out her eyes. He wanted to look upon her every day, drink her in, to let her save his life by simply being in her presence.

But he wouldn’t trap her. Her ass of a husband had done so, and David would never crush her like that.

“I’ll go,” he forced himself to say. “Don’t worry, my love. I won’t follow you about like a lovesick swain writing you terrible poetry or showering you with bouquets of meaningful flowers. My friends would sit on my head and stop me even if I tried.”

A sob escaped Sophie’s throat. She stepped to him and caught the lapels of his coat.

“Idiot.” Her voice was choked. “I don’t want you to go, or to send me terrible poetry or bushels of flowers. I want you. I love you, my dear, dear David.”

And she kissed him.

David started as Sophie’s lips warmed him and her tears dropped, burning, to his skin. In the next instant, he dragged her into his arms, a flood of release washing his heart.

He kissed her as amazement and hope, love and happiness poured through him and made him want to weep.

David broke the kiss and took her face between his hands—her lovely, lovely face whose mouth had just spoken those beautiful words.

“Love?” he demanded. “Actual love? Damnation, Sophie, don’t tease me. Not about this.”

Her eyes held honesty. “I wouldn’t, I promise. I love you, David. I want to share my life with you. Whether we follow Uncle or live in your house in Hertfordshire or dwell in a hovel in the wilderness, makes no difference. I don’t want to lose you. In all this madness, you were the one thing I could turn to, the one person who kept me steady.”

More astonishment. David held on to her as though saving himself from drowning. “Truly? I must tell my friends. I’ve never been the steady one.”

“Yes, you have.” Sophie laughed, her body quivering delightfully. “You’ve always been there for everyone. It sometimes angers me that your friends don’t appreciate you more. You play the cynical, world-weary gentleman, but behind it, you truly care for people. For Hart and Eleanor—you are glad for them, genuinely so. You are terribly fond of Uncle Lucas, or you’d never have sought his company and helped find his villa. You, my friend, are a compassionate and giving man, whether you like it or not.”

David gave her a look of mock dismay, but he knew she spoke the truth. He’d been happy to help El and Hart find each other, glad to indulge Pierson, and more than pleased to disentangle Sophie from her bad marriage. He’d always striven to be useful to those he loved.

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