Page 76 of Dukes Do It Better
“I am not your love,” she growled.
“I beg to differ,” he said, sidestepping another cup, which flew by him to bounce off the wall with a metallic ping.
“Bastard.”
Another cup careened toward his head, and this one Malachi caught handily, then tossed toward an open crate to his left. In her current state of raging fury, the chances of Emma really hearing him were slim, so he said the one thing most likely to cut through her anger. “Phee sent me.”
Emma froze, then dropped her hands, still clutching brass cups. “Is she all right?”
A warmth formed in his chest. Oh, his Emma. With her prickly walls around her heart and fierce love for those she deigned to let in. He’d give anything to be one of the lucky few.
“I spoke to Phee and Calvin. They’re a day or two behind me on the road. I convinced them of my innocence, and all I ask is the chance to do the same with you.” He spread his arms wide, even though it made him a bigger target. “Please, Em. Let’s talk. If you still hate me when we’re through, I’ll leave you in peace.”
The neckline of her dress rose and fell with her breath, and a deep groove had formed between her dark eyebrows. “You mean, you’ll leave me in peace for another four weeks. I have a month left in the period your property manager gave me.” Hurt laced her words.
“You don’t need to move, Emma. I didn’t know you were the tenant. You want the house? It’s yours. Free and clear. Take it. I might buy a place nearby, so I’ll warn you now, you’ll probably have an obnoxious neighbor pining for you for the rest of his life. But you can have the bloody house.”
A sneer curled her lip. “I don’t need your charity.”
“Then buy it from me.”
He didn’t expect the next cup, which hit him on the shoulder.
“I tried to, you son of a bitch!” Her screech ended on a sob.
“Let’s not bring my mother into this. The situation is bad enough as it is,” he tried to joke. The sight of her distress tore at him, and Malachi reached for her. “Sweetheart, please don’t cry. I’d like to hug you now, but I don’t want you to throw anything else at me. All right?”
She didn’t answer, but she dropped the cup in her hand, and he took that as agreement.
“I promise, on the grave of my perfect brother, I didn’t know it was you. Had I been told the renter’s name, I’d have gifted you the house, simply because you asked for it.”
Slowly, keeping an eye out for rejection, he placed his hands on her shoulders, then moved in closer until she leaned in for those final few inches.
“I need to pay for it. I need to know it’s mine.” Her voice still wobbled, but she felt like heaven in his arms, even if she did hold herself stiffly.
“Fine, I’ll sell it to you for half price.”
“You’re ridiculous. I’ll pay full price, thank you very much. I’m only letting you hug me because Phee said you should come.”
Malachi smiled and dropped a kiss on the dirty cap she wore. “I know.”
She pulled away and crossed her arms over her belly. “Why did you have my journal? And explain the notes. Explain everything.”
“I found it on the beach the last time I visited my cave. When I met you at the assembly rooms, I had no way of knowing you were the author. It wasn’t until we were in London and I met Roxbury and Alton that I began to piece it together.”
She sniffed and wiped her face with a hand. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Malachi sat on a crate and rested his elbows on his knees. “I was afraid you’d run away if you knew I had such personal information. And, to be honest, I…didn’t want to give it up. Your journal, your words—you kept me company on my last voyage. I have some entries memorized. The descriptions of your life—both the one you have and the one you want—became a dream. I imagined with you, and hoped to perhaps meet a woman like you. I wanted to sit at your side, sipping brandy by the fire while the wind howled outside. I think I fell a little in love with that mystery woman. Then I met you, and you were so much more than I could have dreamed up on my own.”
He finally shifted his gaze from his interlaced fingers up to her face. This expression, he couldn’t read. But she was still there, so he kept talking.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I kept the journal. And I’m truly devastated I gave you reason to doubt me for even a moment. We both kept parts of our lives from the other.”
At that, she sat on a crate a few feet away. “And the note I found?”
“A child shoved it at me on the street one day. I didn’t know what it meant—consequences—until after you’d left. Turns out, I’m being court-martialed for my part in the transaction I made with your brother and Amesbury.”
“Court-martialed?”
