Page 129 of The Captive Duke
He kissed her hand with each word, as a knight might kiss a damsel’s hand, and Gilly’s heart nearly broke for the absolution he offered.
“You are a war hero,” she said, lifting her face. “The victim of betrayal by your own heir, a man who preyed on your wife and children.”
“Victimis not a word a proud man wants associatedwith him in any sense,” Christian said. “Nor a proud lady.”
“I was not a prisoner of war. I was awife.”
“Unless you accept that you were a prisoner of war too, Gilly, then you will always struggle with being my wife.” His voice was gentle, and his thumb brushed back and forth over the small scar on her knuckle. “You were betrayed by family, as I was. You were tortured, as I was. You were toyed with and paraded about as a trophy of war, as I was. You fought back in the small ways available to you, as I did, and you prevailed in the end, whereas I merely endured.”
“I did not prevail,” she whispered. “I did not. My enemy simply died, and even in death, he nearly defeated me. Had Girard not shot Marcus, I would cheerfully have died, provided I could have hurt Marcus further as I breathed my last.”
Her consternation at this realization was immeasurable, a complete departure from what she’d believed herself to be, and yet, she’d take up that whip against Marcus in the next instant if given the chance again.
“You took a few swats with a horsewhip at a man who deserved far worse. While I understand you are uncomfortable with having done violence to Marcus’s person, don’t you think his instructions to his solicitors were left in such a way as to cast the gravest suspicion on you when Greendale died? You prevailed, Gilly. Against Greendale, against his heir, and against all the demons haunting me, and even those hauntingmy daughter. You won.” He scooped her into his lap and held her close. “My duchess must be proud of her victories, as I am proud of her.”
“I almost do feel p-proud,” she said. “Marcus would have killed you. He nearly did, and I was almost too late, and, oh, God, he killed Helene, and all for a stupid t-title. I love you. I love you so, and Marcus has been trying to have you killed for so l-long.”
She sobbed into his neck, holding on to him as if she were drowning, wetting his shirt and telling him over and over she loved him. When he carried her to the bed, she tore his clothes from him and had him naked on his back in moments.
A lady who will fight for her love will fight for her pleasure, too.
Then his will prevailed, by degrees, until they were savoring each other and speaking in whispers and sighs between the times when their bodies spoke in silence.
She wanted a quiet wedding; he wanted St. George’s with all the trimmings.
She wanted to wait until spring out of respect for Helene and Evan. He wanted their vows said the day after the banns had been cried for the third time.
She wanted to remove to Severn immediately; he wanted to flaunt her on his arm before every hostess and title in Town.
They did not argue, though. They talked, they listened, they even tussled a time or two, though into the dawn and for the rest of their lives, most of all, theyloved.
