Page 50 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
Her heart almost burst for hearing it.
“Raphael—”
“Do not say it back if it is not true for you. But I must say it. I love you. Foolishly and ardently, I love you.”
The feeling that followed his confession was almost greater than the feeling that had brought term to their lovemaking. She looked deeply into his green eyes, needing to witness the truth of his love in his soul.
She saw it, and it enlightened her.
“I love you too,” she admitted, and the power of the words ravaged her. “I do not say that to please you. It is the truth.”
“Then we are two ardent fools in love.” He looked through her. “It is worse this way. You realise that, do not you?”
“It is not worse,” Cecilia argued. “There’s nothingbadabout this.”
“You are right.” He smiled sadly. “Why are you always right?” A beat passed. “May I say something reckless?”
She nodded. There was nothing he could say to make her want him more.
“If I could,” he began, “I would make you my wife.”
Cecilia shot up despite herself, knocking Raphael in the jaw with her shoulder. He gave a cry, and she fumbled to cup his face, navigating her surprise.
Surely, he did not say . . . But yes, he did!
Her love for him was no contest to her panic, and she loathed herself in turn. She had accepted his love for her without question, dangerous though it was. It seemed impossiblethat Raphael, clever, rational, self-assured Raphael, could have dreamed of more for them than that.
“I deserved that,” Raphael groaned, clutching his head, and falling back.
She pressed a trembling hand on his chest. “You should not say that. The fault is all mine.” She swallowed nervously. “Of course, a man who loves a woman should want to marry her. It is only . . . it seems rather impossible for us.”
“That is why I said, if I could.”
“Of course. Yes, of course.”
He bared his face to her. “That was not a proposal.”
“I did not believe it to be,” she said, but it was somewhat of a lie. “It could not be, because to ask for someone’s hand you must know them, and we barely one another.” She could not stop talking.
“The two parties must be aligned outside of love, and we are not.”
Prattling ever on and on. “Yes, we should not speak of marriage, nor of anything quite so serious. Do you not agree that it is better to be sensible about these things? To enjoy what we can and not think about all the rest?”
In truth, she had not realised that Raphael cared for her enough to marry her. It was one thing to fall in love, she thought. She had fallen in love with many things that were beautiful and brought her joy. But to speak of marriage?To speak of marriage, knowing it wasunimaginablefor them?
It devastated her.
Chapter 18
Raphael had known from the look of horror on Cecilia’s face that he had said something incorrigibly stupid. It had not been a lapse of judgement brought on by the power of their love making, nor some sweetness spoken vapidly to manipulate her. It was the truth, a truth realised when he had taken her into his arms and made love to her.
He loved Lady Cecilia, and doubtless he would continue to love her until his dying breath. Raphael had needed to let her know that their tender acquaintance meant something to him. Too often did men reap women of their purity out of selfish desire. He was not like them. He could not be. So he saidthat thingand now he was paying the consequences.
He had never considered marriage, never esteemed a woman special enough to claim him for all of eternity. Cecilia claimed him without even trying . . .
And she broke his heart just as easily.
Before he could stop her, she slipped out of the bed, taking the quilt with her. Raphael shuddered, left in the cold. He watched her search for her garments and dress herself. His protestations for her to stop and speak to him fell on deaf ears. Her dark hair frizzed around her face, torturously beautiful. She buttoned her gown with trembling fingers.
