Page 73 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
“Because . . .” Cecilia’s eyes welled with tears. What could she possibly say to convince him to stay? She would say itall.
“Because I love you and I do not want you to leave, and Edward told me everything about you even though he was not supposed to, and if my father argues against our match, I will ride you to Gretna Greene myself. I do not want to be apart from you ever, Raphael. I am so tired of the waiting, tired of our caution. If you want me, take me. That is all,” she concluded.
“That is all . . .”
For a while there was only rain and his sweet embrace. Cecilia decided that it was all she really needed in the world. She would rather be a pariah than be afraid of love, even if nothing came of their dalliance in the end. Radcliff had argued that Cecilia’s destiny had been decided at birth, but he was wrong. Her destiny would be decided by her and her alone, as many times as she liked.
His hand drew circles on her back, guiding her back to him. When she looked up, he was smiling. The rain had abated.
“I love you, Cecilia,” he said, “but you must understand that with that love comes a desire to protect you that is so strong that I would rather be without you than put your in harm’s way.”
“If you love me,” Cecilia argued, “you will trust me enough to know that I can protect myself. Throw me in harm’s way, I am begging for it. We will deal with the consequences later. For now, promise yourself to me and kiss me.”
“I promise,” he said, and he kissed her.
Epilogue
Three days later, Cecilia and Raphael arrived back in Berilton. He had clasped her hand in his as their rented coach meandered up the drive, and Cecilia knew it was more for his benefit than hers. The feeling of his palm against hers had become all too familiar in the last few days, and she was glad.
After their meeting on the road, they had decided it was best to spend some time together and speak things over. Daphne had provided a decent enough cover story for Cecilia, having told the duchess that the Marchioness of Townsend had begged for Cecilia to spend a few days at Hapthorn so as to return the favour of their hosting Daphne.
Meanwhile, Cecilia and Raphael had been renting a room in a discreet public house in Norwich, as Raphael did not feel safe enough to return home with Pincher on the prowl.
The time they had spent together had felt like a dream, and Cecilia was more determined than ever to give their love a fair chance. They had decided on a betrothal, which would act as some sort of trial period for their marriage. They had every intention of living happily ever after, of course, but with so much at stake Raphael felt it was only fair to Cecilia that she had time to be sure.
They had discussed journeying to Gretna Greene, but the idea of marrying behind her family’s back made Cecilia uneasy.
“I do not want us to start off on the wrong foot,” she had said one morning in their rented room. “If we marry without my family’s consent, they will never accept you. Let them be a part of this. If we gain their trust back it is half the battle won, and they will see you as I do, as the only man in this world who could make me happy.”
The coach drove to a stop before the manor. Cecilia stepped out first, gazing up lovingly at her home. She heard Raphael alight the carriage after her, rounding it to meet her.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Ready as I will ever be.”
Instead of the butler, it was Edward who greeted them at the door, though he refused to take their coats. “I have thrown mother and father off the scent,” he was saying as he guided the pair to the breakfast room. “Make your announcement and be prepared to run. I will mitigate the damage to the best of my ability, but do not expect them to accept you with open arms.”
The duke and the duchess were enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Cecilia’s heart panged with guilt at the sight of them. Her mother and father loved her, in their own funny ways. How far could she push their love before they sent her away?
It was a possibility. She knew they had no reason to support her in her chosen match. Even if the worst came to pass, she would face the consequences with her head held high.
Clearing her throat, she alerted them to their presence.
“You have returned!” her mother cooed, looking up from her jam and toast. “Daphne said not to expect you for another two days.” The duchess’s gaze darted to Raphael. “Mr Travers?”
“Good morning, Your Graces.” Raphael looked at Cecilia and nodded. She had fought to be the one to tell them. It was now or never.
“Mama, Papa . . .” She paused and forced herself to look up at them. “Before I say anything, I must make clear how much I love my family. There are few things in this world that could pain me more than eliciting your disapproval, but for too long have I refused to live my life for fear of your reactions.”
She looked at Raphael and took his hand in hers. Her father shot to his feet, and Edward darted forward, holding a hand out to stop him.
Cecilia steeled her resolve. “I will speak plainly. I have fallen in love with Mr Travers and he has fallen in love with me. We intend to marry, come what may. I cannot ask for your approval, not yet, but I am begging for your trust in the matter of my heart. I want nothing else for myself in this moment than to live freely with the man I love. Grant me this, and I shall be forever in your debt.”
Her parents froze in their seats, but Cecilia could tell her father was simmering with anger. His jaw ticked as he glowered at Raphael, and Cecilia tried to warn him not to say anything.
“Your Grace, I cannot overstate how thankful I am for the opportunities you have presented me. But it has come to pass that the greatest gift I found in your employ was the love of your daughter. I am asking for nothing else from you but your mercy. I will prove myself a decent husband to your daughter, I swear it.”
Cecilia’s mother looked like she was about to cry. “Is this . . . a scene of some sort to play with us? You must say this in jest.”
