Page 86 of Never Tempt a Scot
“Doing what?”
Jane’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. “Staring at me.” She cupped her chin in her hands and rested her elbows on their small dining table in the private room of the coaching inn.
“Oh.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was thinking.”
“About what?” Jane moved her chair a few inches closer to his. The dark blue of her velvet gown was adorned with a diamond-and-pearl-studded brooch, which accented the swell of her perfect breasts. It was hard to think straight when she was tempting him like this.
“You might think me an old fool. But if I never tell you, I’ll never face rejection.”
He was surprised at his own honesty, but in the last few days he had grown to trust Jane with his thoughts. Now he was facing the test of whether he could trust her with his hopes and dreams. Jane reached across the table and covered one of his hands with hers.
“What is it, Jackson?” Worry drew her delicate dark-red brows together.
“I ...” He realized he could not do what he wished to until he had committed to it properly. He pushed his chair back and then knelt on one knee before Jane, clasping her hands in his. “I know we’ve only known each other less than a week, and this may seem like utter madness, but I choose to believe in fate and second chances. Jane, will you give me that? A second chance at love and life? Be my wife, my lover, my treasured companion and dearest friend?”
He held his breath as he gazed at her. Her lovely lips parted in shock. He feared she would say no for so many reasons, including that it would mean she would no longer be a dowager marchioness, but a simple tradesman’s wife. Would she pull away from him?
Her eyes welled with tears, and she slid out of her chair to join him on her knees. She cupped his face, her fingers soft and warm as she held him.
“Yes. Yes, my darling, yes.” The words were spoken softly, but they reverberated down to his very soul, echoing like a sonorous choir of angels.
Yes.She had said yes.
His hands trembled, and he couldn’t stop smiling as he hauled her into his arms and hugged her tight. He buried one hand in her hair and tried not to laugh at the wellspring of joy deep inside him as it threatened to bubble over.
“I vow to make you happy,” Jackson said.
“I vow the same.” Jane giggled. “Lord, what will we tell the children?”
“I don’t care, as long as you are my wife.” He stole a quick kiss. “Let’s do it tonight.”
Jane’s eyes glowed. “What?”
“Let’s marry tonight. There’s a blacksmith in the village here.”
Jane laughed and hugged him tighter. “You don’t mind waking up an angry Scot who will be wielding a hammer?”
“I would face a thousand angry Scots if it meant I could marry you tonight.” Jackson would risk anything for this woman. Since he’d met her, he had sparked to life like a raging fire, and he would not surrender her for anything.
He helped her to her feet, and they went to see the innkeeper, who told them where to find the blacksmith. They walked down the cobblestone street of the village to a small house next to a forge. Jackson pounded on the door. A lit lamp sat in the window, and he figured many couples had disturbed the blacksmith for hasty marriages at all times of the day and night.
“I’m coming!” the man bellowed a moment before he opened the door. A tall, dark-haired man, built like a brick house, glared at them.
“Would you mind marrying us, good sir?”
The blacksmith blinked and peered down at them from the porch of his cottage.
He scraped a hand over his beard. “You ain’t that young, are ye?”
“Indeed we are not, both widower and widow by many years. Nevertheless, we would very much like to marry at once.”
The man sighed. “Ach, fine. Come in.” He opened his door wide. Jackson, holding Jane’s hand, led her inside as they followed the Scotsman, who lit a few oil lamps and carried one to the forge next door. There was a cozy little enclosed room just off the main workshop. The blacksmith set the lamp on a table next to a symbolic anvil. The door to the room opened, and two people in dressing gowns entered. One was an older man, and the other was a middle-aged woman.
“This is my father and my wife. They will be the witnesses.” The blacksmith produced a dark-blue ribbon, which he wrapped around Jackson’s right hand and Jane’s left.
Jackson only vaguely remembered the vows he spoke; his heart and mind were too excited to focus on much besides staring at Jane. It had been so long since he’d felt like this, like he had hope, that he had a full life once again to look forward to, and not just trying to find such a life for his daughters.
All the years since Marianna’s death seemed to have a purpose now. They had kept him waiting for Jane to walk into his life. How strange that they had both been in London society for so long and yet had never crossed paths before now. If Lydia had never been taken by Brodie Kincade, they might never have met. It was ironic that he now had a reason to shake Kincade’s hand—after he throttled him, of course.
