Page 97 of Madcap with a Marquess
He shook his head, his lip curling up as he let out a huff of disgust. “It is a shame. If parliamentary ambition was your main use for me, you have completely obliterated it. And the irony in all of this? I think Franny will make a spectacular Prime Minister’s wife. If you had only allowed time to get to know her, you would have realized that woman has the power to win over the world.”
A soft blue vein pulsed in his mother’s pale forehead.
He walked over to the door, pausing at the threshold. He looked back over his shoulder. “But alas, I have no plans to be Prime Minister. I never did.”
With that, he left the room. Every last ounce of energy had drained from him. The rage, the anguish, the confusion, the disbelief, sucked him dry of any feeling. He blindly made his way down the hall, pushing through an oak door and stopping when the smell of lemon and wildflowers hit his nose. He blinked at the sage decor. At the raven-haired woman lying in the bed. Not his chambers. Franny’s chambers. He hadn’t really had a destination in mind. He couldn’t make any more decisions, the fatigue too heavy.
“Rupert?” She pushed to sitting, and their stares locked. Her gaze searched his, her brows knitting. “Come here,” she said gently.
He walked to her, nothing more than a shell of himself, and paused at her bedside.
“Are you all right, Rupert?” Her words were soft, like a balm.
He shook his head. An intense pressure built behind his eyes. No, he was the furthest from all right.
“Do you want to speak about it?”
He shook his head again.
She reached for his hand and gave him a light tug. “Lie with me?”
He stared at where her hand held his. So much strength rested in those delicate fingers. She was far stronger than he had ever been. But he was going to be better for her. Because she shouldn’t have to be strong alone any longer. She wasn’t alone any longer. She would always have him.
He toed off his boots, pulled back the bedcovers, and slid into bed fully clothed. She nestled into him, and he tucked her to his chest, inhaling deep in her silky ebony hair. It was the smell of comfort.
“How is your ankle? Your head?” he murmured. “What did the doctor have to say?”
Franny pulled back, gifting him a small smile. “Nothing to worry over. Keep my weight off my ankle. The scrape on my head didn’t even require stitches. It’ll take more than a fall from a horse to fell me.”
His mouth twitched. His heart fluttered. A small amount of feeling seeped back into his body. He traced down her temple, over the curve of her cheek until he reached her chin. He tilted her toward him and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. His heart fluttered again, with more force this time. With more feeling.
“Is it true what you said back there…” Her eyes darted between his, and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you really love me?” she asked faintly. Like she was afraid he’d take it back. Like she didn’t truly believe him.
He popped her lip free from its prison with his thumb, gaze glued to the movement of the pink flesh springing free. His stare flicked up to hers, and he nodded slowly.
Franny’s eyes welled, and she blinked furiously.
“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, their breaths mingling. For this day. For not being the one to bring her home. For every condescending word and every disparaging statement he’d ever hurled her way. For carving doubt so deeply within her that she couldn’t trust his words to be true. “I meant it, Franny. The first decision I’ve ever made as my own man. Is you. Always you—” His voice broke.
“Shhhh,” she crooned and rested her forehead against his. “I love you, Rupert,” she whispered. “That is all that is important right now.”
“I have no idea why. I have done nothing to deserve it.”
She pulled away and swept back his stubborn curls. “My love doesn’t have strings, Rupert. It is freely given. You don’t need to do anything, prove anything to me, to deserve it.”
She dusted a kiss over his lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight. His heart beat wildly, a riot in his chest.
“I think I might be a mess, Franny.” He found her gaze again, struggling to raise his eyelids as exhaustion pressed heavily on them.
Her lips twitched. “And I’m the definition of put-together.”
He huffed out a laugh, and she nestled into his chest. “That’s how I know this is true love,” she murmured. “It’s easy to love someone at their best. But I love you always, Rupert. Mess or best.”
He swallowed thickly, tried to force down the emotion sticking in his throat. But it was no use. Even so, somehow, he still managed to get out the words.
“I love you, too. Mess or best.”
And for the first time since the start of his marriage, he fell asleep with his wife in his arms.
