Page 63 of Only By Grace
“I love you,” he said, the words spilling forth as though he could not help himself. “I have loved you from the moment you held my great sword up to defend yourself, even before I had the sense to realize it. And if you will allow me, I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”
Tears welled in Grace’s eyes, and she raised a trembling hand to her lips.
“Say that you will give me a chance,” he implored, his voice breaking slightly. “Say that you will let me make amends for my foolishness, that you will let me spend my life making you happy. Say that I have not thrown away the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Grace’s heart ached with the weight of his words, her emotions a tangled web of joy, fear, and longing. She reached out, her hand brushing lightly against his. “I was devastated when you sent me away, but I could never stop hoping.”
Ronan’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he took her hand in his, holding it as though it were the most precious thing in the world. “I will treasure you every day, Grace. That is my solemn vow.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile, the tears spilling over as she whispered, “Now is a good time to kiss me, Ronan.”
His lips slid into a sly smile. “Why did I ever think you were the quiet, shy one?”
“Perhaps I am just like one of those rare flowers that only blooms in the right conditions.”
“I do not mind if you only bloom for me, but I am afraid now that your petals have unfurled, there will be no hiding your glory.”
She shook her head. Such nonsense. “Stop talking, Ronan.”
Even though she expected it, her breath hitched as Ronan leaned closer, his deep blue eyes searching hers with a tenderness that made her heart ache. She barely had time to register the warmth of his hand cradling her cheek before his lips brushed hers, soft and reverent. Her eyes fluttered closed, the world around them dissolving into only the two of them and that moment. The kiss deepened, tender and unhurried, each moment imbued with unspoken promises. When they parted, his forehead rested gently against hers. It was not the kiss of a man claiming what was his, but of one giving her his heart.
Ronan kepthis eyes on the winding road as the curricle bumped gently over the fallen leaves that blanketed the path. The trees on either side stood bare, their spindly branches reaching towards the pale sky, and the late-autumn air carried a sharp chill. Beside him, Grace tucked her gloved hands into her lap, her expression serene yet thoughtful. They had been driving for over an hour, and only now did she glance at him, her curiosity breaking through her composed exterior.
“Where are we going?” she asked at last, her tone tinged with amusement and intrigue.
He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting. Grace’s patience was one of her many virtues, though it had its limits, it seemed. “’Tis not much to look at in winter,” he admitted, “but this has always been one of my favourite places to escape London.”
Her brow furrowed slightly, but she said nothing more, her gaze shifting to the path ahead as the curricle rounded a bend. Ronan slowed the horses, his anticipation building as they approached the estate. When they passed through the gates, the drive opened to reveal the house: an elegant, sprawling manor of honey-coloured stone with ivy climbing its walls. Its modest grandeur fit the landscape perfectly, set amidst rolling fields that sloped gently towards the horizon.
Grace’s breath caught, her hand instinctively tightening on his arm. “Oh,” she whispered, her voice soft with awe. “It’s beautiful.”
He guided the curricle to a halt and leaped down, offering her his hand. “I hoped you might think so,” he said as she stepped lightly to the ground. “This is Farleigh Manor, my mother’s childhood home.”
He led her through the grounds, pointing out the stables, the gardens now laid bare by the season, and the small orchard nestled beyond the house. Finally, they reached the edge of a pond, its surface rippling faintly in the breeze. The willow tree that stood beside it had shed its leaves, its stark branches arching gracefully over the water.
“This is my favourite spot,” Ronan said quietly. “I have spent many an hour here, thinking, skimming stones and sometimes swimming.”
Grace stepped closer to the water’s edge, her cloak brushing against his as she tilted her head to study the landscape. “I can see why,” she murmured. “It is so peaceful.”
Ronan gestured to a nearby bench, and they sat together, the stillness wrapping around them like a warm quilt. He stole a glance at her profile, trying to decipher her thoughts.
He changed tactics. “I wanted you to see it before you made any decisions about where we might live.”
Grace turned to him sharply, her eyes widening. “Live?”
Ronan gave her a small, teasing smile. “We can stay in London for the Season, but I thought…perhaps you might like it here, away from the chaos.”
Grace’s lips parted, her gaze flickering between him and the house. “You mean to say this could be our home?”
“If you wish it,” he replied simply. “This place has always been a refuge for me. I thought it might be one for you as well.”
For a moment, she said nothing, her expression as unreadable as her thoughts had been. Then she turned back to the house, her gaze softening. “It is quite, quite perfect.”
Encouraged, Ronan reached for her hand, his tone growing more serious. “Grace,” he began, his voice faltering slightly. “Will you give me your answer?”
She turned to him, her brows knitting together. “My answer to what?”
Ronan gave a rueful laugh, running a hand through his hair. “The question I have yet to ask properly, it seems.”
