Page 63 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
***
“Me, too.” Lady Anastasia giggled.
Sidney stared. She was smiling at him, her blue eyes bright, and he could barely believe that he was standing opposite her, telling her the deep feelings he had hidden for so long. She stared up at him.
He stared back.
Her eyes held his and he felt his throat tighten, as it so often had before, when they danced or when they talked on the terrace at the ball. He had longed to press his lips to hers, to kiss her. He had wondered if she thought the same, and now she stared up at him with a look in her eyes that seemed to mirror his own feelings almost exactly.
“I suppose,” he managed to say, his throat tight with feelings, “that I have always been a little awkward in the past, my lady.”
“Yes,” she said with that delightful tinkling laughter filling the room. “We have rather, Your Grace.” She giggled.
“I just...” his throat was tight. He knew he had to say what he longed to, but he could not quite find the courage yet. “I just always worried that, well, the way I look, was...” he reddened, looking down at his toes. He did not want to bring her attention to his scars, and yet, how could he think of kissing her unless he knew for certain that she did not find him repellent? He drew his breath, too afraid to ask lest he hear the answer that he wanted least.
“I like the way you look,” she said, before he had a chance toask her. “Yes, I know that it is unusual,” she began as he drew a breath to speak. “But I find your scars lend you a sort of exotic look. You are handsome, and the scars just add to you. They are part of a story that makes you interesting, that makes you strong because you survived it. I do not know what the story is, but I would like to hear it.”
Sidney gaped at her. Tears sprang to his eyes, unbidden and unexpected. His throat tightened and he found that he could not talk, only gasped for a moment as he tried to draw air into his lungs.
“You think that?” he managed after sucking a breath into his lungs. He blinked, aware that tears were running down his cheeks. Strange though it seemed, he did not feel ashamed to let her see that he cried. “You want to know the story?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. She looked up at him. She was standing up, and her head was just a little tipped back so that she could look into his eyes. “I want to know all about you. You are interesting, Duke of Willowick,” she said with a chuckle. “And I wish to know all about you.”
Sidney blinked. He gazed at her, his mind too full of words and his heart empty of all words except love.
“I...” he stammered, then grinned weakly. “I would like to tell you,” he managed. “But I would also like to know about you. If I may,” he added hesitantly. He felt terribly shy. In spite of her assurance that she liked how he looked, he still found it hard not to think of his company as an imposition, as if he was undeserving of her.
“Of course,” Lady Anastasia began. She giggled. “One thing I can tell you straight away is that this veil is horridly uncomfortable.” She reached up her hand, touching the veil, where it rested on a satin hairband that looked a little tight.
Sidney grinned. “I suppose this is, well...unusual attire.” His heart thudded.
She laughed. “It is somewhat disconcerting.”
He laughed too. “I am so happy,” he confided, “I barely noticed. Besides to notice that white becomes you well. You look exceptional, my lady.”
She laughed, her cheeks crimson. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She tilted her head, studying him teasingly. “I suppose we are a little formal.”
He inclined his head. “Please,” he said, clearing his throat. “Please, call me Sidney.”
She beamed. “And you must call me Anastasia.”
“Anastasia.” He reached for her hand and held it in his own. Her gaze held his, her blue eyes wide and round. He drew in a breath. “I cannot tell you how I never even dreamed I might say that.” His heart pounded so hard he could hear it thudding steadily in his chest, hot blood flooding into his cheeks and all the way to the roots of his hair.
“I never dreamed I might hear it.” She smiled at him. “Sidney.”
He stopped breathing for a second or two, the word slamming into him like a rock falling from a height.
“I have longed to speak thus to you; to speak the words that are in my heart.” He cleared his throat, his cheeks hot with blushing, his heart racing and his palms wet. “But I cannot hold them silent a moment more. From the moment I saw you, Anastasia, you touched something deep in my heart. I was drawn to you, to your smile, to your wisdom and your brightness. I longed to talk to you, to know you. Yes, you are beautiful—most beautiful. But it was your insights and your intellect that delighted me. I looked forward to every conversation, and each one gave me endless joy. I wanted so much to know you. And now...now I may tell you, at last, what is in my heart. My dearest Anastasia, I must confess that I have long been aware of the depths of my affection for you. The boundless joy and exquisite wonder I experience when I converse with you, or gaze upon your countenance—this profound delight that you exist in this world, and that I am privileged to share it with you—this is true love, of that I am certain. I count myself exceedingly fortunate to have made your acquaintance, dear Anastasia.”
He stopped talking, his heart thumping wildly. He gazed into her eyes. He had worried, as he spoke, that he was making her feel afraid, perhaps obliged. He did not want to do that. He wished only to tell her how he felt. She did not need to do or say anything—he merely wished for her to know.
She gazed up at him and for a moment his heart almost stopped, afraid that she was offended. She wet her lips and gazed into his eyes.
“I liked you the moment I saw you,” she said, her gaze darting away shyly for a moment. “I felt drawn to you, to your humour and your wit. I was interested in you. I know many people, but none who spoke like you, who had insights like you.” She paused. “I confess, too, that I was aware of your looks.” She grinned. “You have most striking eyes, Sidney Markham. I thought about them for days afterwards. And your words.” She giggled.
Sidney gaped at her. He grinned, a huge grin spreading across his face.
“I have harboured sentiments for you unlike any other,’ she confided, her cerulean eyes steadfast in their regard. ‘It has bestowed upon me a joy unparalleled in my experience. It is love, dear Sidney Markham. I am thoroughly entwined in my affections for you; I love you with all my heart.”
