Married By May

within his arms.
He was afraid to scare her off. She was like a skittish colt, and he didn’t want to spook her.
He took a tentative step toward her, his heart cracking when she stumbled back.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
It was the oddest thing, Ewan thought. Though things were as bad as could be between them, he felt a swell of pride in his chest as she faced him head on, her chin up, her eyes flashing. Weeks ago, she would have kept her gaze on the forest floor, stammering and stuttering her way through their meeting.
“Your letter said you’d stay away. Was that another lie?”
Her words cut deep, but they were no more than he deserved. He almost relished the pain, glad that she wanted to hurt him. It helped to assuage his guilt somewhat.
“No, it wasn’t a lie. I meant it at the time. But – but I wanted to see you again. Before I left. In case,” he laughed harshly at his own foolishness. “In case you needed me.”
She flinched at his words, and it killed him.
“I’m sorry,” he said futilely. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m leaving for India. I need to get my affairs in order and –“ He cut himself off, shaking his head. She wouldn’t be interested in any of this.
“I just needed to see you, one more time.”
She still didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t answer him.
Which was an answer in itself.
Ewan hadn’t really expected anything else. But it still hurt like hell.
Without another word, he turned to go, taking Ares' reins.
But her voice stopped him before he’d taken more than two steps.
“You said you loved me.”
Beatrice couldn’t believe she’d just blurted it out like that.
But she couldn’t believe he was here either.
Ever since her talk with Ben and Talia, after Ben had explained the awful circumstances Ewan had found himself in, the already unsteady walls of defence around her heart had been crumbling. Because she could understand how it had happened. She could understand the predicament he had been in.
And, she had to admit, she had initiated the kiss that Sir Edmund had witnessed. Not Ewan.
And now, to see him standing there telling her he was leaving. Telling her he wanted to see her – it set her poor, abused heart fluttering wildly.
He spun back around to face her, and Bea’s breath caught at the intensity of the emotion in his deep blue eyes.
He looked like a man tortured. She ran her gaze over him. Though he was still heart-breakingly handsome, he looked hellish. His clothing was rumpled, his jaw stubbled, his eyes dark and tired.
It should have made him look worse, but it just made him look beautiful in a more rugged way. It wasn’t fair! She knew that she, herself, looked terrible.
“But you went away,” she ploughed on. “And now, you tell me you’re leaving for India.”
He rushed forward, reaching out and grasping her shoulders, shaking her gently.
“I went away because I was so ashamed of what I’d done to you,” he said fiercely, that fiery emotion still burning in his eyes. “I didn’t want to leave. I still don’t want to. God, if I could spend every second of every day by your side, I’d do it.”
Beatrice felt her eyes fill with tears.
Could she trust him? Believe that he wanted her?
“I love you beyond words, Beatrice. I’ll never stop loving you, just as I’ll never stop hating myself for what I did to you.”
“Then why are you going away?”
His fingers clenched around her arms before he dropped his hands with a sigh.
“I need to – take care of things. Sort my affairs so I can move back. So I can help my father.”
Beatrice didn’t know what to make of him.
If he loved her, why didn’t he ask to marry her? Her dowry could solve every one of his financial obligations, and his father's, and still leave them wealthy.
If his claims of love were true, then why run away instead of doing right by her?
“You say you love me,” she repeated. “Yet, you don’t ask me to marry you? You don’t –“
“No. I won’t ask you to marry me. I won’t ask you to forgive me. Not now.”
Beatrice’s stomach flipped at his words.
Not now, he’d said.
“Does that mean you intended to?”
Where she got this courage to be blunt, Beatrice didn’t know.
Perhaps it was just the joy of seeing him again. Perhaps it was because she’d missed him so much. Perhaps it was because even Ben and Natalia believed he was sincere in his claims that he wouldn’t have intentionally hurt her.
His sad smile wrenched at her heart.
“I wanted nothing more than to be your husband,” he confessed softly. “I still want nothing more than that. But I won’t use your money. I won’t even dare to believe you can be mine until I’m worthy of you. Until I’ve sorted this mess and proven that I only want you. Not your coin. Not your dowry. And not because I’ve damaged your reputation. But because I love you with my whole heart, and I need to be with you, always.”
Bea’s heart swelled at his words. And she realised as she stood there looking into his tortured eyes that she believed him.
She truly believed that this tall, handsome man loved her. Plain, timid, boring Lady Beatrice Trafford. Not because he wanted her money. Not because he wanted her family name. But because he wanted her.
She took a step closer to him, knowing she had to choose to forgive. Choose to trust. Take a leap of faith that he meant what he said. That he’d spent his time since the ball as miserable as she. And if his expression were to be believed, then he had. Perhaps even more so.
“You know,” she began tentatively. “My mother was determined to take me to London and find me a husband in June.”
The pain that flickered across his face at her words was further proof of his sincerity.
“And I despise London, and the