A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(106)

“Perhaps not, but I know the sacrifices she’s made for you. And you have no idea what a remarkable person she’s become. You’re so absorbed in your own work, your own accomplishments. I’ve no doubt you do love Susanna, Sir Lewis. But you’re bollocks bad at it.”

Sir Lewis paled. “How dare you speak to me that way?”

“I believe I can speak to you any way I wish. I’m the Earl of Rycliff, remember?”

“I should have never secured you that title.”

“It’s not in your power to take it back. I’m the lord now.” Bram drew a slow, deep breath, trying to calm his rage. He was furious with Sir Lewis for putting Susanna and Finn and all the others in danger. But with any good fortune, this man would soon be his father-in-law. For Susanna’s sake, they would need to make peace.

“My father held you in the highest regard,” Bram said. “So do I, on professional merits. You’re a brilliant inventor, without question. Your creations have helped the British army prevail on many a battlefield, and as many times as I’ve lifted my Finch pistol in defense, I probably owe you my life. But your daughter, Sir Lewis . . .”

Bram turned his gaze to the sleeping Susanna and squeezed her hand. “Your daughter puts people back together. Young ladies, no less—who defy all rational formula. And she still finds time for the occasional washed-up, wounded officer. I may not owe her my life, but I owe her my heart.”

His eyes burned at the corners. He blinked hard. “If you think that rifled cannon will be your greatest invention, you’re a fool. Your greatest invention is right here, sleeping in this bed. Susanna is your legacy. And in your pride, you almost lost her.”

Bram had almost lost her, too. He hadn’t truly allowed himself to consider what that would mean, earlier. He’d been too focused on the next spoonful of tea, the new change of wound dressing, the fresh cloth for her brow. But now that her fever had broken, and Daniels had given her excellent odds for a full recovery . . . Jesus. The possibilities swept through him like a freezing, gale-force wind. A blast strong enough to strip the earth of everything warm and green.

He’d almost lost her. If this hellish ordeal had taught him one lesson, it was to never allow his pride to come between them again.

“You’re right, Bramwell.” The old man’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I know you’re right. I can only hope she’ll find it in her heart to forgive me.”

“Of course she will, good as she is. But hoping for her forgiveness is not the only thing you can do, Sir Lewis. You can try to deserve it.”

The bed linens rustled, and he whipped his gaze to Susanna. Her bronze lashes fluttered against her cheek.

Forget birds singing, bells ringing, brooks quaintly babbling over rocks. Choirs of angels could go hang. Her voice, even scratchy and weak, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

“Bram? Is that you?”

Susanna’s eyes fluttered open to what seemed just another lovely dream. Bram was there, beside her. And they had a proper bed, at long last. She’d had quite enough of loving him in coves and arbors.

“Bram,” she whispered.

“It’s me.” He pressed a firm kiss to her hand, and several days’ growth of whiskers scraped her skin.

She started to rise up on her elbow, but then some mischievous imp set the mattress spinning like a top.

“Don’t try to sit up,” he said. “You’re weak yet.”

She nodded, closing her eyes until the room stopped whirling.

“Do you want water?” He reached for a glass.

“In a moment. First . . .” With great effort, she turned her head. “Papa?”

Her father’s work-roughened hands clasped hers. “I’m here, dear girl. I’m here.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I want you to know I love you very much, Papa.”

“I—” His voice broke. “I love you too, Susanna Jane.”

“Good.” To hear those words from her father was unexpected, and unexpectedly freeing. She drew a deep breath. “Now would you go down to the kitchen and ask Cook for some beef tea?”

“I’ll send Gertrude right away.”

“No, Papa. I’d prefer for you to fetch it. I’d like some time alone with Bram.”

Her father sniffed and nodded. “I see.”

“Thank you for understanding.” She waited until he rose from his chair, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and made his way to the bedchamber door. When she heard the door latch click, she turned to Bram.

“Did you hear much of that conversation?” His gaze was wary.

“Enough of it. Oh, Bram. You were wonderful. I can’t even tell you how much I wanted—”

He clucked his tongue. “Time enough for that later. For now, drink.” He held a glass of water to her lips, and she took several cautious sips. “Are you in terrible pain?”

“Not too terrible,” she answered, once he lowered the glass. She tried for a smile. “It only hurts when I breathe.”

His answer was a stern rebuke. “Don’t joke. It’s not funny. I can’t stand to see you in pain.”

Dear, sweet man. “I’ll be fine. Truly. The pain’s so much better than before. How’s Finn?”