A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(108)

He didn’t respond, save to give her a long, affectionate look.

Surely he loved her. He didn’t even have to say it. His every action—from accepting the promotion in London, to the cool cloth he now swiped over her brow—told her so.

He didn’t have to say it. But she was growing terribly impatient to hear the words, just the same.

He snapped straight and began adjusting the bed linens around her. “You need rest. Or tea. Or something. I don’t know, you’re the healer. If you were me right now, what would you do?”

“That’s simple. I would go inform Daniels that his patient is awake. And then I would have a proper meal and a good, long sleep. And a bath and a shave. And I would not worry about anything.”

He brushed a fingertip over her nose. “Little liar.”

“But the very first thing I would do? Is give my future bride a kiss.” When he hesitated, she cast him her most encouraging smile. “You’ve already broken all the other prohibitions. Don’t go honorable on me now.”

He leaned close, brushing the hair from her temple. “I never could resist stealing a kiss from you. Not since that very first day.”

His lips touched hers.

And just like that first kiss, it was warm and firm, and then . . . it was over. Curse him, he was a model of restraint.

“Bram,” she whispered, unable to resist, “do you think you could love me, just a little?”

He laughed. “Good Lord, no.”

“No?” Susanna bit her lip, cringing inside. “Oh.”

Oh dear. She dropped her gaze to his lapel, assessing her options. Could she bring herself to marry him, if he didn’t love her at all?

Of course she could. The alternative flashed before her eyes—a future that appeared hopelessly lonely and grim. She couldn’t picture it too clearly, but she sensed it would involve a great many cats and peppermints.

Never mind love. She could make do with lust, or admiration, or whatever he offered her. Even tepid affection was better than fuzzy peppermints.

He touched her cheek, drawing her gaze back up to his strong, handsome face.

“No, Susanna,” he said. “I cannot love you just a little. If that’s what you want, you must find a different man.” His green eyes were breathtaking in their intensity. His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “Because I can only love you entirely. With everything I am, and everything I ever will be. Body, mind, heart, soul.”

Her heart soared. “Oh,” she finally managed. “That’s better. So much better.” She pulled him close for a kiss.

He held back. “Are you sure?” he asked, looking serious now. “Think on it, love. Be certain you want this. I’m offering you everything I am. And if I do say it myself, I’m a lot of man to handle. I’ll protect you fiercely, challenge you daily, and want you nightly—at the least. You won’t be able to manage me the way you manage other men.”

She smiled. “Oh, I think that’s yet to be decided.”

“I can be a beast, as you’re so fond of calling me. Strong as a bull, stubborn as an ox . . .”

“But handsomer than both, thank goodness.”

His eyebrows drew together in mock censure. “I’m being serious here. I want you to know what you’re getting into.”

“I know well what I’ve gotten into. It’s love. And I’ve fallen so deep in it by now, I ought to have a bathing costume.” She caressed his cheek. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”

He clasped her hand to his face, then kissed it warmly. “Even though we’ll reside in London, at least some of the time?”

“I would have followed you to the Pyrenees. London is just up the road.”

“We will be here often, I promise. Christmas, Easter. Every summer, of course, so you can welcome your friends. I know for you, Spindle Cove will always be home.”

“But not for you?”

He shook his head. “You’re my home, Susanna. My home, my heart, my dearest love. Wherever you are, that’s where I belong. Always.”

Epilogue

Six weeks later

It was good to be home.

Just returning after a week’s absence from the village, Bram paused outside the red-painted door of the establishment formerly known as the Rutting Bull. Which had been formerly known as the Blushing Pansy.

The gilt-lettered sign hanging above the door might be new, but when he threw open the door of what was now the Bull and Blossom, Bram encountered immediate proof that some things never changed.

His cousin remained a troublemaking idiot.

The entire tavern had been cleared of chairs and tables. Colin stood with his back to the door, directing men in two opposite corners of the room as they hoisted some sort of soldered frame toward the ceiling, using an elaborate network of pulleys and ropes. Bram had no idea what they were doing, but he knew it couldn’t be good.

“Hold your ropes, now,” Colin ordered, motioning with both arms like an orchestra conductor. “Thorne, pull it a hair or two closer to your corner. Not too far! That space will get smaller once the stage curtains are hung, and we need to leave the fair Salome plenty of room for her dance of the seven veils. Can’t have her skimping and only giving us six.”

Bram cleared his throat.

Colin wheeled in a brisk half turn. His countenance was purposely, studiously blank.