Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(107)

“Right next to your shaving kit.”

His big hand reached for hers. She looked up into warm brown eyes brimming with emotion.

“Merry.”

Her heart swelled as he finally pulled her into his arms. Just where she wanted to be. He inclined his head until his whiskered chin grazed her temple. And they stood there together, just breathing. The moment was too intense for a kiss, too profound for words. The relief, the joy, the sheer rightness of it all.

She pressed her forehead to his frayed lapel and the wall of muscle beneath. “I knew you’d come back,” she whispered. “I just knew it.”

His hands framed her waist, and he pulled her back to look at him. “Thought you didn’t believe in fate or destiny.”

“I still don’t. But I believe in you.”

“Good.” His throat worked as he stared deep into her eyes. “Because fate be damned. God and the Devil and every one of their minions could convene right here and now to drag me off to my doom, and I’d fight my way through each and every one of them to stay with you. Not because it’s my destiny or my punishment or for lack of alternatives, but because I love you too much to be anywhere else. And if you refuse to marry me, I’ll remain here still. Come down to the inn every night for a meal and a pint, just to look at you and be near you. I …” He brushed the hair back from her face, cupping her cheek in his weathered hand. “Merry, I love you.”

“Oh, Rhys. I—” She hesitated, searching his eyes. “Can you bear it if …?”

He nodded. “Tell me.”

“I love you, too. I’ve loved you for so long.”

His eyes closed briefly, then opened again. “Still hurts a bit. But it’s getting better.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “As I recall, you still owe me an answer.”

“Remind me of the question.”

“Will you marry me?”

She pretended to think on it. “Yes.”

They smiled at one another. After all that time and all that discussion … yes, it really was that simple. Because it just felt right.

In a sudden burst of strength, he grasped her by the waist and tossed her into the air as if she weighed nothing. He caught her just under the hips, holding her fast to his chest and making her the taller of the two. Which gave her the immense joy of staring down at his wide, rugged smile. And then the very great pleasure of bending her head by slow, teasing degrees … until she finally kissed it away.

How she loved this man. Theirs would never be a soft, gentle kind of affection. They were both made of granite, chipped off this moor, and their love would be fierce and stubborn and even painful when they clashed. But also solid and enduring. A love to last for all time.

Finally setting her on her feet, he pressed his brow to hers. “Have I thanked you for saving me?”

Eyes still closed, she shook her head no.

“Well, then. I’ll be certain to do that. Every day, for the rest of our lives.” He kissed her brow. “I’m a broken man, Merry. I can’t lie to you. It may take some time before I’m truly whole, and even then, the pieces may never come together quite right. But I’m grateful to you. Grateful for you. And I love you, more than I have words or strength to express. I will never leave your side again.”

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “Even if you tried, I wouldn’t let you go.”

Sweet promises, both. But they didn’t last long.

Rhys did leave her side, the very next morning. And Meredith gladly let him go, for the errand was one of some urgency. Rhys rode to Lydford and made a swift return, curate in tow. It wasn’t the first Sunday of the month, but it was a Sunday. Therefore, Rhys had decided it would be their wedding day. Meredith was not inclined to argue. Their tiny village church hadn’t seen an Evening Prayer service in years, but it saw one that night. By candlelight, no less. Flickering tapers warmed each amber and red stained-glass window. The reading of the banns was followed by a marriage rite, with the entire population of Buckleigh-in-the-Moor in attendance. The groom wore immaculate black and white; the bride, a veil of Bath lace. Bellamy and Cora stood up as witnesses. George Lane looked on with pride.

And everyone—at least, everyone Cora could nudge into agreement—declared the scene to be the picture of romance.

Afterward they adjourned for dancing and merriment in the tavern. There, surrounded by increasingly tipsy well-wishers, Meredith laced her fingers behind her husband’s neck as they danced some approximation of a waltz.

“Lady Ashworth,” he said in a tone of mock formality, “you look uncommonly lovely tonight.” He pulled her close and nuzzled her ear. “God, it’s good to finally call you that.”

“It’s good to finally hear.” She smiled. She’d been waiting for those words a great deal longer than he had. Since her twelfth summer, truth be told. Now she was here in his arms. His wife.

“When can we leave?” His tongue grazed her earlobe. “I want to take you home.”

The word sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. The cottage wasn’t much of a home yet. No furniture or fixtures. The curtains still weren’t done. But she’d seen to the essentials that afternoon—a mattress, blankets, a few bottles of wine, and a healthy stack of peat for the fire. That was all they’d need tonight.