Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(100)

A sob slipped past Hermione’s lips.

“Hand me your burdens,” he urged. “I shall handle Cavendish, but together, you and I will care for Addie and Hugh, Elizabeth and her babe.”

She leaned close and he cradled her against him, aching to absorb every worry she’d ever known. He dropped his chin atop the silken mass of her luxurious tresses. They were both silent, reacquainting one another with the feel of each other’s arms.

He brushed his knuckles along her jawline, gently guiding her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I love you, Hermione Edith Fitzhugh.”



He loves me. Hermione’s heart fluttered. He loved her despite her lies, and Elizabeth and her deception, and for everything between them—he loved her anyway.

“Do you have nothing to say?” His husky question poured over her. “Or—?”

She leaned up on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his. “I love you,” she whispered. “I loved you the moment you walked out of my parlor with a copy of a Gothic novel, and I loved you even more when you read it, and did not condescend it.” Because for what Mr. Werksman and the world believed of dukes, they were not all self-aggrandizing, pompous figures a step away from royalty. Sebastian had proven that.

“All you needed was for me to read one of your Gothic novels?”

A tremulous smile pulled at her lips. She took his face between her palms. “All I needed was you, Sebastian. All I needed was you.” She leaned close to take his lips once more, but he angled away. She furrowed her brow.

He studied her with a searching look, his gaze once more solemn. “From this point on, there will be no more lies.”

Her gaze flitted to the cherished work, her most recently completed, much toiled over book. For three very lonely years she’d penned stories she’d dreamed of for others. She’d crafted a world in which young ladies and scarred gentlemen triumphed over great tragedy and in those stories she’d been able to escape, if even just a bit the realities of her own harsh, oftentimes uncertain world. Duchesses did not write Gothic novels.

“Hermione?”

He’d forgiven so much and promised her everything. God help her, she loved him enough that, even as it would rob a sliver of her heart never penning another story, the rest of that now-full organ would beat with a love for him so great she would make the ache of never writing again a very small sacrifice.

She smiled up at him. “No more lies,” she promised.





C





hapter 27

She’d lied.

One week later, hands clasped behind his back, Sebastian paced an angry path in front of the cold, empty hearth, reflecting on that deliberate mistruth of his wife. His conversation with Hermione had undoubtedly not gone the manner in which he’d imagined. She was to have told him the truth about her writing. He would have called her a silly fool, a silly, beautiful fool for not trusting him enough. He would have praised her work and admitted he’d been an unmitigated, judgmental arse where it was previously concerned. She likely would have agreed.

Instead… “She did not tell me,” he muttered.

From across the room, perched at the edge of his leather sofa, Addie piped in. “No, I imagine she did not.”

He paused mid-stride as the small girl’s words interrupted his musings.

“It’s not done, that’s why.” From his seat beside Addie, Hugh, concurred. “Ladies writing and all. I’ve told her that.” He glowered at Addie who held her elbow out clearly poised to deliver another well-placed jab.

“I was going to say because she doesn’t trust him after he abandoned her.”

Sebastian winced. Out of the mouth of babes, and all the more honest and humbling for it.

The boy shrugged. “Regardless, it’s not done. Ladies do not write and certainly not duchesses. Isn’t that right, Duke?”

He opened his mouth.

“Why, not?” Addie hopped to her feet, interrupting him. She planted her hands on her hips and stuck her face close to her brother’s. “Why can’t a lady write? Hermione writes more beautifully than anyone I know—”

“You have to say that. You’re her sister.”

“Well, you should say that because you’re her brother,” Addie shouted, coming dangerously closer to him.

And Sebastian suspected dangerously close to walloping the quarrelsome lad. “That is enough,” he said quietly. Hugh was to begin at Eton within a fortnight, but why hadn’t he hired this troublesome pair a governess? “Shouldn’t you be abovestairs for your lessons?”

Miracle of miracles, the two imps fell silent. Likely since they now faced the threat of returning to their lessons. Alas, the uneasy peace lasted no longer than the span of a moment.

“You might have simply told her that you know,” Hugh suggested.

Addie bounded over to Sebastian and yanked at his hand. “No, you can’t.” She shot a frown over her shoulder at Hugh. “He can’t. He promised and dukes don’t break their words.”

“Dukes do whatever they want,” Hugh tossed back.

Sebastian dropped to a knee. “I do not intend to break my word.”

Addie smiled and it was Hermione’s smile, every bit as endearing. “Splendid!”