Page 50 of The Lost Letter: A Victorian Romance

“I didn’t want to believe it, but…If you had thought me worthy of marriage you would have proposed that night. Instead, you spoke of…of making me your m-mistress.”

Sebastian drew back, thunderstruck. “The hell I did!”

His reaction was so genuine that, for an instant, she felt a stirring of doubt. “But you did,” she said. “You mentioned an arrangement and gifts and—”

A look of dawning realization stole over his face. “Is this why you left Hertfordshire?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I-I did not know what else to do.”

“You might have come to me.”

She shook her head. “I did not trust myself. Not after what happened between us.”

His expression softened. He seemed to understand, to sympathize even. “You were overset,” he said. “Which is precisely why I did not broach the subject of marriage that night.” He brought his hand to her cheek. “Sylvia…I didn’t want you as my mistress. I wanted you as my wife. I have always wanted you as my wife. Had you stayed until the morning, you would have known that.”

She dropped her gaze from his, swallowing back another swell of tears. “You can’t marry me. Not with my job at the Dinwiddy’s and what happened to Papa. You are an earl now and I am—”

“You are the woman I love,” he said gruffly.

“People will talk.”

“Do you think I give a damn what anyone says? What anyone else thinks?”

“No, but—”

“Besides,” he continued, “I have a plan.”

Sylvia lifted her eyes back to his. “What sort of plan?”

“Sir Roderick may have been a complete rogue and his death may have been a scandal, but he was still a baronet and you are still his daughter.” He dropped his hand from her face. His jaw hardened with resolve. “I mean to restore you to the society for which you were born and bred. Lord Harker and my sister will assist us, but there are others who will be just as willing. Julia suggests visits to the theatre and a few small society parties to begin with and then, at the height of the season, a ball. A betrothal ball, if…if you will have me.”

“You would do all that for me?” she asked in an unsteady whisper.

“What? Go about in society do you mean?”

She nodded.

“If that is what it takes.”

“Is it what you want?”

“Good God, no. I do not care what society thinks of your having worked as a governess these past two years. And I do not care what they say about your father. You need no redemption in my eyes. If it were up to me and no one else, I would marry you tomorrow morning and spirit you straight back to Pershing Hall.”

Sylvia’s heart beat a delirious rhythm in her chest. “Tomorrow morning? My goodness.”

Sebastian looked at her intently. “Sylvia….” A faint flush crept up his neck, turning him red about the collar. He appeared suddenly, and quite remarkably, unsure of himself. “I know that I am not what I was—that the scars have made my face terrible to look upon—but you loved me once. You said that I was dear to you. If you will but give me a chance—if you will agree to be my wife—I promise to give you everything in the world you ever wanted. To do everything in my power to—”

She pressed her fingertips to his lips, silencing him. “You foolish man,” she said. “How little you know me.” Her hand slid up to cradle his cheek. “All I ever wanted in the whole world was you.”

A spasm of emotion crossed over his face. “Is that what you still want?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

For years, she had promised herself that if she was ever again in a situation like this, she would be restrained. Dignified. That she would never reveal her true feelings as she had in those letters. But as she leaned closer to Sebastian, breathing in the familiar scent of spiced bergamot and starched linen, such promises flew right out the window. Penelope Mainwaring had been wrong. Some gentlemen—even the strongest and the bravest—did require reassurance on occasion. She gave it now with all of her heart.

“Yes,” she said. “My darling, yes. You are as dear to me now as you were then. Dearer still because of your scars. Because I know all that you have suffered to come back to me. But, much as I want you, tomorrow morning is impossible. Mrs. Dinwiddy will need at least a week to find a new governess.”

Sebastian went still, his gaze sharpening. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that yes…I will marry you. And I do love you, Sebastian. I have never stopped loving you, though I have tried very hard to do so. But if you truly love me…And if you truly do not mind—”