Page 169 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

Her skirts were bunched against his legs as the two of them sat side by side on the upholstered seat, angled to face each other. Sunlight shone through the cracks in the curtains that covered the carriage windows, glinting in her blue eyes and over her ebony hair.

His heart clenched with love for her. “First? That I’ve missed you, too, quite desperately. Nothing has been right since you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you. I told you—”

“You left me. And with good reason. I kept something important from you, when what I ought to have done was tell you everything the moment we decided to marry.”

“You couldn’t take the risk. I understand. The children—”

“Yes, the children. They were the root of it. But I can’t pretend I wasn’t motivated by other impulses. The fact is, I wanted you badly. I didn’t dare take a chance that the truth would drive you away.”

She searched his face. “Have you told me the whole of it?”

“I have,” he said. “God help me. The secret’s not easy to bear. I would have spared you the burden of it if I could.”

“You’re bearing it,” she said. “Indeed, it seems to me that since you took on Captain Blunt’s identity you’ve been a veritable Atlas. Don’t you ever rail against having to atone for the man’s crimes? You’re not, after all, the one who committed them.”

“No, I didn’t. But I’m rarely called to account anymore, except occasionally by Charlie.” He paused, his mouth hitching ruefully. “And by you.”

The carriage rolled through the street, bouncing gently as the coachman expertly navigated the afternoon traffic on the way to the park.

“I should have known none of it was true,” she said. “That it wasn’t the real you.” Her brows knit in an elegant line. “I think I did know. It never made sense that The Fire Opal could have been written by a man so cruel and brutal. Only a dreamer could have imagined that story. Someone with a romantic heart and a heroic spirit.”

Heat crept up his neck. “I was young when I wrote it. Full of idealistic notions. I’d seen nothing of the world outside of my village.”

“You were like me?”

“Yes, I suppose I was,” he said, though he privately thought that no one was like her. No one on this earth. She was utterly unique. The only lady he’d ever loved. That he could ever love. A beautiful soul who had, by some miracle, been fashioned just for him.

Good Lord. What if he’d never come to London all those months ago? What if he’d never found her?

“I saw Mr. Finchley yesterday,” she said. “You were right. We are married.”

“Yes,” he replied gravely. “We are.”

Julia leaned into him, sweet with the fragrance of lavender water and starched petticoats. An intoxicating scent. It stirred his senses, setting his heart to thumping in an erratic rhythm.

She reached to touch his cheek. “You must promise never to lie to me again.”

He covered her hand. “I promise.”

“And you must swear not to withhold things from me. Even if you think it’s for my own good. It’s no different from lying.”

“I swear it. From now on, I’ll tell you everything.” Drawing her hand from his face, he tugged off her kid glove, needing to feel the silky softness of her skin. When her hand was bare, he pressed a kiss to her palm before lifting it back to his cheek.

Her fingers curled to cradle his face. “I want it all,” she said. “The good and the bad, for better or worse, just like we vowed to each other in church.”

“It’s yours,” he said. “I’m yours.”

She held his gaze, her blue eyes luminous with warmth. “I love you, James.”

James.

His heart stopped, only to start again, beating stronger and steadier than before. He gathered her in his arms, bending his head to hers. “Julia—my dearest girl—I love you more than life.”

Her hand slid to curve around his neck. She tugged him closer, stretching up to him as their lips met.

It was a gentle kiss that swiftly transformed into something fiercer and deeper. An affirmation of their love for each other. Of their trust and unconditional acceptance.