Page 71 of The Chef and the Countess

Liam gently turned her onto her back. He then laid on his side, resting on his elbow. He smoothed the tendrils of hair that had come loose from her pins. “Love, all of this would have happened anyway. Shinwell owed the money before you arrived in London. I never should have given the viscount any credit to begin with. That failure of judgment is on me.”

“But because of me, you left most of that debt on the table to secure my aunt’s address and a small settlement.”

“I will get it back when your uncle pays what is owed—something he will have to do now that Shinwell broke our agreement. Besides, I would do anything to assist you. Love, I’ll do anything to keep you safe and keep that cheerful smile in place.”

Celia touched his cheek. “What is happening between us? Do you know?”

He took her hand and kissed it. “I still don’t know. I can’t put it into words.”

“Fiona said you have had plenty of lady friends. I am not disparaging your character, far from it. All—or most—men have a past. It’s expected.”

“Expected? Maybe with the upper crust. Fiona is speculating. I’ve not had ‘plenty of lady friends.’ My restaurant kept me too busy for most interactions with women. Many Saturday nights, I went for a walk or to a pub to observe what the competition was doing. Recently, I visited a widow once a week,” Liam murmured. “I broke the connection.”

“When?”

“Two days after I met you.”

A lump of emotion settled in Celia’s throat. She had no idea what to say. Could it be? Had he felt something toward her that quickly?

“Since we’re being candid,” Liam ventured, “I want to tell you that I not only mailed your letters to the new Earl of Winterwood and your aunt, but also sent telegraphs.”

“You did? That must have cost you a pretty penny. Why?”

“It cost a few shillings, but I could afford it. I suppose I wanted you to receive the help you deserved. Letters take too long, although I was told the telegraph to Italy would take longer than the one to Northern England. I also considered sending a telegraph to Mitchell and Corrine, but you said to let them enjoy their honeymoon, and I think you’re right.” Liam sighed. “It doesn’t sit well with me that you are laboring in my kitchen, cleaning counters, making sandwiches, taking orders—”

Celia laced her fingers through his. “I do not mind taking orders from you. Now, I want you to listen closely. I want to work here and assist you. Believe me; I would have told you upfront had I not liked it. I am not some delicate flower that needs to be coddled. If I were, I would have taken Drew up on his generous offer. But I’ve had enough of that life. I do not want that life, now or in the future.”

“The future?”

It was hard to see in the dimness of the room, which made Celia bold. “We can have one. Together. Because I have never felt like this. I adore you, Liam Hallahan. I cannot imagine a better life than being at your side. There is nothing we cannot accomplish—as long as we do it as partners.”

The room became still, and the growing silence became awkward. Liam never moved; Celia couldn’t even hear him breathing. Had she shocked him into a frozen, uncommunicative state? Had she gone too far?

“Liam?” she whispered. No reply. Celia reviewed the recent conversation. He said he wanted her to be happy. But perhaps he only meant in the present. Liam sent telegraphs—to be rid of her? No, it couldn’t be. “Speak to me. Do not withdraw from me.” She grasped his shoulder and shook it. Just how deep did his wounds from the past go? Blast it. She had gone too far, too fast. Liam had started—in increments—to come out of his shell, but her declaration of affection might have set things back. Celia had never witnessed anyone shut down emotionally like this before.

“I will take you to your room,” he replied, his voice detached.

Celia’s heart sank. But she would not become angry and shrewish. It was not her way, no matter how infuriating this man acted. “Liam, if you do not feel the same toward me, say so now, and I will depart.”

Again, silence.

“It’s all right if your feelings petrify you. It is also new and strange to me,” Celia continued. “But it’s also exhilarating.”

He pulled his hand away, but Celia grasped it again. “Please do not hide within yourself. You have come so far, not only with me but with your staff—your family. You must be completely honest with them. Tell them of your recently discovered son and your duke-father background. Acknowledge Drew and Mitchell as your brothers—publicly. Allow them into your heart. Only then will you be able to accept your feelings toward me.”

“Celia,” Liam croaked.

She carefully pulled herself upright and swung her legs around. Gingerly, she stood. “I know I’m asking a great deal. I also know that you care for me, more than simply concern for my safety and comfort. I will leave you to think about what I said. I can go to my room on my own. The injury is not that serious.”

Celia headed toward the door, then halted. She had come this far--she might as well dive into the deep end of the bathing pool. “I more than adore you, Liam. I am falling in love with you. There. I said it—the dreaded ‘L’ word. The time has come for you to decide what you desire for your remaining years. Your choice. I know you have it in you to stop hiding. Come and find me when you do.”

Holding her head high, she exited the flat. Liam did not follow.

Celia might have to walk out of his life if he could not accept his feelings.

And that horrible prospect nearly cleaved her in two.

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