Page 106 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

Grey scrambled from lantern to lantern, lighting each one with shaking hands and wishing desperately for the ability to take hold of the sun and shove it below the horizon where it belonged. He had intended to bring Farah here during nightfall, when the garden would have been alive with dancing flames and colorful globes, bathing his favorite part of Montgomery House in shades of stained glass.

But he couldn’t wait. Not another day, not another hour, not another minute. Every moment that passed without her knowing, without him confessing, was a moment of pure, torturous suffocation. He couldn’t stand it, even if he’d wanted to give her perfection.

He was, however, an imperfect man. It was that imperfection, that impatience, that had brought them here to Montgomery House at the crack of dawn.

Farah, for her part, watched him with wide eyes, the soft light of daybreak bathing her in an ethereal glow, her hands clasped before her. When he was finally done, he tossed the box of matches onto the stone bench beneath the willow tree before approaching her. Before speaking, he raked his gaze over the garden, willing the lanterns to at least try to compete with the rising sun.

“This would have made a more striking scene at night,” he said, turning toward her with his heart wedged uncomfortably in his throat, “but I couldn’t wait.”

She gave him a wobbly smile. “It’s lovely.”

“An attempt at magic,” he said, taking her hands in his. God help him, but he’d never been good at these things. “Do you remember what you called your herb garden? That night at Northborough.”

Farah studied their joint hands with a contemplative hum. A beat, and then her head snapped up. “Yes! My sanctuary.”

“Right.” He took a steadying breath. “Farah, I—I know what you want, what you intend to do. Return to Painswick, take time for yourself. I would never ask you to deviate from what you’ve decided is best. But you—you must know—”

She squeezed his palm in encouragement. “Yes?”

“That corner of Northborough is your sanctuary,” he said, his voice inexplicable in its hoarseness. “But you, Farah, are mine.”

“Grey—”

Now that he’d started, he found it very difficult to stop, cutting her off before she could break his heart. “I sometimes feel that I’ve known you my entire life. I said before that I might understand you, but I do, and—and I think you understand me. It’s as if some part of me knew you before you came barging into my office, as if some part of me has always known you, somehow. Even if you do not love me, I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know that such things can happen without planning, rhyme, or reason. I’m proof of that much, at least.”

In one swift movement, she tugged him toward her, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. Were it not for the still quiet of dawn, he might not have heard the words that came out of her mouth. “I spent so long dreaming of love,” she murmured, her fingers grabbing onto the fabric of his coat. “So long. But I think I was dreaming of you without knowing it.”

Grey almost fell to pieces, her embrace the only thing keeping him standing and whole. Slowly, carefully, he stepped away from her, using his hands to cup her rounded face. “I need to hear the words, love. Please.”

She gave him a resolute nod, her lips lifted in a smile. “I love you, Grey Montgomery. I think I’ve loved you for far longer than I’ve been aware of. I was just too silly to realize what was right in front of me.”

A ragged breath escaped him as relief flooded his veins. “You love me.”

“Of course I do,” she said, her smile widening. “I cannot fathom not loving you.”

“I know I’m lacking, but I—”

“How?”

“What do you mean, how?”

“How are you lacking?”

He couldn’t help but let out an amused exhale. “Insecure, broken in far too many places, incapable of forgiving members of my own family—shall I go on?”

Farah pushed a lock of hair out of his forehead. “None of that changes the way I see you.”

His heart thumped in his chest, the force of it almost painful against his rib cage. “Regardless, you deserve far more than what I am. But—” He stopped speaking to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat. “But still I offer myself to you with the promise that I will strive to be exactly the man you need.”

Farah laughed, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I distinctly remember you claiming that only three words are needed to tell someone you love them.”

“Well, I distinctly remember being corrected,” he said.

She sighed, tracing her thumb along his cheekbone. The sun continued to rise behind her, setting the golden strands of her hair aglow. “You are the man I need, Grey. How can you not see that? You’re everything I’ve always needed—gentle, clever, reliable. And I know all this about you because you make it so terribly obvious. It’s clear in everything you do and in everything you say. I was prepared to fall in love with a ghost from my own imagination, but nothing could have ever compared to falling in love with you. It came on so strong, so unbelievably true, that I couldn’t help but doubt it at first.”

It was, admittedly, not what he’d expected to hear. Absorbing his expression, she continued. “I didn’t think I could trust myself given my—my penchant for romantic fantasy, you could say. But, truly, if it struck me as foreign, it was because I have never felt anything so uncomfortably real. If I’d had any sense, I would have fallen in love with you the moment we met.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Because I gave you such a wonderful first impression.”