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“I vow to protect ye with my life. I love ye, Emily. I wish to make ye my duchess.”
He angled away from her, searching her dear, sweet, tear-dampened face.
Her eyes, framed by a fringe of spiky lashes, grew wide, and she clamped her lower lip between her teeth.
“I ken ye are afraid, darling, but with me by your side, ye needn’t ever fear again. I shall never leave ye. Never.”
“Oh, Tobias.” Such sadness and despair ravaged her features, his gut clenched as if he’d been impaled. “But is our love enough?”
His heart soared to heaven.
Emily loved him.
He’d be bound she didn’t even realize she’d said it, but it was sufficient for him. For now.
She drew in a shuddery breath. “The scandal…”
“I don’t give two farthings about a scandal, and neither does Avery. Or Justina or San Sebastian or any of our other friends. You do us a great disservice if you think any of us would turn our backs on ye because ye trusted a blackguard and he betrayed ye.”
“He’s right, you know.”
Emily gasped, her dainty mouth slack as she and Tobias faced the doorway.
San Sebastian filled the entrance, but no censure marred his features at catching them in an embrace.
“Baxter… I.” Emily sent Tobias a helpless look but didn’t step from his arms.
His blood sang through his veins at the concession.
In that minutest way, she’d accepted she was his, even if unconsciously.
Curving his mouth into a gentle smile, San Sebastian advanced further into the room.
“I don’t know what your secret is, Emily. My wife has never revealed it, and we share everything. She says it’s yours to share when you’re ready. You are family, Emily, and we will get through whatever this is together.”
“Ahem.” Bevels cleared his throat.
That was another eerie quality of majordomos—that ability to appear out of thin air.
“You have another caller, Mrs. Grenville. Mr. Cortland Marlow-Westbrook.”
“The bugger didn’t wait long,” Tobias muttered, itching to have a word with the good fellow before Emily did.
Why was Marlow-Westbrook so determined to uncover the truth? Like a bloody hound on the scent of a fox.
Emily glanced between him and San Sebastian. “I’ll see him. Let’s have this done once and for all.”
“As you wish,” the butler said deferentially.
Bevels departed, and as they waited for Marlow-Westbrook to be shown in, they seated themselves. Tobias claimed the cushion beside Emily on the closest settee while San Sebastian chose a nearby armchair.
Tobias took Emily’s hand in his, and she turned a grateful gaze upon him.
They would get through this together.
“Mr. Marlow-Westbrook,” Bevels intoned with the same enthusiasm as an executioner announcing a death sentence.
The first crack of fashion in a scarlet coat, gold, black, and claret waistcoat, and a frothy neckcloth from whence a ruby stickpin glittered, Marlow-Westbrook gave a shallow bow.
