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He gave all of himself to her. With his wrists bound, and his mangled hand at her full disposal, he felt raw and vulnerable.

And, somehow, that was healing.

Each rise and fall of her hips drove him closer to the edge, his body wound tight with impending release.

But it was the love in her eyes, the pure devotion and acceptance, that truly undid him. As she cried out his name, her inner walls spasming around him, Dorian let go, surrendering to the bliss she brought him. He shattered beneath her, his release pulsing deep within her womb, his heart laid bare in the afterglow.

Patience collapsed onto his chest, her body warm and soft against his. Dorian ached to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and never let go. She seemed to sense his need, and with gentle hands, she untied his wrists, bringing them to her lips for a tender kiss.

“I love you, Dorian,” she whispered against his skin. “You make me so happy.”

Dorian pulled her close, burying his face in her hair as he fought back the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. In her arms, he found acceptance, redemption, and a love he’d never thought possible.

He loved her, but the words were stuck in his throat. What was the point of telling her that while she loved an illusion of him, he loved the person she truly was?

Dared he hope for a happy future?

Somehow he knew he’d never be able to unless he could cast light onto the shadows of his past. Only by exposing them could chase them away.

But that might chase her away, too.

33

“Well, knock me down with a feather,” said Lady Buchanan two weeks later as she gaped at the garden of Rath Hall. “The garden has never looked better.”

Patience exchanged an amused glance with Dorian, who grinned back at her. Happy butterflies danced in her stomach, as they had every day for the past two weeks. She and Dorian woke up in the hazy light of dawn each day, their limbs entwined. Every night was a blur of passion and pleasure, their bodies joining again and again.

“Two months ago, I wouldn’t have believed it myself,” said Chastity, who stood next to Patience while the butler and the footmen were arranging tea on the terrace overlooking the garden.

Lady Buchanan looked at Dorian and her eyebrows rose to her high and elaborate hairstyle that was more suited for the court of Louis XVI than the garden terrace. “Are you…smiling, Dorian?” asked his aunt, her own lips stretching.

Dorian cleared his throat and wiped the smile off his face, frowning. “Er… No.”

Lady Buchanan’s eyes practically glimmered with mirth. “You have been smiling! Goodness, I have not seen a smile on your face since… Oh, Lord, since your wretched papa sent my dear sister away from you!”

Chastity nodded. “He has been doing that recently, yes.”

Patience’s heart felt so full of love, even as an undercurrent of unease rippled through her. The past two weeks, she’d been happier than ever before. She loved her husband, and he showed every sign he loved her, too, even though he never said it. The only thing casting a shadow over their happiness was that he was going through his horrible, exhausting morning routine with more vigor than ever, and she had no idea why… The shadows in the depths of his sky-blue eyes had darkened. Had she not resolved the great mystery that had kept them apart?

It took her a long time to get accustomed to the idea that the brother she had known as a child was not the man he truly was. Very carefully, she wrote a letter to Mama asking if John had ever been capricious, mean, or selfish. Mama’s reply was as positive as ever—however, she did say John had different sides to him. That he thought he had the right to have whatever he wanted, since he was the oldest child and the only boy. Papa’s heir. That sometimes he took it too far, but he always apologized and tried to do better.

Patience didn’t remember these sides of her brother. Then again, she was the youngest, and her childish memories had no doubt been influenced by the innocence and simplicity of youth, missing the complexities of the man John had become.

“Well, my darling,” said Lady Buchanan, squeezing Patience’s hand, “I was right about you.”

Patience grinned back at her. “Your nephew makes me very happy,” she said, and Dorian’s eyes melted again with warmth as he looked at her.

The tea was ready, and they were invited to take their places at the round table. Patience served tea while a slight breeze brought the scents of awakening flowers in bloom from the garden. Over the weeks, it had become lush and beautifully manicured. Her work and the work of Dorian, who helped her occasionally, as well that of the footmen and gardeners, had paid off. Life bloomed where there had once been only decay.

She loved it. She loved that she didn’t have to hide her interest in botany, that she could sit on a bench and enjoy watching her plants grow. She could take a stroll with Dorian down the narrow, meandering path of white gravel, now flanked by perennial bushes.

To their left, her roses were thriving. She could see their glossy leaves, their buds just beginning to unfurl. Next to them was the striking yellow yarrow. The plumed seed heads of tall grasses nodded gently in the breeze, and she enjoyed the sight of them next to the roses and the yarrow. An oak tree, an ash, and a chestnut tree had replaced the diseased trees, and their green branches swayed in the wind. Ahead, on the right, lavender plants had bees buzzing around them. Interspersed with the lavender were the yellow umbel-shaped flowers of fennel, which would be not just pretty but also useful. Beyond the stone path and past the bursts of lavender and goldenrod, there was a glimpse of the soft blues of periwinkle, which gave a nice splash of cooler color.

And the glasshouse… It was not yet complete, as she had ordered some plants and was waiting for their delivery. But it was clean. It was repaired. It had humidity, windows that opened for ventilation, and a working oven to provide warmth in winter.

She had done this. Her work, her passions—they mattered. She mattered.

Lady Buchanan took a sip of tea and replaced her cup with the tiniest, slyest smile. “Well, the garden has come to fruition. Clearly, the fertility here is abundant.”