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Margery was his whole heart. And he would be a fool to not grab tight at the chance of a life with her.
The breath left him in a rush and he gazed into her eyes, not caring that his heart was in his own. “I love you.”
Joy filled her beloved features, and he found himself grinning, though tears sprang to his eyes. He turned his head and kissed her palm. “God, I love you,” he murmured. “So very much.”
“Daniel,” she said, his name exploding from her, suffused with the very essence of her heart.
“I love your smile and your laugh,” he continued, the words tumbling from him now that they’d been loosened. “I love your kindness and your strength, your stubbornness and your fierceness.” He shook his head in amazement as his gaze scoured her face. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve every happiness in life, Daniel,” she said, certainty imbuing her voice with a brilliance that touched his very soul. Then, her tone dropping to a mere whisper, “Do I—could I—make you happy, Daniel?”
“God, yes.” He groaned, pulling her to him. He claimed her lips with his, imbuing his kiss with every bit of love he had for her. She gasped into his mouth, her arms going around his neck, her body pressed to his. He ached to lose himself in her.
But there was still one small bit of him that held on to fear.
He pulled away, just enough to leave a hairbreadth of space between their lips. “Margery, you still haven’t seen—you might not wish to after—”
She placed a finger over his lips, a soft smile lighting her eyes. “Why don’t you let me prove to you that your worries are for nothing,” she murmured. Her fingers trailed down to his cravat, loosened it. She pulled the silk free, worked at his waistcoat, pushing it off his shoulders, made short work of the buttons on his shirt.
All the while he watched her, the tension in him growing, both desire and fear churning together. Ah, God, he loved her so damn much. But their entire future together could hinge on what she thought of him when she saw his body. He wanted her. But if she turned away from him, it would destroy him.
She pulled his shirt from his breeches. He waited, breath stuck in his chest, for her to pull the material up. Then…
Nothing.
She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. “Daniel, do you want me to stop?”
Did he? Could he stand making love to her for the rest of his life in the dark? Never seeing the glory of her body, the look of passion in her eyes when she came undone in his arms?
Could he live the rest of his life having her think that he didn’t trust her fully? Because he knew in that moment he did. He trusted her with everything in him.
She watched him, her teeth worrying her delicious full bottom lip, ready to stop then and there if he wished it. In answer, he rolled from the bed, stood on unsteady legs, reached for the bottom of his shirt, and pulled it up and over his head. And then, before he could think better of it, he unfastened his breeches and, taking a deep breath, pushed them down his legs, his smalls quickly following, and kicked them off.
In for a penny, he thought a bit madly.
“Oh.” The word escaped her on a breath, and he flinched. His mind, prepared for flight, screamed at him to turn around, to cover himself. But his heart, full of love for her and the hope that she could love him as he was, kept him in place. He raised his chin and looked at her.
And his legs nearly gave out at the love and desire illuminating her face.
“Daniel,” she whispered, her eyes roving his body with hunger. Stunned, he could only watch mutely as she moved across the bed and stood before him. The one sane bit of his brain still working told him he should be feeling shame, should be feeling horribly vulnerable and exposed. He was naked, after all, with every flaw laid out for her to see. He had never wanted to be put in this position ever again, to be in someone else’s hands, to invite rejection and disgust.
But as Margery looked up at him, her eyes clear and full of love, a small smile curving her lips, he could only feel an overwhelming trust in her.
She licked her lips as her gaze returned to his body. “Can I touch you?” Her voice was achingly gentle.
“God, yes,” he managed.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she reached for him. Her fingers trailed over his chest, tracing each scar with reverence, down over his abdomen, to his leg.
She paused again, looked up at him with a question in her eyes. But his fear was gone. Taking her hand, he guided it to his scar.
Her fingers were light, just barely tracing the mangled flesh. “Does this hurt you?”
“No,” he managed, his breath hitching in his chest.
Then, to his shock, she dropped to her knees before him—and pressed her lips to his scar.
“Margery.” Tears clogged his throat, burned his eyes. He pulled her to her feet, wrapped his arms about her, pressed his face into her neck.
