Season Of Secrets: Not Just a Seduction

“Of course I do.”

“How could you? Because of my lack of faith in you, in myself, I have denied you the first three years of your daughter’s life!” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “And I am so sorry for that, Christian.”

“Why did you not write to me?”

Sylvie closed her eyes briefly. “After you left me, there were rumors on your estate of the women you had been seen with in London before you rejoined your regiment—”

“They were untrue.” He looked at her bleakly. “I did not so much as look at another woman. Why would I, when it was you I wanted? You I intended to return to? You whom I loved?”

Sylvie looked at him searchingly, seeing the truth in the bleakness of his expression. As she heard the past tense in his last statement. “I am so sorry, Christian. So very sorry that I ever doubted you.” She turned away to stare sightlessly out of the window overlooking the garden. “I cannot bear to think of how much you must now hate and despise me!”

Christian rose abruptly to his feet to cross the room in three long strides before grasping Sylvie’s shoulders and turning her to face him. “I could never hate or despise you, Sylvie,” he assured her gruffly as he cupped either side of her face to brush his thumbs across her cheek and erase the tears. “How could I when I fell in love with you the moment I saw you swimming half-naked in that river four years ago? And it is a love that never died, Sylvie. Never,” he assured her fiercely as her eyes widened incredulously, hopefully. “Yes, I felt angry and betrayed when I returned to England and found you had married another man. And I behaved abominably for the next four years—”

“So I believe.” She smiled sadly.

“I am not proud of those years, Sylvie,” he acknowledged. “How could I be? But I did not know how else to get through the pain of loving you and knowing you were so far out of my reach, that you belonged with another man. And all this time!” He gave a self-disgusted shake of his head. “Was the reason you agreed to become my mistress, but with that proviso that we meet in my home and not yours, because you wished to protect Christianna from me?”

“Partly,” she acknowledged.

Christian looked at her closely. “And the other part?”

Sylvie released her breath in a sigh. “The other part was that I only had to see you again, to be with you again, to know, despite denying it to myself, wishing it to be the contrary, that I still had feelings for you.”

He stilled. “As I only had to see you again the night of my grandmother’s ball to know that I have never stopped loving you.”

She gasped. “You believed I had married Gerald for his money and title—”

“And it made no difference to the love I still feel for you!” he admitted fiercely. “I knew that night that I wanted you back in my life—that I had to have you back in my life, in any way that you would allow!” He drew in a ragged breath. “How you must now hate and despise me because I tried to force you into my bed!”

Sylvie huskily gave a self-derisive laugh. “Did it seem last night as if I felt forced into responding to your lovemaking?”

“No...” Christian looked down at her searchingly. “And it was lovemaking, Sylvie. No matter how I might have behaved the night of my grandmother’s ball, how much I tried to continue to despise you for believing you had married an old man for his title and fortune, once I held you in my arms again, kissed you, I could never do less than make love with you.”

Yes, for all of those things, Sylvie knew that Christian’s lovemaking the previous night had been every bit as tender and caring for her own needs as it had ever been in the past. “You did not know of Christianna’s existence then...”

His hands moved to tightly grip her shoulders. “If anything, that only makes me love you more,” he assured her fiercely. “You did what you believed you had to do to in order to protect our daughter when you accepted Ampthill’s offer, what was necessary to protect both Christianna and yourself!”

“And by my doing so, you have missed the first three years of your daughter’s life,” she repeated sadly.

“But God willing I will not miss any more. Or that of any other children we might be blessed with?” He looked down at her uncertainly.

Sylvie gazed up at him searchingly, seeing only love burning in Christian’s beautiful moss-green eyes. “What are you saying?”

“Asking,” he corrected huskily. “I am asking what I should have asked you before I left four years ago. What, in my arrogance, I believed could wait until the next time I returned to England.” He gave a self-disgusted shake of his head.

Sylvie swallowed. “And what is that?”

“That you do me the honor of marrying me,” Christian pressed softly. “I had never loved until I met you that summer, Sylvie. Nor have I loved again since. I loved you then, and I love you still, and if you will consent to become my wife, I swear to you that I will tell you, show you, every day for the rest of our lives together how very much I love and cherish you!”

Tears welled in her eyes once more, but this time they were tears of happiness. “I realized last night that I have never stopped loving you either, Christian. I loved you then, I love you now. I will always love and cherish you.”

He looked down at her searchingly for several long, disbelieving seconds, his expression turning to one of wonder as he saw that love shining in the darkness of her eyes. He fell to his knees in front of her. “Sylviana Moorland, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Allow me to love and cherish you for the rest of your life?”

“Oh, yes, Christian!” She threw herself into his arms. “Oh, yes, yes, and a thousand times yes!”

“You have made me the happiest of men,” Christian choked as he stood up to take her gently in his arms and kiss her with all of the tenderness of a man deeply in and forever in love.

And ensuring that Sylvie became the happiest of women.

At last...

Chapter Eleven (#ulink_59de42ad-717e-58d5-b386-b2e9163fbdd1)

The London home of Lady Jocelyn Ambrose, Dowager Countess of Chambourne.

* * *

“—and the wedding is to be next month,” Lady Jocelyn concluded gleefully to her two closest friends.

“But Chambourne is not marrying the woman you had chosen to become his future wife?” Lady Cicely Hawthorne said doubtfully.

“Well. No.” Some of Lady Jocelyn’s glee abated. “He did not care for Lady Vanessa at all. But he is to marry. Which, after all, is what we had all decided upon, is it not?” Both ladies turned to the silent Dowager Duchess of Royston for confirmation.

“Yes. Yes,” Edith St. Just acknowledged briskly. “Although I agree with Cicely, in that it would be more of a triumph if Chambourne had decided upon the lady you had chosen for him.”

Lady Jocelyn looked suitably deflated. “Perhaps one of you will be more success in that regard than I.”

“I am not at all sure of any degree of success in regard to Thorne,” Lady Cicely admitted heavily. “Since his first wife died four years ago, he has shown a decided aversion to the very idea of remarrying.”

“And yet he must, for he is in need of an heir, the same as our own two grandsons,” the dowager duchess dismissed briskly.

Lady Jocelyn looked at her curiously. “How go your own efforts in regard to Royston?”

“Nicely, thank you.” Edith St. Just nodded regally.

“You believe he will marry the woman of your choice?” Lady Cicely looked suitably impressed.

“I am sure of it, yes.”

“How confident are you of that?” Lady Jocelyn challenged daringly, still feeling slightly stung in regard to her friends’ reaction to her news of Chambourne’s forthcoming marriage to Lady Sylviana Moorland, the Countess of Ampthill.

“So confident,” the dowager duchess assured haughtily, “that I am willing to write that lady’s name on a piece of paper this very minute and leave it in the safekeeping of your butler, only to be returned and read by all of us when Royston announces his intention of marrying.”

“Is that not rather presumptuous of you, Edith?” Lady Cicely raised skeptical brows.

“Not in the least,” the dowager duchess dismissed briskly. “In fact, call for Edwards and we shall do it now. This very minute.”

Ellie, sitting in her usual place in the window beside Miss Thompson and Mrs. Spencer, could only watch with a sinking heart as Edith St. Just did exactly as she had said she would.