Love Letters (7 page)

“Really?”
Desmond said. “Then please, you must tell me the names of your clients?”

“Well,” Brendon shifted, his legs braced apart as if preparing for battle. “I just recently worked a marble statue for Lord Clemmons.”

“Hmm,” Desmond replied, obviously not impressed.

“And then there is the statue I’m currently working on for the Queen.”

There was a moment’s silence. Stunned, Clara froze, the pistol pressed to her racing heart as she stared at the back of Brendon’s head.
The Queen?
He must be jesting, wasn’t he?

Desmond tsked, clicking his tongue in that annoying way of his. “Why do I find that highly unlikely.”

Brendon shrugged. “Perhaps I’m lying, but
are
you willing to risk it?” He wiggled his fingers, an unspoken plea to hand him the weapon.

“Here,” she whispered, pressing the small pistol into his palm.

“Yes,” Desmond said. “You know, I think I am willing to risk it.”

Brendon stiffened, it was her only indication that something was about to happen. He swung his arm forward, the weapon pointed directly at her fiancé. “They might not think twice about an artist being shot dead, but they will an earl.”

Clara almost laughed. How utterly divine! She’d almost forgotten Brendon was an earl and held the confidence to go with the position. Unable to resist, she stood on tiptoe and peeked over his shoulder.

Desmond had paused, his throat working, those beady eyes darting from her to Brendon, as if searching for the truth. “You lie.”

“He’s not lying, you bastard,” Clara snapped.

Brendon settled his hand on her hip, pushing her back. “Clara, damn it, stay behind me.”

She smiled apologetically. She couldn’t help herself. For the first time in days, hope tempted her to believe in a happily ever after.

“You’re mad,” Desmond seethed, yet he took a step back all the same. “No earl would live in this hell.”

Her fiancé’s henchman started trembling. “Ye…ye said it would be easy! I didn’t sign up fer this.”

Desmond’s head whipped toward the man. He wasn’t used to servants questioning his demands. “You will stand your ground!”

But the man was already lowering his pistol and stumbling back toward the door.

“I’ll give you five pounds to leave now,” Brendon offered, a casual offer that belied the seriousness of the situation.

The man nodded.

Brendon kept his gaze firmly planted on Desmond.
“Smith?”

The butler frowned, but reached into his vest pocket and gave the coins to the man. The man shoved the butler forward and raced out the door, leaving Desmond alone, abandoned. Just like that, the tide had turned. Glee swept through Clara. For the first time in months she felt brave, she felt sure.

Desmond stepped back, his gaze jumping from Smith to Brendon. “She’s been promised to me!”

“I never agreed,” Clara said.

Smith latched onto Desmond, holding tight as the man twisted and fought for release. “She’s a whore!”

Brendon moved faster than Clara thought possible. In two quick strides he was on her supposed fiancé. He slammed the butt of the pistol against Desmond’s head with a sickening thud. The monster,
who’d
been so frightening only two days ago, crumpled to the floor, out cold.

“Smith,
escort
our guest downstairs, tie him up and get the constable.”

The butler nodded. With a grunt, he rolled Desmond out the door. There was a thump, thump, thump as her fiancé fell down the steps. Then there was only silence. Clara stood still, alone, afraid to move. Afraid this was all merely a dream. A lovely dream, yet… it wasn’t over. She knew Desmond would never release her.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He turned toward her, his brows raised in surprise. Tears stung her eyes, Brendon’s form blurring. No one had ever protected her so, no one had ever cared.

“Are you jesting?” His voice was calm, too calm for what they’d just been through.

“No!” She swiped angrily at her tears. “You don’t need more problems.”

She spun around and scooped up her clothing. “I’ll…leave. Continue with my plans. No one need know that you almost killed a man for me.”

She started by him. Brendon reached out and latched onto her upper arms. “Clara, you’re not going anywhere.”

She couldn’t look at him, afraid that if she did, her resolve would crumble. “Please, just let me go. You’ve had enough heartache, I don’t want to bring more and he will, Brendon, he’ll bring you problems you don’t deserve. He won’t relent.”

“You think I’m afraid of that man? I didn’t lie when I said I was an artist for the Queen.” She jerked her gaze toward him. He quirked a brow, his face set in arrogant lines. “One word from me and Desmond will be on a ship set for Australia.”

His assurance didn’t help. She sniffed and looked at the floor. She supposed he wasn’t worried, but she was. How could she not? It was perfect, too bloody perfect,
too
good to be true.

Brendon stepped closer. “I’ve been through so bloody much, that nothing frightens me…nothing but the thought of losing you.”

Her heart lurched. He didn’t mean the words, did he? She peeked up at him through her lashes. Only sincerity crossed his features. Still, she couldn’t believe his words, not after so many years of wanting him from afar, of spying on him at balls and dinners. “You’re lonely, you merely want companionship.”

He released his hold and swept past her toward that desk. “When you were fifteen, so sweet and kind, I admired you.
The way you always helped others.
I prayed you wouldn’t change.” He reached into the drawer and pulled out a stack of letters tied together with twine. “A year ago my sister started sending these. Do you know what they are?”

She shook her head.

“Letters from Elizabeth.
Letters you’d sent to her.”

Clara pressed her hands to her temples, fighting her confusion. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

He held that stack of letters to his chest as if they meant everything in the world to him. “God, Clara, you’re an amazing woman. I came to know you through these letters. I came to appreciate you, to care for you.” He started toward her. “These letters were the only thing that kept me going, my only link to humanity.”

Her heart soared. “Brendon.” No longer could she stand so close and not touch him. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. That musky scent of his tempted her senses. “Do you know what’s in these letters?”

She shook her head.

He
smiled,
a heart-stopping smile.
“Things about you.”

“Me?”

“My sister had the insane thought that if she could show me how wonderful you were, I’d break free of my melancholy.
That I’d move on…toward you.”

Hope flared sweet and tempting. “I always did like your sister.”

Brendon pressed the stack of letters to her heart. “I know about when you fell into the pond last year trying to pick that flower.”

Well that wasn’t the best thing to retell. What was Elizabeth thinking?

“I know how you made sure the children in your shire had shoes last winter. How you gave food to Mrs. Miller’s family when their father died.”

He set the letters on the desk and gripped her shoulders, bringing her close. “I know you hate to eat lamb because you think the animals are too sweet to kill. That you love iced lemon.” He slipped his finger under her chin, tilting her head back and locking his gaze on hers. “I know that you still read those gothic novels. I know that three months ago when some woman belittled my sister, you slapped her with your fan.”

Clara flushed again, looking away. “She was rather vile.”

Brendon brought her close, his heart thumping madly against her cheek. His scent wrapped around her in a warm cocoon she never wanted to leave. “But most of all, I know that I fell in love with you through those letters.”

Clara’s heart stopped. For that split second as the words sank in, her heart stopped. Impossible, it was utterly impossible. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” He leaned back, slipped his finger under her chin and tilted her face upward once again. “You made me laugh. Your letters were the one thing that kept me going.” He gripped her shoulders. “Tell me you care about me.”

She stared into his eyes, the man she’d loved ten years ago. The man who stood before her now, changed, yet still the same. Life didn’t happen this way, did it? Girlish wishes and dreams didn’t come true.

“Clara?” he said her name, his gaze flashing with uncertainty. She had a chance, a chance for happiness. She’d be mad to say no. Clara smiled and threw her arms around his neck. “You know I do, Brendon. You know I love you.”

He rested his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling as one. “Tell me you’ll show me happiness again. Tell me you’ll show me life. Marry me.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I will.” Grinning, she pressed closer to him. “I do love you and I will…I will marry you.”

With a growl low in his throat, Brendon lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers, sealing the deal.

Epilogue

The sound of happy chatter faded as Clara closed the door tightly behind her. A low fire crackled in the hearth, the light a soft orange and red that sent dancing, festive shadows across the walls.

In the corner of the room, an evergreen glistened with glass ornaments and candles.
A beautiful, magical world.
Her heart warmed as happiness flowed through her body.
A stunning room, in a stunning country estate.
But it was that tall, broad shouldered man standing near the tree who caught her attention. He wore a black jacket and trousers, his dress clothing.

“Darling,” she said softly.

Brendon
turned,
a guilty smile upon his handsome face. He lifted the bundle in his arms and nuzzled his face against the baby’s downy head. “We’ve been found.”

Clara fought her smile. “She’s supposed to be sleeping, you know.”

“She was crying.”

The man had the impossible habit of giving their daughter whatever she wanted. The moment she cried, he was there, cradling her. Lily would be ridiculously spoiled, Clara thought, with a sigh. Yet, how could she complain when Brendon spoiled her just as much? She sidled up next to him and peeked down at their daughter. At only a couple months old, she was round and pink and lovely. Unable to resist, Clara leaned down and pressed her lips to the child’s smooth forehead. The baby smelled fresh, new.

“She’s so lovely,” she said, in a completely unbiased way.

“She looks like her mother.”

Even after a year of marriage Clara’s cheeks flushed at the compliment. She’d had so little in her life but Brendon was making up for that. He moved away and settled Lily in her cradle. At the sound of whispers against glass panes, Clara moved closer to the windows. Flakes hit the glass just like that night a year ago. But now, instead of a dingy city, the countryside met her gaze.
Rolling hills awash in pure white.
Chill wind seeped through the windows. Just as Clara began to shiver, she felt Brendon’s presence. Closing her eyes, she sank back into his muscled arms.

“Have I told you today that I adore and love you?” he whispered against her ear.

She smiled. How often he told her. “Yes, I believe so.”

He slipped his finger under her chin and tilted her head to the side. His face had grown serious. “I don’t deserve you.”

Her heart clenched. Clara turned in his arms. “You deserve everything you’ve gotten and more.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested the side of her face on his beating heart. “You think I don’t know about the food you’ve sent to London every month?”

He stiffened in surprise. “Who told you?”

“I’m your wife. I know everything.”

His hands cupped the sides of her face. “I couldn’t abandon them, not after witnessing their hardship day after day.”

“I know.” She rested her palm on his chest, his heart beating strong and fierce. “You’re a wonderful man, my love. You just have to learn to accept that.”