To Kiss a Highland Rose (Kiss the Wallflower #6) - Tamara Gill Page 0,44

the despair she had read in his eyes the day out on the land when their paths crossed, told her his affections toward her were true.

He loved her. Had fallen in love with her despite his initial plan, and if it were the estate she had inherited that had brought about that love, then she would cherish the house forever.

The carriage turned into the gates of Wellsworth Abbey, and Elizabeth moved to look out the window at the large Georgian mansion that was Sebastian's English estate.

It was more formal than the wild, rugged one his mother had owned, and yet it was just as beautiful. Nerves tumbled in her stomach at the thought of seeing him again after so many months. Would he admit her? Did he still love her?

Elizabeth knew to the core of her being she loved him. Had missed him, no matter how much she may have tried not to at the beginning of their separation.

Their estrangement, no matter how painful, was required, however. She needed time to think, time to heal, and move past her hurt. To forgive him.

The carriage rocked to a halt, and a footman bounded up to the vehicle, opening the door. Elizabeth stepped down, stretching out the soreness in her bones that miles of travel had wrought on her body.

A gentleman rounded the corner of the house, his attention on the paperwork in his hands, his head down, and not looking where he was going.

Warmth ran through her like whisky at the sight of Sebastian. He was dressed in tan breeches and black hessian boots that were covered with dust. A shirt and waistcoat, no jacket, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Had he been out and about the estate, looking in on his tenant farms, the fields?

As if sensing company, he glanced up and skidded to a stop, his eyes darting from her to the carriage and the abundant of traveling trunks stacked on the back of the vehicle.

"Hello, husband. Are ye not going to greet me?" she asked him, amused somewhat by his shock.

"Lizzie?" Her name came out with an exhaled breath, and her heart pinched at the disbelief that ran through his tone.

He had not thought she would come. Perhaps he never thought to see her again. Silly man. When women were angry, and especially Scottish women, one must understand that time is required to forgive and move forward in life.

She stepped toward him, smiling. "Sebastian. Ye look well," she said, aware that they were being watched by an abundance of staff.

"I am as good as I can be." He frowned, taking in her wrinkled gown, and Elizabeth knew she had several strands of hair loose about her face.

"You must be tired." He clasped her hand, kissing it. Without letting her go, he turned for the door, barking out orders for her trunks to be unpacked in the countess's rooms beside his own.

"Come, we can speak in my library."

Elizabeth followed him, taking in his home. Marble floors, family portraits, and rich tapestries hung on the walls. Dark-chestnut doors led into numerous rooms. She saw little of them before she was rushed into the library, where he closed and locked the door.

She strolled over to the fire, warming her sore muscles. She turned and found him staring at her with something akin to disbelief.

"Ye did not expect me," she stated, knowing that after months of separation, not many people would, certainly not after the way they parted.

A small frown set between his brows, and Elizabeth had the overwhelming desire to wipe it away, to take away his fear. "I did not think I would ever see you again. It has been so long."

He moved toward her, but not close enough that she could reach out and touch him.

"Our separation has given me time to think, Sebastian." She unhooked her pelisse, throwing it over a nearby wingback chair. "And while I dinna agree with how ye set out to win my hand, I am not unhappy that we're married. Not anymore."

She closed the space between them, staring up at him. He looked good enough to devour. His eyes burned with hope and fear both. His slightly disheveled appearance gave him an air of ruggedness that she liked. Not so much the lord of the manor, but a man, delightful, strong, husband of hers.

"You do not regret being my wife?"

She shook her head. "No. I want to be yer wife."

He reached out, clasping her hands. "But