A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,116
it. If people must think Papa the thief, they can know that his family tried to make them whole.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to do about Liam. If Papa had told me before, I might have found some compassion and warmth for him. But he has caused my father’s ruin, and I cannot forgive him.” She glanced up at Drew. “But I cannot condemn him without betraying Papa’s escape. What does that make me, that I would allow such a man to go free?”
“I think it means you have a steadfast, loyal heart, full of mercy.”
She nodded. “What else can I do?”
He should reassure her that her plan was noble and decent, the best choice she could make among all the bad options. He could vow to see that Liam was punished in other ways. He could simply comfort her, now that the die was cast.
Instead he went down on his knee in front of her and took her hands. “Marry me.”
Her eyes widened.
“I know you think you’ve led me into criminal behavior and caused me to ruin my name and reputation,” he plowed on. “You did not. I did everything of my own free will because I choose to be with you and fight your battles and stand by your side. I know you dread my inheritance and believe I would do best to marry an Englishwoman. But . . . I do not. I did allow Her Grace to believe she would advise me, but I don’t need her approval—or her advice. And if you don’t wish to live in England”—he took another deep breath before breaking the solemn promise he’d given the Duchess of Carlyle—“we won’t. We can stay in Scotland. Perhaps the duchess would allow us to live at Stormont Palace if it suits you. If Stormont can be administered from England, then Carlyle Castle can be administered from Scotland. I’ll find a chaperone to take Bella and Winnie to London for a Season.” Her face was blank with surprise, no matter how he searched for a hint of reaction. “We can solve this,” he said urgently. “Together. If you could trust me enough to try . . . I would never dismiss your thoughts or concerns. I love you to distraction.”
Ilsa’s mind, which had been a maelstrom for days, seemed to pause, settle, and calm at those words. She had told herself she must give him up, but . . . he did not wish to be given up. Nor did she want to do it. Drew had been her greatest adventure, her favorite companion, her truest friend, her most passionate lover.
Was she fool enough to throw that away in a fit of pointless sacrifice?
Was she too afraid to meet the challenges she might face as his wife?
No, Ilsa realized, she was not. She was not afraid of anything when he was beside her. And she was free, after all—free to bestow her heart where she chose, free to step out of her boundaries and make a bold decision. Free to learn from her father’s mistakes and do better, as he had urged her.
She was free to decide that she would make their marriage work, no matter what was demanded of her as a duchess someday. She would fight for what she wanted, and for whom.
“You would really marry a wild hellion who keeps a pony in the house and paints the sky on the ceiling?” she asked. “A wild, wicked woman who will ride astride and seduce you in every greenhouse we spy and play ghost in your house?”
“Haunt me forever,” he whispered.
Inside her, the knot of anxiety and tension softened and dissolved. Part of it, she realized, had sprung from her dread of parting from him, on top of losing Papa. But now she wouldn’t—ever.
The first real smile in weeks, trembling but wholehearted, curved her lips. “Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
They reached Edinburgh a week later, man and wife. Ilsa had thought he would want to wait and have his family there, but Drew waved that aside. “They’ll only insist on a delay so they can order new gowns and plan a lavish breakfast.”
She had to laugh. “Who needs all that?”
“Not I,” he declared, stroking his jaw, now covered in a dark beard. “I’m beginning to relish being an outlaw, freed of all civilizing influences.”
And so they were married in a Glasgow chapel, Drew in his now-ragged kilt and long hair and Ilsa in a hastily altered gown from a dressmaker in Trongate Street.