He possessed himself of her hand, which trembled like the rest of her. Slid the ring over her finger. Then he raised her hand to his lips, turned it over in his palm. Lowered his mouth to kiss the tender skin over the veins in
her wrist. A kiss of tenderness, of homage.
Then he folded her hand within his own. ‘I knew that I had gone way past mere desire for you,’ he said, his voice low, intense, his eyes holding hers with a gaze that made her heart turn over, ‘when on the evening of the bank’s autumn client party—which Hans always comes to—I realised that for all the blackness in my heart over what I thought you had done, there was only one emotion in me.’
He paused, and she felt his hands clench over hers.
‘It was an unbearable longing for you,’ he said, and there was a catch in his voice that made Tara press his hands with hers, placing her free hand over his. ‘As unbearable as my longing to see my parents again after their deaths—’
He broke off and she slipped her hands from his, slid them around him, drawing her to him. She held him close and tight and for ever. Moved beyond all things by what he had said.
Then, suddenly, he was pulling away from her.
‘Tara...’ His voice was hollow. Hollow with shock.
Her expression changed as she realised what he had discovered. And she knew she must tell him why she had made the agonising decision that she had.
‘You didn’t want me, Marc,’ she said quietly. Sadly. ‘So I would never, never have forced this on you.’
He let his hands drop, stepped back a moment. His face was troubled.
‘Are you angry?’
He heard the note of fear in her voice. ‘Only at myself,’ he said. ‘My fears nearly cost me my life’s happiness,’ he said. His voice was sombre, grave. Self-accusing. ‘And they nearly cost me even more.’ His face worked, and then in the same sombre voice he spoke again. ‘I tried to find proof—proof that you did not value my wealth above myself.’ He took a ragged breath. ‘But if I wanted the greatest proof of all it is this. That you were prepared to raise my baby by yourself...never telling me, never claiming a single sou from me—’
Her voice was full as she answered him. ‘I could not have borne it if you had felt any...any obligation. Of any kind.’ She drew breath. ‘But now...’
She smiled and took his hand in hers again. Slowly, carefully, she placed it across her gently swelling waistline. She saw wonder fill his face, light in his eyes, and her heart lifted to soar.
French words broke from him, raw and heartfelt. She leant to kiss his mouth. There was a glint in her eye now. ‘I’m going to lose my figure, you know... Turn into a barrage balloon. You won’t desire me any more—not for months and months and months!’
The familiar look was in his eyes—that oh-so-familiar look that melted the bones of her body.
‘I will always desire you!’ he promised, and he laughed. Joy was soaring in him, like eagles taking flight. And desire too—heating him from within.
She gave a laugh of pure happiness that lifted her from her feet—or was it Marc, sweeping her up into his arms?
She gave a choke, felt emotion wringing her. ‘Marc, is this real? Is it? Tell me it is! Because I can’t be this happy—how can I?’
The future that had loomed before her—empty of all but the most precious memento of her brief time with him—now flowed and merged with the past she had lost...becoming an endless present that she knew she would never lose!
His arms tightened around her, his eyes pouring into hers. ‘As real as it is for me,’ he said.
Happiness such as he had never known since the carefree days of his youth overflowed in him. Tara was his for ever, and she was bringing to him a gift that was a wonder and a joy to him: the baby that was to be born.
He was striding with her now, towards the cottage. He glanced around, as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Is this the new life you said you were making for yourself?’
She smiled, tightening her grip around his neck with the hook of her arm. ‘A new life—and an old one,’ she said. ‘The cottage belonged to my grandparents, and they left it to me. It’s always been my haven...’
‘And it will be ours, too, if you will permit me to share it with you,’ he said, his voice warm. ‘In fact it seems to me that it would be the ideal place for a honeymoon...’
The glint in his eyes was melting her bones as he negotiated the narrow doorway, sweeping her indoors and ducking his tall frame beneath the beamed lintel. Purposefully, he headed for the stairs. There must be bedrooms upstairs, and beds...
He dropped a kiss on her mouth as he carried her aloft, following her hurried directions to her bedroom, lowering her down upon the old-fashioned brass bed which creaked under their combined weight, sinking them deep into the feather mattress.
‘Starting right now.’
‘Now, that...’ Tara sighed blissfully ‘...is a wonderful idea!’