ced her own delicate hands in his with trust and love shining in her eyes.
“I love you,” he whispered, never tiring of saying those three little words.
“I love you,” she said, tears of joy shining in her eyes.
No doubt, Dean had made many mistakes in his life, but marrying Catherine was definitely one of the smartest moves he’d ever made. And he intended to spend the rest of his life proving to her that she’d been right to accept his proposal.
Their life had only just begun.
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1
1826, London, England
“Are you all right, ma’am? May I help you?”
Lady Lucinda Haymore flinched as the tall soldier came toward her, his hand outstretched and his voice full of concern. She clutched the torn muslin of her bodice against her bosom, and wondered desperately how much he could see of her in the dark shadows of the garden.
“I’m fine, sir, please . . .” She struggled to force any more words out and stared blindly at the elaborate gold buttons of his dress uniform. “I’m afraid I slipped and fell on the steps and have ripped my gown.”
He paused, and she realized that he had positioned his body to shield her from the bright lights of the house and the other guests at the ball.
“If you do not require my help, may I fetch someone for you, then?”
His question was softly spoken as if he feared she might flee.
“Could you find Miss Emily Ross for me?”
“Indeed I can. I have a slight acquaintance with her.” He hesitated. “But first, may I suggest you sit down? You look as if you might swoon.”
Even as he spoke, the ground tilted alarmingly, and Lucinda started to sway. Before her knees gave way, the soldier caught her by the elbows and deftly maneuvered her backward to a stone bench framed by climbing roses. Even as she shrank from his direct gaze, she managed to get a fleeting impression of his face. His eyes were deep set and a very light gray, his cheekbones impossibly high, and his hair quite white, despite his apparent youth.
She could only pray he didn’t recognize her. No unmarried lady should be loitering in the gardens without a chaperone. Somehow she doubted he was a gossip. He just didn’t seem to be the type; all his concern was centered on her, rather than making a grand fuss and alerting others to her plight. He released her and moved back, as if he sensed his presence made her uneasy.
“I’ll fetch Miss Ross for you.”
“Thank you,” Lucinda whispered, and he was gone, disappearing toward the lights of the ballroom and the sounds of the orchestra playing a waltz. She licked her lips and tasted her own blood, and the brutal sting of rejection. How could she have been so foolish as to believe Jeremy loved her? He’d hurt her and called her a tease. Had she encouraged him as he had claimed? Did she really deserve what he had done to her?
Panic engulfed her and she started to shiver. It became increasingly difficult to breathe and she struggled to pull in air. Suddenly the white-haired stranger was there again, crouched down in front of her. He took her clenched fist in his hand and slowly stroked her fingers. She noticed his accent was slightly foreign.
“It’s all right. Miss Emily is coming. I took the liberty of hiring a hackney cab, which will be waiting for you at the bottom of the garden.”
“Thank you,”
“I’m glad I was able to be of service.”
With that, he moved away, and Lucinda saw Emily behind him and reached blindly for her hand.