In one easy and surprisingly confident movement, he swung himself through the frame.
“How the devil,” she exclaimed. “What the blazes are you playing at?”
“Well,” he began, holding her hand firmly in his, “when you were quite intent on seeing me, you climbed into my window. I am quite intent on seeing you, and I thought I should meet you with equal standard. And I have a present for you.”
“A present?” she queried, still stunned by the sudden turn of events. She swallowed, not particularly fond of the idea of some sort of trinket used to convince her to stay without love. “You do not need to give me a gift.”
“Wait until you see the present,” he protested.
Which was when she realized he had a large sack draped across his back. A very large sack. Which only made the idea of him on that ladder all the more terrifying.
“Goodness,” she said, trying to appear composed. “Do you have all the jewels of—”
“No,” he said. “They are not stones. Though they are treasures, depending on your point of view.”
“Depending on your point of view?” she echoed, feeling rather overborne, a feeling still unfamiliar to her.
“Is it a sack of coal?” she quipped, so uncertain as to what to do or say in this moment.
He laughed. “Darling Jack, I did thinkyouwere like coal. Far superior to a diamond, you know. That’s what I thought when you came back into my life. But you see, coal,” he explained, “it warms people. When the night is frigid and the light bursts from it, and it burns with such heat that even the coldest of hearts can feel warm.”
“I make you feel warm?” she breathed, rather confused.
He stilled. “I have been cold for so long, Jack, I did not even know I was cold. But in your presence, I have warmed. I have felt my whole body heat up. I have felt consumed by flames for you and because of you.” He lifted his hand, and as he seemed to love to do, he brushed a lock of her hair back from her cheek. “But that is not the present that I have brought you.”
“No?” she queried, all but breathless at his touch, not daring to hope.
He shook his head.
He brought the sack off of his back and opened the top drawstring.
She could not help but be curious as he worked at the fabric. She did not entirely trust this moment. She did not dare to allow herself to have hope. For after risking so much on that particular emotion, it would be a bitter pill to swallow if she had her heart broken again.
She dared not think that he was about to make some sort of proclamation. At best, he was likely hoping to ask her to be his duchess, to fulfill her duty.
But then, much to her shock, he pulled the sack free and revealed two saplings. The roots were carefully wrapped in burlap. And the scent of the damp earth about those roots filled the room.
It was rich and life-giving.
The trees were delicate and small and yet showed promise of strength. Even in the soft light of her room, their leaves shone lush on their stems.
She stretched out a hand and delicately traced the veins of one of the leaves. How she adored trees. They were so very beautiful. And they had given her so much happiness. And they had brought the two of them together, again and again.
Even so…
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“I want us to plant them.”
“Where?” she asked, tempted to pull her hand back. She did not.
“On my estate.” Emotion altered his face, filling it with tension and hope as he ventured, “You see, my estate has always been a place of pain and sorrow, where two hearts were mangled and never recovered.”
“Your parents’ hearts?” she asked gently.
He nodded, his shoulders expanding as he drew in a breath.
“So, not two,” she countered. “Three. Three hearts were mangled. Your parents’ and yours.”