Max drove for a long time, his temper crackling around him like a visible flame. Claire sat silently, her eyes burning, wondering if he were taking her anywhere in particular, or if he were simply driving aimlessly, but she didn’t dare ask him. She had the answer to her question when he pulled into the courtyard of a small inn.
“What are we doing here?” She gasped as he got out of the car and reached in to pull her out. Roughly he put the pearl ring back on her finger.
He didn’t reply but pulled her into the inn. It was small and rustic, just the sort of inn that had lined England’s roads for centuries. It was a pub on the bottom, with rooms on top. Max signed the register, paid the landlord and towed Claire after him up a narrow flight of stairs, while the landlord watched them with mild curiosity. Stopping before a door, Max unlocked it and pulled Claire inside, then turned to lock the door again.
“Now,” he said, his voice almost guttural with rage. “Let’s talk about this. To begin, the only standards and expectations you are measuring yourself against are your own. No one else expects or wants you to be anything other than yourself. I don’t want you to be perfect. That would be bloody hell for me to try to live up to, because I’m not perfect. I don’t want a china doll who never makes mistakes—I want you. As for that garbage about the aristocratic wife I deserve—” He broke off, his fists clenching with rage. Claire found that she had backed across the room, her eyes enormous as she stared at him. She couldn’t believe the fury that burned in him. His eyes were like lasers, searing her.
He began unbuttoning his shirt with rough movements. “I’m a man, not a title, and the bloody damned title isn’t mine anyway. My brother is the earl, and thank God he’s healthy, with two sons to inherit before it would come to me. I don’t want the title. I have American citizenship now. I have a job with a lot of damned responsibility that keeps me interested the way an earldom never would, and I have a family I love. I also have the woman I love, and I’ll be bloody damned to hell and back before I let you walk out on me now.” He pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.
“If you don’t want to get married, all right,” he bit out, stripping naked. Claire stared at him, her mouth going dry. “We’ll just live together, but don’t ever think that we won’t live together, married or not. You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who can drive me so wild that I lose control, and you’re the only woman I’ve ever met whom I love so much I ache with it. I nearly ruined it in the beginning by not being completely honest with you, and you stopped trusting me. You’ve never trusted me again, have you? Too bloody damned bad, because I’m not letting you go. Is that clear?”
Claire swallowed, looking at him. He was so beautiful that she hurt. “Do you know how many ‘bloody damns’ and ‘bloody hells’ you’ve just said?” she whispered.
“What the bloody hell difference does it make?” he asked, stalking across the floor to grab her and toss her onto the bed.
She bounced and grabbed at the covers to keep from flying off. “You never told me before that you loved me.” Her voice sounded strange, too high and tight.
He glared at her, reaching behind her for the zipper on her dress. “Is that an unforgivable sin? You never told me that you love me, either, until you blurted it out at the same time you said you couldn’t marry me. What do you think that did to me? I’ve been trying for weeks to make you trust me again, wondering if you’d ever love me, and you throw it at me like that.”
He pulled her dress off, and Claire put her hands on his chest, her heart pounding so hard that she could barely think. “Max, wait. Why are we here?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m having my wedding night, even if you’re determined not to have a wedding. I love you, and, I repeat, I’m not letting you go.”
“What will everyone think?”
“I don’t care.” He stopped, looking down at her with burning eyes. “I love you. You’re more important to me than anyone else on this earth, and I’d walk on live coals to get to you.”
He had managed to strip her completely, and his gaze wandered down her slim body. He had been rough before, but his touch now was so gentle that it was almost like a whisper of wind as he parted her legs and eased into her. Claire accepted him, her body arching in pleasure, her hands clinging to him. She loved him so much that she thought she would burst with it, and it was in her eyes as he propped himself on his elbows over her.
“Let’s try this again,” he whispered. “I love you, Claire Westbrook, for all the things you are. You’re gentle and loving, and you have dreams in your eyes that I want to share. Will you marry me?”
She would never have believed that she could soar so high. With her arms locked around his neck, straining up to put her mouth to his, Claire looked up into those brilliant sea-colored eyes and said, “Yes.”
* * *
She walked down the aisle of the huge, drafty old church with her cream-colored satin gown rustling and the veil trailing behind her. Her father’s arm was steady under her hand. Familiar and beloved faces turned toward her as she walked: the faces of the many people she had met this past week, all beaming at her; Sarah Matthews, pale and serene, with her children beside her; Derek Taliferro, his golden eyes wise beyond his years, smiling as he watched her. Alma, smiling and crying at the same time and still looking lovely while she did it. Lady Alicia, her eyes brimming with pride. At the altar, wai
ting for her, were Martine, and Max’s sisters, four heads in varying shades of blond. Rome Matthews stood beside Max, his dark eyes seeking out his wife where she sat in the pews, and a silent message passed between them. Clayton also stood there, and two of Max’s cousins.
And Max. Tall, impossibly handsome, and so beloved that it hurt her to look at him. His image was blurred by the veil she wore, but he watched her, and there was a moist glitter in his eyes, like that of the sea.
Her father gave her hand to Max, who moved to stand by her side. The pearl on her hand gleamed in the golden candlelight of the many tapers that flickered throughout the church.
Max pressed her hand warmly, and she looked up at him. His eyes were steady. Hers were dark, secretive pools, but there were no more secrets between them. Turning toward the altar, they began speaking their vows.
* * * * *