Page 92 of Love and Vengeance
Jack nodded, and Ottilie had the distinct feeling he wanted to get away and only just restrained himself from running after Henry.
“I must get back to the house—” Ottilie’s throat closed. An impenetrable wall stood between them; it pained her to look at him.
“I hear they serve refreshments at Flagstaff, and Palm Bay is said to be beautiful.”
Ottilie blinked. Awkward seconds crawled by as she processed his words. “Are you inviting me to walk with you?”
“Would you?” he asked softly.
Ottilie’s breathing shallowed under his gaze, and she nodded her consent.
They walked in silence for several minutes, allowing the soft ocean breeze and rippling waves to act as a balm for their past hurts.
“Can you ever truly forgive me?” Jack said, breaking the silence.
Ottilie paused, trying to decide how best to express herself. She’d already forgiven Jack—how could she not after all that had happened? He was Violet’s long-lost brother, and he’d just saved Henry from utter despair.
“I’m sorry,” Jack interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t wish to press you. You should take your time, and if you find you cannot—” he broke off as though he preferred not to finish the thought.
“When members of your own family betray and injure you,” Ottilie said, “it becomes difficult to trust anyone. This week, I had the displeasure of experiencing that myself.” She pressed her lips together. “So, I understand that your lack of trust was not personal. That’s not to say it didn’t hurt me, but it makes it easier for me to forgive you.”
Jack swallowed hard as if digesting the bitter parts of her speech. “I know I hurt you, and if it’s any consolation, I despise myself for it.”
“It doesn’t console me to know you punish yourself. We must put the past behind us and be friends.”
“Friends?” A note of surprise colored Jack’s voice.
Fear quickened Ottilie’s pulse. “Promise me you will try—for Violet’s sake.”
He nodded. “Of course,” he said.
“Thank you,” Ottilie flashed him a weak smile and fell silent as they squeezed across the crowded Newgate Bridge. They continued their walk along the cliffs in silence, the only sounds to be heard were the whistle of the wind, the gulls, and the ocean far below. Once or twice, Ottilie glanced sideways at Jack, but he appeared to be swallowed in thought. She focused instead on the ocean, inhaling deeply, and clearing her mind of troubling thoughts.
The landscape grew rugged as they crossed a second bridge into Flagstaff. Ottilie stopped to admire the stretch of white cliffs fringed with green grass and dotted with white wildflowers.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said and stepped forward for a closer look.
Jack caught her arm, and she turned. A crease settled between his brows, and she thought he might be angry.
“I don’t want to be your friend, Ottilie.” He stepped toward her. “I want to be your husband.”
The air left her lungs. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” She edged away from him.
“I do mean it.” He clasped her other arm and turned her body toward his. “I love you.” His voice sounded as gentle as the ocean breeze.
Ottilie furrowed her brows. The sound of her heartbeat filled her ears. “You’ve experienced a tremendous shock discovering the sister you thought dead is alive. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
“I’ve never been clearer about anything in my life.” He gazed at her as if awestruck by her very presence. “For the first time in years, I am free to think with a clear mind. I am free of guilt, free of pain, and free of anger. For the first time, I am free to choose love. And I choose to love you.”
Tears pooled in Ottilie’s eyes. Fear tightened its grip on her heart. “I just—I can’t—”
“Do you love me?” He asked.
She nodded. “I do,” she said, wiping away a tear. “You know I do, but—”
He moved toward her and enveloped her face in his hands. “If I kiss you in public, you may be forced to repeat those words in front of a clergyman.”
She smiled through her tears, unable to deny him any longer. “You had better hurry up then.”
He ran his hands down the length of her back and clasped her around the waist.
“Am I to be called Mrs. Bastin or Mrs. Greyson?” she asked, looking up at him. But before he could answer, she added playfully, “or would you consider showing your support for women’s rights by taking my surname?”
“Whichever name we use,” Jack murmured, pulling her closer, “the one I will call you is ‘My Wife.’” He pressed his lips to hers, and Ottilie welcomed his mouth, letting it become one with her own.
