Page 49 of Twice Upon a Midnight

“Simon said a lot of harsh things about me tonight.” He grimaced. “But he wasn’t completely wrong. Iamthe unwanted stepson of a duke, a man who makes his way through the world with dirty hands. To dare think I could capture the heart of duke’s daughter, that I wouldn’t stain you, as well… Nothing but a fairytale.”

He held out his hands to her so she could see the ink that marred his palms, fingers, and nails.

“Make no mistake, Ella—I’m very proud of the life I’ve built for myself. Everything I have has come from hard work, a lot of sweat, and sheer determination.” He looked down at his hands, unable to meet her gaze as he continued, “But any woman who wants a life with me is going to have to takeallof me, including these. Are you truly willing to take for a husband a man with stains on his calloused hands?”

She took his hands and laced her fingers through his.

“Damn those ink stains,” she whispered. Her eyes glistened as they met his. “Damn Simon for misleading me.” She lifted her chin. “And damnyoufor not having more faith in me.”

She released his hands and stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest as if she were afraid she’d reach for him again. Or slap him.

“You lied to me about who you really are.” She paused, and that moment’s hesitation only ground a knife into his chest when her voice broke with emotion—“Did you also lie about loving me?”

“Never.” That single word emerged with so much confidence that he shook from it. “You can doubt a lot about me, Ella—God knows I’ve given you good cause. Butneverdoubt my love for you.” He stared fiercely down at her. “I love you, more than I ever thought possible to love any woman, and certainly not a woman as wonderful as you.”

Her lips parted tremulously. “Thenwhywon’t you—”

“Because that’s the problem.” He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair, squeezing his eyes shut. The pain was nearly unbearable.So close…he was so very close to having everything he’d ever dreamed of. Yet even though she stood encircled in his arms, she was still a world away. “Because you don’t deserve me. You deserve a gentleman who can keep you in a life of luxury. You deserve jewels, satins, furs, the grandest townhouse money can buy… I can never give you that. You also don’t deserve to be cut, disinvited from events, whispered about behind your back, or insulted straight to your face—all for becoming the wife of a printer.” His voice choked. “I love you, Ella, and want nothing more than a life and home with you. But I can never be that man.”

“Well, thank God you’re not.” She pulled back just far enough to cup his face between her hands. “We’re a perfect pair, don’t you realize that? I don’t want a man like that, and you don’t want any woman who would be so shallow as to place all that before love. And I certainly don’t want any man who would want that kind of woman.” She shook her head. “I’m not part of society and their world now, and I’ve come to accept that I never will be. I’m a bluestocking’s bluestocking who doesn’t fit in anywhere except when I’m with people like you. I want a husband who understands my poetic heart—Ineeda husband who understands that.” She paused. “Spenser, I needyou. I need you to accept me just as I am, the same way I love and accept you.”

She leaned in to place a soft kiss to his lips.

Then she stepped back out of his arms and put her hands on her hips, sizing him up with a critical glance.

“‘My mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun,’” she recited from Shakespeare’s sonnets. “‘Coral is far more red than her lips red. If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun.’” She touched his chin and tilted up his head. “Look at me, Spenser. See me for who I really am. ‘I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks. And in some perfumes is there more delight than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.’ Do you see my cheeks, Spenser? Do you see any damasked roses there? Of course not. ‘I love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound. I grant I never saw a goddess go; my mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.’ How does it finish? You know.” She paused, then gently prompted, “‘And yet…’”

“‘And yet,’” he finished, his voice rough with emotion, “‘I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare.’”

“Good. Then you know exactly the kind of woman I am. Look at me.” She stepped back and held out her arms before slowly turning in a circle. “I don’t walk in beauty like the night. I’m not Keats’s nightingale, and I’m not some princess looking for her fairy-tale prince. I’m just me. Someone who wants to be loved for who she is. By you.” She dropped her arms to her sides, and her eyes glistened. “Someone who wants to love you in return, if you let me.”

He silently held open his arms.

She stepped into his embrace and kissed him, and on her lips, he tasted her love for him. The world seemed to stop for one precious moment, when the only people who existed were the two of them, and in that moment, everything changed.

They had a long struggle ahead of them, they both knew that, and in the coming years, they would have to depend upon themselves for strength and resilience. In that, he had complete faith. He might never fully know what she saw in him, but he knew their love was strong. That was all that mattered. They could survive the rest together.

She broke the kiss and whispered in his ear. “You need to ask me now,” she ordered gently. “It’s time.”

With a smile at knowing exactly what she meant, he caressed her temple with his lips. “Will you let me read you poetry for the rest of our days? Will you let me waltz with you beneath the moonlight? Will you let me love you with all my heart and soul and let me worship you with my body?” He took a deep breath and asked nervously, “Will you marry me, Ella?”

A long sigh fell from her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I thought you’d never ask!”

She rose onto her toes and kissed him. No, not a kiss—a promise for the future they would have together. One he would let no one and nothing break.

A knock rapped on the door.

Ella moved quickly away, her cheeks blushing prettily at being caught kissing him. Her hands shook as she reached to fuss with her hairpins.

Spenser looked toward the doorway, expecting the physician again. Or, God forbid, her parents.

Instead, a plump, bald man with large spectacles and rumpled clothing stepped tentatively into the room. In his arms, he held a large, leather-bound book and a satchel. But he didn’t look around, as if he were already familiar with the cramped room, and instead stared blankly at Spenser and Ella, as if he simply couldn’t fathom why they were there.

“Yes?” Spenser asked.

“I’m Mr. Gordon.” When Spenser didn’t recognize the name, the man added for clarification, “I’m Mr. Henslow’s solicitor.”

Solicitor?Spenser blinked. “You must have the wrong address. I don’t think Martin—”