Page 73 of The Rogue’s Offer

Epilogue

Firelight was the only illumination in the bedroom Mrs. Barstow had prepared for him at Ophelia’s request. Mathias had snuffed out the bedside candles a short time ago in hope of encouraging sleep, but his mind was too active. Behind him, the flames cast shadows on the walls, and they danced to the soft snaps and pops of the burning wood in the hearth.

One shoulder pressed into the window frame, Mathias stared out the window. The rain had stopped after supper, and the clouds had begun to slowly roll away so the moon was able to cast its light on the grounds.

In the space of hours, he’d been thrown into a hell beyond all imagining, only to be saved by the woman he loved calling out his name. He closed his eyes at the memory of Ophelia running through the rain to stop him from leaving. When he’d heard her cry out his name, he’d thought it had been his mind taunting him.

He’d called himself a fool for even stopping to turn his head toward the sound of her voice. It had taken him several seconds to realize his imagination hadn’t conjured up the sight of her stumbling toward him. Even when she’d flung herself into his arms, it had still been hard to comprehend what was happening. It was only when she was trembling against him that he accepted the reality of it all. She loved him. She’d forgiven him. It was more than he’d dreamed possible.

When she’d ordered him to leave Marymont, he’d been desolate. The situation had been made even more impossible when he’d met Baron Sheffield on the drive. The man’s persistent demand that he return to the house had been impossible to refuse without revealing why doing so would be so painful for Ophelia. The last thing he’d wanted was to cause her any further suffering. He’d inflicted far too much insult and injury on her that he knew would never be comparable to his own misery.

The finality of Ophelia’s demeanor when she’d turned her back on him at the pond had nearly brought him to his knees. It had made him believe Baron Sheffield’s invitation to return to the house was the universe’s way of taunting him with the memory of that moment. When Ophelia had disappeared from view without looking back at him, he’d been forced to accept the final judgement she’d handed down.

There was no one to blame for the pit of despondency and guilt she’d condemned him to other than himself. It was a hell of his own making. The lifetime sentence had stripped him of any hope she’d have a change of heart over time, let alone the span of a few short moments. But Baron Sheffield had been adamant in extending his invitation, and it had forced Mathias into a corner he couldn’t escape without an explanation that might injure Ophelia further.

When he’d yielded to the baron’s persistent demand, he’d done so with the condition the baron inform Ophelia in private that he’d returned. He’d known it would allow her to refuse to see him, while providing him the opportunity to leave without any objection. The possibility of clemency had never occurred to him until Ophelia had flung herself into his arms.

That moment had been one of overwhelming relief no different from a man pardoned from the hangman’s noose at the last possible moment. Even now the relief he’d experienced in that instant had yet to evaporate. He wasn’t sure it ever would. He’d almost lost everything he held dear in the world, and it was something he would never forget. It would ensure he strived every day to be a man worthy of Ophelia’s love.

The hours following Ophelia flinging herself into his arms had been filled with the simplicity of being near each other. Supper had been a happy, but quiet, affair, and Baron Sheffield had enjoyed taking credit for been the catalyst of their reconciliation. While the man had indicated his amazement at Ophelia following Mathias out into the rain, the baron didn’t question the why of the matter.

The only awkward moment of the evening had been when Sheffield had posed the question of a wedding date. Mathias had forced a smile to his face and allowed Ophelia to reply. She’d done so with a vague response that had satisfied the baron. For Mathias, it had been a confirmation of her desire that their future be unencumbered by the constraints of any marital bonds.

Mathias suppressed his yearning for a stronger commitment from her as he stared out at the grounds once more. The only question left to answer now was how best to handle the highly unconventional aspect of their relationship. He was determined to protect her as much as possible from the Set’s vitrol. With the exception of a few friends, Ophelia would be subjected to open contempt, and she’d be shunned in an open and caustic manner.

Flaunting society norms was perfectly acceptable for men, but not for women. Fortunately, he didn’t think it would be difficult to convince her to spend as little time as possible in town. Ophelia loved Marymont, and although he knew she wouldn’t be spared censure here in the country, it would be nothing compared to what she’d find in London. He grimaced at the knowledge of what lay in store for her.

There was little he could do except protect her as best he could. As much as he wished she would marry him, he refused to force her to choose either him or her freedom. His refusal to present her with such an ultimatum was more than just a desire to prove his love. The possible outcomes of such a demand scared the hell out of him.

There was the distinct possibility she might walk away from him simply to safeguard her independence. Even if she surrendered to his demands, there was the very real possibility she would come to hate him for coercing her into giving up her freedom. Short of losing her, that terrified him the most. No matter what she asked of him, he’d do everything in his power to make her happy, even if it meant sacrificing his own hopes and desires.

The faint sound of a click made him turn his head, and his heart slammed against his chest at the sight of Ophelia closing the bedroom door. The firelight highlighted the vibrant blue of the silk robe she wore. The garment was parted slightly at the neck to reveal a sheer gown beneath the robe. She took his breath away as she moved toward him.

He’d hoped she would come, but he’d not expected it. There was the problem of her father they had yet to discuss. While the baron held no sway over his daughter, the man still deserved time to take in his daughter’s decision to lead an unconventional lifestyle. When she came to a halt in front of him, she reached up to touch his cheek as a smile curved her sweet mouth.

“You’re surprised I came?” The quiet question made him wince slightly.

“Yes.”

“Why?” She tipped her head to one side as she studied him with obvious puzzlement.

“We’ve not yet explained the…the uniqueness of our relationship to your father. The man at the very least deserves some warning as to our arrangement.”

“Hmm,” she murmured then nodded with a sang-froid that startled him. Her fingers traced a path along his jaw and downward to where his shirt was opened to the waist. The touch made him drag in a sharp breath, and she smiled up at him. “That’s true, and it’s why I made sure Mrs. Barstow gave you a room as far away from Father’s as possible for the time being.”

“For the time being?”

“At some point, he’ll have to become accustomed to seeing you strolling out of my bedroom every morning.” Her quiet words were filled with a confidence he wasn’t sure how to respond to. With a shake of his head, he frowned.

“Perhaps, but it won’t be easy for him…or for you.”

“I think it will be easier than you think.” The confidence in her voice seemed even stronger, and he released a soft groan of dismay.

“It will definitely be easier here at Marymont, but London is a different battlefield.”

“Battlefield?” A hint of a smile touched her lips.

“Society is forgiving of a man who indulges in liaisons, but it eviscerates a woman for daring to do the same,” he said quietly as he reached out to caress her cheek. “Here at Marymont I’m better able to protect you from the cruelty of others.”