Page 119 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

Cassandra stepped into the entrance hall, which was filled with a surprising number of people. That explained the disturbance that had roused her.

No one seemed to notice her arrival until she spoke. “Rowson, could you please tell me what is going on in my house?”

Everyone turned to look at her, and the hubbub stilled as the crowd parted, revealing the man at the centre.

Jethro.

His jacket was charred and there was soot smeared over his beloved countenance, but he stood there, in the hallway, gazing at her with such love in his eyes that she wanted to burst.

Cassandra shivered. She must be hallucinating, imagining what her heart most yearned to see. But no, he was striding toward her, saying her name, concern etched on his features.

She let out a hysterical whimper. How bizarre was that? He looked concerned about her.

But they’d found a body. He was dead, wasn’t he? This could not be real. She must be dreaming.

Jethro stopped in front of her, repeating her name, as the overwhelming aroma of smoke that lingered on his person attacked her nostrils.

You couldn’t smell dreams, could you? Her pulse quickened as he reached out a sooty hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She grabbed his arm and squeezed it. That felt solid enough. And then she lifted her hand to his face—the dear face that she thought she would never see again—and wiped away a dark smudge.

Her fingers traced the outline of his lips, and she could feel him trembling beneath her touch.

The realisation hit her. There was no doubt about it. Jethro was alive.

She looped her hands around his neck and drew his face near to hers.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered in his ear.

Closing her eyes, she did what she’d wanted to do all day. Ever since she realised how much she loved him. Before her heart had broken because she believed she’d lost him.

Cassandra raised her lips to his and kissed him with all the love in her heart.

Chapter 64

Jethro didn’t want the kiss to end. All he was aware of was the feel of Cassandra’s arms around his neck—her body pressed close against his chest—the sweet taste of her lips on his. It was as if they were cocooned in a moment of time, shielded from the stares of the servants that filled the entrance hall.

It was a blessed moment, but there were things that needed to be said. Things that weighed heavily upon him, that he could not, in good conscience, keep from his wife.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, and barking instructions to his staff to return to work, he led Cassandra into the drawing room.

Despite the shameful news he had to share, Jethro couldn’t suppress his smile. It was worth facing death if your wife kissed you like that when you came back from the dead.

He perched on a sofa, hoping he would not stain it irreparably with his sooty garments.

Cassandra sat down beside him, her eyes wide as they rested on his face.

“I still can’t believe you’re alive. Are you hurt? Should I send for the doctor?”

“I’m fine. My mouth is rather dry from the smoke, but other than that, I’m just tired and a little charred around the edges.”

“What a dreadful ordeal you’ve had!”

He gave a bark of laughter and then wished he hadn’t, as it scratched his already sore throat. “I’ve had better days.” Or had he? It had improved beyond measure since his wife kissed him.

“I thought you were dead,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper, filled with such tenderness that he was tempted—oh, so tempted—to close the distance between them and press his lips to hers.

“Never do that to me again!”