The Duchess And The Dragon Part 22

Serena rose and walked out of the palace for the last time, slightly stunned. And confused. Had she just gained an enormous triumph . . . or a life sentence for a husband she was no longer certain she knew.

SERENA HAD RUN to the townhouse window every time she heard a carriage clatter by, hoping it was Drake's. They had told her he was to be released straightaway, that he could return to her, a husband reclaimed. But as the shadows grew deeper in the room, her eyelids fluttered closed.

She jerked awake at the creaking of the front door. "Drake?" She rushed into the foyer.

Then into his arms.

Serena broke into sobs, her shoulders shaking while he crushed her to him. She could feel his tears dripping into her hair.

"Oh, Serena." He cupped her face with his palms.

She looked up into his eyes, those blue eyes that she hoped so long ago would wake up and look at her just so.

Just as they looked at her now. "You saved me. Once again." He laughed a little, the crinkles around his eyes deeper, his face thinner.

"No. G.o.d saved thee."

Drake looked to the ceiling and then back into her eyes. "Yes. But you helped Him."

They walked into the sitting room, hand in hand, lingering, touching, making it real that they were together again.

"Was it terrible?" She sat down close to him.

"The image of your face kept me sane. I thought of you when I couldn't bear it." He paused. "And I prayed. I prayed constantly."

She could see it in him, a strong rooting having taken place.

"So," he studied her, "we will live in Bristol?"

"Art thou disappointed? I could have asked for anything, but I found only one thing in my heart."

"No. I am thankful to be alive, with you in my arms again. Nothing else matters."

Serena hoped that would remain true when the shock of being set free wore away. And when she told him what else was in her heart: that she was not ready to be his wife in truth yet. That she needed time to heal, to trust again.

"Drake . . ."

Alarm rose in his eyes at her tone.

She breathed deep, praying for the words. "I need time."

"Time for what, sweetest?"

"Time for all this to settle. For my heart to heal."

His brow furrowed, and a glimmer of fear entered his gaze.

"When we return to Bristol, I am hopeful that thy father will allow me to stay with him for a little while, until I have sorted this out within myself."

His eyes widened. "What are you saying, Serena?"

"Just that . . . I love thee, but I am not ready to live with thee again. Not yet."

Anger settled on his brow, but he held his silence.

Mustering courage, she went on. "I know it will be difficult. For me, too." She lifted her chin and gave him a melting smile. "But we have dealt with difficult things before. At the end of this, I will know how to truly become thy wife. Please, Drake, I need this time."

She could hardly bear his sadness as he turned away from her, and it took all her will to stay seated as he rose and left the room.

She slept alone that night, wanting so much to go to him, but knowing that she couldn't let herself. Because more than one night was at stake. Their lives, their happiness . . . it all rested on one thing.

Serena's holding to what she knew was right.

EPILOGUE.

Drake stood on the threshold of his father's house, a bunch of wildflowers in his hand, the brim of his hat gripped in the other. She had hinted to give him an answer today. It was a question he asked since that first week after being back in Bristol.

Was she ready to be his wife again?

His initial response to her demand to live without him had been anger and disbelief. He had thought to convince her otherwise. It hadn't taken him long, though, to realize how serious she was. After leaving her with his father, whom Drake resented for having urged Serena to follow her heart in this matter, he retired to the lonely, if sometimes crowded, bed of a local inn. With that one decision she turned the tables on their relations.h.i.+p, and they'd begun a lengthy and-if Drake was to be honest-most illuminating courts.h.i.+p.

He came every Friday, spending the weekend with them after a long work week as a partner in a new bank that he founded. He thrived on the challenges of turning a silversmithing business into a clearinghouse, securities investor, and lender to the community.

Now he was fast becoming a political voice in the community, having taken up the cause of the miners and child labor. Robbie was his personal a.s.sistant, valet, driver, and anything else the lad seemed able to do. He was so eager to learn, his body now healed and filled out with good food, his language taking on Drake's cultured, clipped tones. The boy was forever making Drake smile or laugh out loud with his quick wit. It was humbling, having Robbie at his side when the boy was not in school-a practice the lad resisted and Drake insisted upon.

Now, as Drake banged at the door of his father's home, he smiled. The last year in Bristol had wrought such changes in them all. It had been hard, but well worth it.

The door opened to reveal his father's butler. The man rarely remembered who Drake was these days, so Drake reintroduced himself each time he called. "Drake Weston to see Serena."

He watched while the man thought through the names and then nodded, his eyes bright with humor for some reason.

"Into the blue drawing room with you, then," he intoned, motioning the way to Drake as if he had never stepped foot into the house and didn't know the way.

Drake handed over his hat and strode for the door. It was closed. He suddenly felt nervous. What if she rejected him? What if today, when asked the question, she turned him down forever?

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and then stopped. The room was so dark.

"Surprise!"

"Happy Birthday!"

Calls and happy voices rang out toward him. Candles were brought forth, and suddenly the room was ablaze in soft light.

He turned this way and that, seeing his father, new friends and business a.s.sociates-and her.

Serena stood to one side, their three-month-old daughter in her arms, a broad smile making her face glow in the candlelight.

Today was his birthday. In his eagerness to see her he had forgotten!

She swept over to him, trading baby Hope for the flowers. "For me?" Her smile deepened and she buried her face into the sweet petals. "So many beautiful colors! I shall paint them tomorrow before they fade." She had just finished a portrait of Drake cradling Hope in the crook of one arm. It was one of the many paintings she had completed in the last year.

He shook his head at her. "I can't believe you've done this."

"And why not? 'Tis a special occasion, a birthday." She winked at him, and he accepted this new, flirtatious side of her with growing amus.e.m.e.nt. It had been showing itself more often since Hope's birth.

His longing for Serena rose until it was almost painful. Blocking it out with a bark of laughter, he stared down at his daughter, kissing the top of her downy blonde hair. "How is my sweet one today?"

"Smiling all of the time, but she misses you." Serena had dropped most of the thees and thys from her speech. As she became more of herself, she left anything false behind.

Drake looked deeply into his wife's eyes, aware how closely they were being watched. "I hope to remedy that soon."

Serena answered back with a knowing smile. "One must never lose hope."

THE PARTY LASTED for hours, and while Drake enjoyed himself, he was glad when the last guest had left. His father, a man he'd grown to love over the past year, had taken the baby upstairs to her cradle.

He finally had his wife all to himself. "Thank you, Serena. It was so . . . surprising . . . and wonderful." He stood with his back to her, pouring punch into a small, delicate cup. He felt her come up behind him and press into his back, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head against him.

"You are welcome." The words were a soft purr-and a shock rushed through his body when he felt her lips at the back of his neck.

Growling, he turned and swept her into his arms. Bending low, he devoured her mouth. She held nothing back, returning the kiss with equal pa.s.sion-which spoke well of a year of hard-won trust between them.

Gasping, she pulled back, laughing up into his eyes. "Are you going to ask me?"

He was almost afraid. What if this were some cruel setting for his downfall? But no, Serena would never do such a thing. She may not be a Quaker or a d.u.c.h.ess, but she was a warm, wonderful woman of many hidden depths and talents and kindnesses. If Drake knew anything about her at all, he knew she would never be cruel.

He took a deep breath. "Will you come home with me? Be my wife in truth?" He had asked it before, but this time his eyes filled as if he antic.i.p.ated her reply. It was in the air-a feeling of triumph-as though he had climbed a mountain and now stood at the summit overlooking a new world.

"The house is ready?" Her smile teased. "No half-built cabin in the wilderness?"

Drake laughed, squeezing her tight. "Your palace awaits you. And might I add, it is perfect." It was. He had overseen every detail of the three-story brick home and was inordinately proud he had earned every cent for it from his own careful investments.

"Then I think-" she paused, and he could see her battle sudden tears of her own-"that I am ready to love the dragon again."

He shook his head. "No . . . no more dragons, I promise."

She cupped his face in between her hands. "Oh Drake, do you not see? You will always have a little of the dragon in you, and you should. It will aid you in your mission to change some of the atrocities of our world. And what lies between you and me . . . it no longer matters. For you see, dragon or no, I have become a knight." She smiled through her tears. "Your pet.i.t chevalier, in truth. I first protected the dragon, but G.o.d has tamed him. And I have always loved him. So breathe on, and make your fire. For I am not afraid."

They cried together then, staring into each other's eyes. It was the end of one thing and the beginning of another. And Drake had no doubt. The love between them had been tested, purified by G.o.d's fire, even as the smith refines his silver. And now . . . it was ready to be poured forth, molded into their story.

Drake leaned toward her lips, brus.h.i.+ng them with his. He might not know exactly what life held for them, but he knew one truth without a shadow of doubt.

Together, they could be anything.

end.