An Impossible Choice (All Things Possible Book 1) Page 15

  Damon’s lips pulled into a slow smile at Argel’s gaping mouth and fire-red cheeks. He had to hand it to Miss Hughes, the chit wasn’t wrong.

  “Maybe take a day or two for yourselves, and then I can stand to be around you.” Miss Hughes grinned. “You know…get it out of your system.”

  “Wynny!” Argel gasped.

  All Damon could do was laugh as his guest threw him a wink. “Thank you, Miss Hughes. I believe you’re quite right. Some time with my wife is just the thing I need. We have much we’ve yet to discuss.”

  Miss Hughes laughed heartily as Argel stood speechless. Her face was such a deep shade of scarlet now, even her brown curls appeared to be blushing.

  “Tonight, then,” Damon nodded as he continued, “Argel, go upstairs and pack. We shall leave as soon as I return.” He placed a kiss on her forehead, still warm from her embarrassment, before turning back to her friend. “Miss Hughes, I shall have Pendenny arrange everything for your own travel—you need only let him know when you are ready to leave.”

  She nodded in agreement, her blonde hair still mussed from sleep.

  Damon turned to leave, but paused once more at the door, his hand tightly gripping the knob. “Argel?” He turned, giving her his most severe look possible. He had one last thing to say. “I shall return soon, so you had better hurry.”

  He left then, smiling all the way downstairs at the sight of shock that had been on Argel’s face. Her hazel eyes were nearly as round as her gaping mouth. The stray brown curls sticking out haphazardly made the scene almost comical.

  Almost.

  “Pendenny!” He bellowed as he barreled into the office, “We need to finish this up—now!”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Argel sat waiting in the armchair, facing the parlor door. Her stomach was a flutter of nerves, and the fact that Wynny paced relentlessly beside her was no help at all. Though it had only been a handful of days since her friend’s arrival, suddenly the prospect of being alone again with Damon was equally as thrilling as it was terrifying.

  Before, she had simply wanted to become friends. Now—well, now she loved him, and he knew it. And now he was coming to take her away to—

  “Oh, this is all so romantic,” Wynny sighed, pausing beside her.

  Argel managed a shaky smile, “I believe that is the hundredth time you have said that today.” Indeed, from the minute Damon had stormed out, Wynny had practically shoved Argel upstairs to pack, dragging Mrs. Bowers along with them. She had recited the phrase over and over until it was all Argel thought her friend knew how to say anymore.

  It had taken them only an hour and a half before they had all of Argel’s and Damon’s belongings together. His coach was now waiting below, their bags already loaded.

  And so, Argel and Wynny waited in the parlor. It had been thirty minutes and still no sign of her husband.

  Wynny resumed her pacing, not helping Argel’s nerves in the least. And with each tick of the small mantle clock, her anxiety rose another notch.

  “Argel, when I return to you, you must tell me all about it!”

  Argel turned towards her striding friend in confusion, “All about it?”

  Wynny stopped and rolled her eyes, “Yes! You know—what I asked you about yesterday…”

  Laughing—it was the nerves—Argel shook her head, “Oh, Wynny, you are impossible.”

  Wynny smirked, but said nothing more. She came to stand beside Argel, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder as Argel clasped her own shaking ones together in her lap.

  Though she wore gloves, her hands were quite cold. Her stomach was in knots. Could she do this?

  Tick. Tock.

  “Oh, so romantic…”

  “Wynny,” Argel ground her teeth, “if I hear one more time—”

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  Argel froze as the room practically trembled around them. Surely, it was not an earthquake. Not in London.

  “At last! He’s coming for you,” Wynny squealed as she jumped up with excitement.

  As the monstrous steps grew louder, Argel’s own anticipation and fear clamored up her throat, both fighting for prominence.

  Suddenly, the door flew open, the loud bang ringing in the air.

  There he stood, filling the doorway, his black cloak swirling about his legs, his expression thunderous.

  Argel swallowed.

  “Come wife,” he said, too quietly, as he extended a gloved hand towards her, “’tis time.”

  Slowly, she stood, barely noticing as Wynny gave her a tight hug or as Mrs. Bowers flew in with a small parcel.

  “Some food for your journey. I will not have you two starving under my care,” the housekeeper smiled—though Argel did not take notice. She was unable to look away from her husband.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bowers,” Damon accepted the red and white checkered cloth, though not once taking his eyes off Argel. He continued watching her as he said, “Miss Hughes, should you require anything, seek out Pendenny. He will look after you.”

  “Of course,” came Wynny’s reply, so distant it sounded to Argel. “Now, go,” her friend said as she felt herself propelled towards Damon with a shove from behind.

  She nearly tumbled into him, stopping just before, and looked up to find him peering intently down upon her. “Now,” he murmured deeply as his lips curved into a wicked smile, “we go.”

  Argel barely managed a nod before he swiftly scooped her up in his arms and flew down the stairs, with not another word to their audience who remained behind. As her blood rushed in her ears, she focused her eyes on his cravat and her mind on his breathing as he carried her. If Titus was in the office as they passed through, she had no idea, so focused was she on Damon.

  Before she knew it, they were outside and he was setting her down gently. The sun was just beginning to dip behind the buildings of London and it would soon be dark. They had a good three or four hours before reaching Abingdon-on-Thames. She hoped the roads would be safe.

  “Climb in while I check our things,” came the low murmur in her ear.

  Wordlessly, she complied and settled inside on the rear-facing seat, her eyes focused on her lap. Would he sit beside her? Would they speak or rest or would he simply gaze at her in his unwavering manner the entire way there?

  Before she could worry on it any further, he climbed inside—hunched to avoid the ceiling—and sat down firmly beside her. The coach jostled as it began its journey, and only then did Argel brave a tentative look up at her husband.

  What she saw caused her breath to catch.

  The look of such…such longing, such passion that appeared barely restrained flowed from dark pools of desire.

  Her gaze dropped from his soulful eyes down to his jaw, sprinkled with stubble from the evening’s growth. It appeared to be clenched against emotions—emotions that likely rivaled her own in depth. Moving her eyes once more, her gaze settled on the firm set of his mouth, his lips solidly pressed together.

  Subconsciously, she licked her own, her mouth having suddenly gone dry—and she blinked. Before she had time to open her eyes, that firm mouth was pressed hard against her own, reassuring, yet seeking and desperate all at the same time. He wrapped his arms around her and Argel melted into him, succumbing to her own desire.

  And then, as quickly as he had kissed her, he was gone, swiftly removing himself to the seat across from her.

  Argel’s heart cried out at the agonizing distance he had created—what had happened? As her chest heaved with her gasps for air, she wondered how she could have done something wrong so soon? Perhaps a glance at his eyes would give her a clue. Surely he would not have shut off his emotions so quickly.

  She looked to Damon, but his face was set as stone, no indication to be found. Without blinking, he reached up and swiped his mouth with his sleeve before grabbing the food parcel and practically tossing it in Argel’s lap. “Eat,” he growled, “and then sleep. We’ve a few
hours to go and,” one side of his mouth rakishly smirked, “you’ll need your rest.”

  Argel replied not a word as she looked down to the red and white parcel in her lap. She swallowed as if it to calm the swirling emotion inside of her. It was to no avail. How could she possibly eat now? She felt…too much.

  And then she realized that, indeed, one emotion had won out after all.

  Anticipation.

  Chapter Eleven

  Argel had been certain she would not be able to sleep a wink as they traveled to Abingdon-on-Thames, but as she felt herself being stirred from slumber, she rubbed her eyes and realized she had been quite mistaken.

  “Wake up, Argel. We are home.”

  Home. She sat up slowly and stretched. Not Beddgelert…her groggy mind worked to make sense of the words. Blinking, she focused her eyes on the man before her. Damon. Her husband. Home. Abingdon-on-Thames.

  Oh! Argel’s eyes widened as she also remembered, Alone.

  She was most definitely awake now.

  Wordlessly, her husband took her by the hand and guided her out of the carriage, up the brick steps and inside their home. The large house was dark and quiet, the handful of servants who had remained likely already settled in for the night. No one was expecting their arrival. Argel let out a sigh of relief, grateful no one was there to greet them.

  Damon never once glanced back to look at her, never spoke. He simply kept moving forward, up the stairs at a steady pace, never letting go of her hand. She kept her eyes forward, focused on his broad back, her mind unable to form a single coherent thought, when he came to a sudden stop.

  She pulled up short of running into him before realizing where they were. He opened the door in front of them and then stepped aside for her to enter, at last relinquishing her hand.

  Slowly, Argel walked into the room they had shared on their wedding night, the room where he had kept one promise by telling her everything, and where he had made another by keeping his distance.

  It was completely transformed. Candles were…everywhere. Their warm flames cast an intimate glow about the room, and a bath of steaming water sat invitingly before the fire place. Had he done all of this by himself while she had slept in the carriage? Or had servants been about before being dismissed?

  Argel slowly turned, taking it all in. She should feel afraid; after all, she knew the dangers of a candle and flame better than anyone. But the magnificence before her drove away any fear. “Damon, it’s beautiful. And—oh! The flowers!” Argel gasped as she realized the room was also covered with white bouquets just as on their wedding day. She walked across the room to inspect them closer. “They’re dried,” she smiled, puzzled, as she reached out to touch a nearby flower. “Don’t tell me they are the same…”

  “They are,” came his curt reply. Argel turned to see he remained at the door, leaning against the frame, still as a statue and eyes focused solely on her.

  He pushed off from the frame and closed the door, though never taking his eyes off of her. Slowly, he began prowling towards her, and Argel felt her heart pick up its pace as a result. “But, how?” she whispered, as the candlelight eerily reflected in his black eyes.

  “I asked Mrs. Bowers to dry them before she left to join us. I told you—”

  “As long as there are flowers on the earth…” Argel breathed, realizing these would never fade.

  “…I will never stop loving you,” he finished as he stopped just in front of her.

  As he reached up and tenderly touched his hand to her face, Argel closed her eyes. Never had she felt so cherished in all her life—not since her parents died. Turning her head, she placed a soft kiss on his palm before looking up at him.

  “So, now, Argel, my angel,” Damon’s voice had turned husky, “what will it be?” To indicate his meaning, he slowly nodded to the bed behind her. Changing his angle, he nodded to the sofa beside her. Then finally, to the bath in front of her. “At last, I have you alone—and what we do next, well, the choice is all yours.”

  Choice.

  Argel smiled up at him as she stepped closer, realizing that, at last, she was fully ready to love and embrace this man.

  Her husband.

  Her dark prince.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Damon watched his sleeping wife, content never to leave her side. How beautiful she looked lying there, her soft brown curls splayed across the pillow. Indeed, she even looked like an angel with the late morning sun glowing about her. Or was it the afternoon sun? He’d lost all sense of time, and it bothered him not one bit.

  At long last, she was his—completely. And more than that, Argel had willingly given him her heart and that was worth more to him than all he had worked for in his entire life. She was everything to him.

  Picking up one of her stray curls, he smoothed it between his fingers. Never had he felt such peace, such love. He hoped, more than anything, that he would make her equally happy.

  You gave me a choice, Damon. He recalled then her words to him from some point during the night. No one’s ever done that for me before. His heart had practically burst with joy as Argel had expressed her own love for him.

  But now in the light of day, as he thought on her words, his smile faltered just slightly. Guilt niggled his mind. Had he given her a choice, really? On her doorstep, yes, that night after they had sat under the tree. But…as for their marriage?

  He let go of her hair and huffed. He was being ridiculous. It may not have been an exactly fair choice, but he had given her one nonetheless. He was confident now that if things had been different, she still would have willingly chosen him anyway based on the words she had spoken that long-ago evening before her uncle had returned.

  I suppose we’ll never know. Inwardly, Damon cursed Pendenny for the words that had earned the man a thousand silent curses since speaking them.

  The reminder only served to increase Damon’s unease, and he shifted in his place on the bed. The movement must have been enough to wake Argel because she stirred then, her eyes fluttering open and focusing on him.

  He loved her—beyond a shadow of a doubt. And she loved him. In this case, Damon decided, the end justified the means.

  Argel smiled sleepily and stretched out her arms to him in invitation.

  Quickly, Damon shoved back the thought—the possibility that he might have been wrong—burying his guilt as he buried himself in his wife’s embrace.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  A day later, Damon sat beside his wife inside St. Helen’s Parish church. He had attended church more in his short marriage to Argel than he had in his entire life. His uncle had not been particularly religious, and Damon had learned early on that he could rely on no one but himself in this life. Indeed, it was his own drive that had provided him with everything he had ever wanted.

  Yet, the goodness in his sweet wife was something that had drawn him to her in the first place, and her piety was a large part of that. And so, he’d embraced her church-going ways in London—part out of respect for her and part from not wanting to be separated from her.

  The clergyman who had married them was delivering this morning’s message, and Damon found himself listening with rapt attention. The minister had said that the story of the prodigal son would be a familiar one to them, but to Damon, it was all new.

  He scoffed at the foolishness of the younger son—he’d never squander such an inheritance so. And he was equally amazed at the love of the father—waiting all that time for his son, welcoming him home with open arms.

  “And so,” the man continued, “we see that the father never went after the son, never stopped him from leaving in the first place. Instead, he let him go—and he waited. There are many lessons to be learned from this parable. One that I would like to focus on today is this: love does not force or manipulate.

  “Because of the father’s patient love, the son came to realize his error in his own time as well as his own love for his father. He repented and returned will
ingly.

  “The same is true for us. There may be times where we cannot reason with a friend or loved one, neither can we force them to change. Instead, if we love them, we must step back and allow them to go—praying they will return just as the prodigal son did.”

  Damon’s stomach turned sour at the man’s words.

  If we love them, we must allow them to go…

  He glanced down at Argel who was still listening intently, seemingly unaffected by what had just been said.

  Guilt that had been repressed sprung up, threatening to choke Damon. He took several deep breaths to slow down the spinning room as the clergyman droned on in the background.

  He loved Argel. She was his wife—at last in every way. Just when he had her…he refused to turn around and give her up. To do so would be to admit defeat. It would break his heart. It was an impossible choice—

  Choice? You’ve given me no choice at all.

  It wasn’t much of a choice.

  I suppose we’ll never know.

  You gave me a choice…no one’s ever done that for me before.

  The words swirled agonizingly around in Damon’s mind until he thought he may lose the contents of his stomach. Not a moment too soon, the service ended and he gratefully made his way outside.

  “Are you well, Damon?” Argel eyed him carefully once they were both seated inside the carriage. “You look awfully pale.” Her brow creased with concern.

  “I’m fine,” he muttered, turning to look out the window. “Tired is all.”

  “Well,” he heard the smile in her voice, “perhaps I shall let you rest this afternoon…but I make no promises.”

  His guilt gnawed at him further upon hearing her implication until he thought it would eat him through. In anguish, he turned to face her. “Argel…”