“Hugh?” She shifted her position, her chin rising so that she could see his face.

“I can’t let you go,” he whispered.

“What are you talking about?” She moved again, pulling away, just enough so that she could look into his eyes.

She was frowning. He did not want to make her frown.

“I can’t let you go,” he said again, shaking his head in a slow, tiny motion.

“We’re getting married,” she said. Cautiously, like she wasn’t sure why she was saying it. “You don’t have to let me go.”

“I should. I can’t be the man you need.”

She touched his cheek. “Isn’t that for me to decide?”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes against the awfulness of memory. “I hate that you had to see my father today.”

“I hate it, too, but it’s done.”

He stared at her in amazement. When had she become so calm? Not five minutes earlier, she had been sobbing and he had been soothing her, and now she was clear-eyed, watching him with such peace and wisdom he could almost believe that their future was bright and uncomplicated.

“Thank you,” he said.

She tilted her head to the side.

“For today. For so much more than today, but for now I’ll stick with today.”

“I—” Her mouth hung open in an indecisive oval, and then she said, “It seems a very strange thing about which to say, You’re welcome.”

He searched her face, although for what he was not certain. Perhaps he just wanted to look at her, at the deep chocolate warmth of her eyes and her wide, lush mouth that understood so well how to smile. He looked at her in amazement, and in wonder, as he recalled the fierce warrior of that afternoon. If she defended him so well, he could not imagine how she might be as a mother, with her own flesh and blood to protect.

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling from his lips. He was not sure he’d meant to say them, but now he could not stop. “I don’t deserve you, but I love you, and I know you never thought to marry someone under such circumstances, but I vow that I will devote the rest of my life toward your happiness.”

He took her hands to his lips and kissed them fervently, nearly undone by the force of his emotions. “Sarah Pleinsworth,” he said, “will you marry me?”

Tears glistened on her lashes, and her lips quivered as she said, “We already—”

“But I did not ask you,” he cut in. “You deserve to be asked. I don’t have a ring, but I can get one later, and—”

“I don’t need a ring,” she blurted out. “I just need you.”

He touched her cheek, his hand softly caressing her skin, and then—