Below them, Silas and Caro stepped into their traveling carriage in a flurry of farewells. But West’s attention wasn’t on his best friend and his bride. Instead his thoughts dwelled on the glorious woman who had at last consented to be his wife. His younger self had been wiser than his years when he’d set his sights on Silas’s pretty sister. How miraculous that in such a short space, despair could transform to joy. He’d been convinced that he was a hopeless invalid with nothing to offer her. And these last days with her had confirmed something he’d always known—that Helena deserved the best of everything. While he mightn’t be the best, he swore by everything he held holy that he’d do his best by her. Her hope was contagious. He felt better already. By God, he’d beat this damned fever. He had something to live for now. He stepped closer to catch the drift of her scent. Damn him if this surreptitious connection didn’t give him an illicit thrill. She cast him a quick glance, one knowing flash of bright, black eyes.
