“He’s right,” Athena said. She was not afraid to touch him, no matter how little he responded. “You have lived with this for too many years. Let it go. Walk away from it, just as I learned to walk away from my chair and everything that held me prisoner.” She placed her hand on his chest, fingers spread, as if she could reach inside his ribs and replace what was missing. “Forgive your father, Morgan. Forgive yourself.”
“Listen to her.” Harry blinked, and a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. “Morgan… I am as proud of you as if you were my own son. That is why I must insist that you do not throw away the one thing that can give you peace.” He took Morgan’s hand and then Athena’s. Gently he placed her fingers in his. “Love one another. That is all that matters.”
Morgan could not have spoken if he wished. The obstruction in his throat had grown and grown to fill all the hollow places in his body, pressing on his eyelids and the casing of ice around his heart.
He looked into Athena’s eyes. They were clear, sane, bright with love. For him.
“I cannot stay here, among men,” he said, so that only she could hear.
“I know.”
“I won’t let you give up all this for me.”
“All this?” She glanced around the room, her gaze sweeping over the sea of faces as if they were so many antique paintings on a wall. “Do you think I want this now? They would not have me again even if I did. And I wouldn’t have them.” She cupped his hand between hers. “I decided even before I returned to Denver that my old life was over. I should have known before, but a part of me was still bound to that chair. The one you made me recognize for what it was. You, Morgan.”
“You knew I had killed.”
“And I doubted, for a while. But love—” She glanced at Harry with a warm smile. “Love is stronger than doubt.”
Still he refused to let himself believe. “The people you help… you cannot abandon them.”
“For all the mistakes he made, my brother was right in one way,” she said. “He accused me of trying to do everything myself, as if I could save all of Denver single-handedly.” She dropped her gaze. “I was arrogant. I wanted to make myself indispensable—to Niall, to society, to the needy, because I had nothing else then.” Her eyes found his. “There are many good people in my employ who can do what I did. All they need is money. After what has happened, I think I can convince Niall to release my fortune so that I can give the charities whatever they require to go on without me. And—” She turned his hand over in hers and kissed his palm. “There are people who need help everywhere. It doesn’t matter where we go or what we do. I choose a life with you, Morgan Holt. I love you.”
Morgan’s chest rose in a great, heaving breath. The frigid sheath behind his ribs cracked in one painful, miraculous spasm. Melting droplets rushed up his throat and into his eyes. He heard the hoarse sound of sobbing and realized the tears were his own.
“Athena,” he said. He took her face between his hands. “My love.” He kissed her, tasting salt on his lips and hers, daring the entire world to judge. All the anger, the self-contempt, the grief that had consumed him flowed out with that kiss, passed into Athena and came back to him cleansed and purified.
“I love you,” he said. “Will you have me, Athena?”
“Yes. Oh, yes.” She kissed him boldly, passionately, spitting in the collective eye of shocked society matrons. “But only if it is forever.”
Morgan responded as ardently as Athena could have wished. She rejoiced in his tears, for she knew they came as a release—release from the prison in which he had bound himself since his father’s death. She felt no shame for her own silent weeping. Only three people in this grand ballroom mattered to her now.
“Athena,” Morgan murmured into her hair. “Will you dance with me?”