What Price Love?

caught, but then she closed her eyes and let it wrap about her.

Accepted it. Accepted him.

As he was. As she needed him to be.

Wild and reckless, passionate-and possessive.

That was the real truth of him. Of them. Of us.

She opened her eyes, looked into his, still burning with possessive heat. “Yes. All right.”

He wasn’t sure whether to believe her, to put his trust in the bright joy in her eyes. He hesitated, then asked, “All right? Just like that-all right?”

She considered, then nodded. Decisively. “Yes. Yes to everything.” Rescuing her glove from her lap, she stood. Happiness was welling, flooding through her, threatening to spill over; better they left before it did.

Dillon rose with her, retaining his hold on her hand. “So you agree not to take any risks-any risks at all-unless I’m with you?” Feeling a trifle off-balance, he tried to see her face as they walked back to the chapel door.

“Yes! Well, as far as I can.” Reaching the door, she halted and faced him, met his eyes directly. “And no, I am not pleased to have to make such a promise, but…” Tilting her head, she searched his eyes. “You won’t rest unless I do, will you?”

He’d forgotten she saw straight into his soul. He looked into her eyes, saw all the joy he could wish for, along with too much understanding to deny, and surrendered. “No.”

She nodded. “Precisely.” She turned to the door. “So I’ll try my best-”

“Please tell me you’ll do more than try.”

“-to accommodate you.” She glanced sideways at him, caught his eye. “Isn’t that what wives are supposed to do?”

There was a subtle smile on her lips, a light in her emerald eyes-more than teasing, an outright challenge- another element of her understanding.

His gaze fastened on those distracting lips.

She stiffened. “No. Not in a cathedral. This was your plan. You have to live with it.”

He closed his eyes, groaned, and opened the door for her. He followed her into the church, now as eager as she to leave, and mildly amazed that the deed was done, that despite all, their path was set and agreed.

She glanced at the altar as they went past, then looked at him as he took her arm. “Have you given any thought as to when we should wed?”

The point didn’t require thought. “How about as soon as humanly possible? Most of your family’s here-we could send for your younger brothers and sisters.” He hesitated. “Unless you want to marry in Ireland?”

“No.” Pris shook her head. That would make it too hard for many of her new friends to attend, and besides, there was nothing for her there; her future lay…she glanced at Dillon. “Let’s marry in Newmarket.”

He met her gaze as they emerged through the main doors, into brilliant sunshine lancing through the broken clouds. “If you’re happy with that?”

“Yes.” Smiling delightedly, she felt her heart soar; all their decisions felt unequivocally right.

They stopped on the porch. Dillon signaled to the tiger to bring the curricle and pair to them, then swept her into his arms and kissed her-thoroughly. When he released her, the smile on his lips set the seal on her joy. She looked about; the sun warmed her; everything seemed sharper, cleaner, more crystal clear. More finite and settled, outside and within, as if from that first meeting in Newmarket she’d been living in a kaleidoscope of ever-shifting possibilities, but now the kaleidoscope had stopped, revealing the fabulous, exciting pattern that her future-their future-would be.

Eagerness gripped her. Impatience welled. The instant they were in the curricle and Dillon had set his horses pacing, she asked, “Where should we go first?”

“First?”

“Where should we go to start the arrangements? Our wedding isn’t simply going to happen, not without a great deal of discussion and organizing.”

Dillon grimaced, but didn’t take his eyes from his blacks. “I’ll make a deal with you-you make the arrangements, tell me where to be when, and I’ll be there. Just don’t ask me for an opinion on anything.”

She laughed; the sound curled around his heart and warmed it.

“Done.” She leaned lightly against his shoulder, then straightened. “So where should we call first, to tell them our news?”

“Flick’s, or she’ll never forgive me, and Eugenia and Adelaide will be there, too. I suspect they won’t have gone out yet.” They’d be waiting to see what had transpired, he had not a doubt. “And no doubt Flick will then rush us around to Horatia’s.”

Pris happily agreed.

Dillon tooled the curricle through the city streets, reassured that he could safely leave her in the Cynster ladies’ company, especially in the throes of planning a wedding. All attention would be focused on her; she would be the center of the gathering.

With her safety assured, he could turn his mind to his latest risk-one last throw of the dice to flush out Mr. X, and ensure that Pris and he did not remain at the mercy of a vengeful villain, possibly for the rest of their lives.

That shared life had now taken shape in his mind; with Pris, he would make it a reality. And there was very little he wouldn’t risk to make it safe, to protect it, and her.

22

Rus was the first person Pris set eyes on as they entered Flick’s front hall. Her smile exuberant, she flung herself into his arms. “You’re going to have a brother-in-law. I’m going to marry Dillon.”

Rus’s face creased in a smile to match her own. “Excellent!” He swung her around and around; Pris laughed, eyes alight.

Adelaide and Eugenia appeared in the drawing room doorway, followed by Flick, all eager to learn what was going on.

With his habitual charm, his eyes on Pris, Dillon told them.

Adelaide shrieked and hugged him wildly. Eugenia beamed, patted his arm, then kissed his cheek. Flick’s smile held a touch of gloating as she lined up to do the same. His smile easy yet arrogantly proud, Dillon received and responded to their congratulations and eager questions.

Pris turned to Rus, eyed him accusingly. “You knew.”

He grinned. “Of course. You were both so obviously in love, you can’t expect us not to have noticed. Even Papa noticed after just one ball.”

She frowned. “How? What did we do that was so revealing?”

He studied her, confirmed her question was serious. “It’s the way you look at each other, react to each other. I’ve seen you with any number of gentlemen, some nearly as striking as Dillon, and you behave as if they’re mere ciphers. You see, smile, talk, even dance with them, yet it’s as if you’re not truly aware of them, as if they’re too weak to impinge on your consciousness. With Dillon…if he’s in the same room”-Rus grinned as her gaze drifted Dillon’s way-“you’re aware of him. Your attention instantly focuses on him. He doesn’t have to do anything to claim your regard-he simply has it.”

Rus squeezed her hand. “And he’s the same, if not more so, with you. For instance, if you tried to slip away, he’d know and look up before you managed to leave his sight.”

Still puzzled, she asked, “And that’s enough for you-and Papa-to be sure he loves me?”

Rus laughed. “Trust us-for a man like him, it’s an infallible sign.”

Pris wondered what he meant by “like him.”

“I’m more than delighted you’ve found him,” Rus went on. “You’ve done so much to make my life right-to give me what I need to be happy-it’s only right that along the way, you found your happiness, too.”

She snorted. “You make Dillon sound like my reward.”

Rus’s eyes twinkled. “If the shoe fits…”

Before she could think of some pithy retort, Flick came rustling up to embrace her, then Eugenia and Adelaide were there, and before she and Dillon could do more than exchange a glance, they were swept up in a giddy whirl