He nodded, the sharp angles of his jaw softening as he looked down at her. “I did.”
She wanted to say more, but Finnington had the door open and waiting. They paused to shed their coats, then walked together across the entry hall and up the grand staircase. A footman, blast the man, followed up behind them, intent on one duty or another, so she couldn’t very well say more to Colin. When they reached the gold-and-cream drawing room, Beatrice drew up short.
“What is it?” Colin asked, standing just behind her, close enough for her to catch a hint of his perfect scent.
“No one’s here. How odd.”
He slid his hand down her arm, and she looked up to him in surprise. “Not so very odd, I think,” he said, his breath warming the sensitive skin of her neck. He stepped forward, lightly pulling her into the room behind him.
Butterflies roared to life in her stomach as he turned, facing her fully and joining hands with hers. The door clicked closed behind her, and she started in surprise. Had a servant pulled it shut? “The door . . .”
“Is exactly as it should be. There are only a few times in life when such a thing is perfectly acceptable, and this just happens to be one of them. Beatrice,” he said, then shook his head. “Oh, to hell with it.”
He tugged her full against him, in broad daylight in her own drawing room. He wasted no time in taking advantage of the position, leaning down to press his lips fully across hers in a quick but searing kiss. “There,” he said, his voice raspy as he pulled away. “I feel much better.”
She grinned, happiness covering her like a warm blanket. “That makes two of us. I’ve wanted to do that for days. Now, Sir Colin, was there something you wanted to say?”
“Marry me,
All the passion in the world, wrapped up into four little words. No flowery prose, no odes to her beauty or talk of their compatibility—just a pure, simple, perfect entreaty.
One that needed only one word in response. “Yes.”
He closed his eyes, breathing a ragged breath before opening them once more. “Yes?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms and spun her around as though she weighed no more than a rag doll. She giggled in delight, pure joy radiating from her heart as if it were the sun itself. When he set her down again, his mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her laughter, sharing it just as they would soon share everything.
The kiss was something different from before. It was possessive, and fierce, and fiery in a way she would like to think she could be but could never achieve without him. His hands came to either side of her face, cupping her jaw as if she were made of the most delicate of porcelains. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Can I say something without you thinking me a complete loon?”
She closed her eyes and nodded once. He could say anything if he would continue to hold her just like this.
“I’ve fallen in love with you, Beatrice Moore.”
Her heart skipped two full beats at the pronouncement, and she pulled away to look him in the eye. His gaze held a wealth of emotion, silvery and steely and still somehow soft.
“Thank goodness I’m not the only one,” she breathed.
Colin had never heard sweeter words in his whole life. She loved him! All the worries about the dowry, Raleigh’s condition, and his own misgivings seemed to melt away in an instant. Nothing in the world mattered except this: He loved Beatrice, and she loved him.
With a soft, low growl, his lips found hers again, more insistent than ever. He could feel her hammering pulse beneath his fingers, matching his own racing heartbeat. They were so close as to almost seem as one. Feeling reckless, he lifted her in his arms. She squeaked in surprise, but didn’t break the kiss, instead pressing against him that much more.
He closed the distance to the sofa in three sure steps, then lowered them both to the cushions until she was square in his lap. The weight of her against his chest and thighs was intoxicating, and he had the sudden image of her naked, her honey hair cascading down her shoulders and across his bare skin.
Everything about her—her smell, her taste, her size, and even her voice—seemed custom-made to drive him mad. He wrapped both his arms fully around her, pressing her more snugly against him. She gave a breathy little moan, and he smiled against her lips.
He could make her happy. He knew it without doubt. She could have her painting and do with her money whatever she desired. They could have as many children as would suit her, and they would always, always have this perfect passion between them. Raleigh was right—there was no reason to ruin what they had for something that wouldn’t even be an issue after the wedding. What mattered was that he loved her, and damned if she didn’t love him as well.
An odd tapping noise broke through his muddled senses, and he paused, his lips pressed still against hers as he listened. Footsteps! Beatrice must have realized it at the exact moment he did, because she sprang from his lap as if shot from a cannon.
She shook out her skirts and tugged at the wrinkles, desperately trying to put herself to rights. She looked charming as hell, all rumpled and red-lipped, and he couldn’t help but smile. “How do I look? And good heavens, why are you looking at me like that?”
The footsteps, inordinately loud and slow, had almost reached the door. “It’s all right, my love. They know that I was here to ask for your hand. I think a little kissing is to be expected.”
The emotions on her face scrolled from worry, to shock, to surprise, to impish delight. He came to his feet, straightening his jacket and planting a kiss on her nose. “Clearly they are giving us ample warning as to their presence.”
She grinned, shaking her head as the person outside the door jiggled the knob as if they had never worked such a contraption before. By the time the door swung open—slowly—they were standing side by side, her hand cradled in the crook of his arm.
Lady Granville looked between them, her whole face glowing with pleasure. “Well, I assume a question has been asked and answered?”
“What question?” Beatrice asked, tilting her head in wonderment.
The marchioness drew back in surprise, her gray eyes rounding. “Er, well, I—”
“I’m only teasing, Mama. Yes, a question has been asked and answered.”
“And?”
Beatrice squeezed his arm, pulling them more tightly together. “The answer was a most emphatic yes.”
Three feminine shouts of joy rang from the corridor, and the twins and Lady Raleigh poured into the room. There was laughter and hugs and plenty of congratulations to go around. The earl came to join in the celebrations, ringing for a celebratory round of sherry for the ladies and port for the two men.
Once everything had calmed a bit, Lady Granville settled onto the sofa and took a small sip of her drink. “Of course, we mustn’t make any announcements until your father and sister have been notified.”
“I can only imagine how surprised they will be,” Beatrice said, her eyes dancing with happiness.
“Not so very surprised, perhaps.” The marchioness grinned, her impish expression making her look years younger. “At least not your father.”
“Mama,” Beatrice exclaimed, her hand going to her mouth as she laughed. “What did you write him?”
“I may have mentioned that there was a certain young gentleman who had caught your interest . . . and that the gentleman in question appeared to reciprocate.”
A very encouraging sign, indeed. If her mother had taken enough note to write to Granville about him, she must have seen something between them. Just as Raleigh had. The lingering uneasiness about his deception eased that much more, and he settled back into the cushions of the cream-colored sofa, silently observing as the women discussed things like flowers and gowns.
“When would you like to have the wedding, Sir Colin?”
