“Is he knocking on the wall to see if there’s a room on the other side?” she asked in her smallest whisper.
“Probably. But he won’t be able to tell. These stone walls are too thick.”
To her embarrassment, she was shaking. Her knees were threatening to give out. “Can we sit down?”
Still holding on to her, he began shuffling them toward the table.
“No,” she whispered. “The bed, not the table. I want to sit beside you, not across from you.”
“I don’t think we should be on a bed together.”
“You’re sounding like your father.”
“I am not a fust-cudgel.” The words sounded like they came from between clenched teeth, and she felt him take a deep breath before he continued. “It’s just that…I’m not sure I can trust myself on a bed with you.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true.” His whisper dropped, becoming lower, deeper. “I’ve never felt anything like what I feel with you, Chrysanthemum. I cannot be near you without wishing to rip your gown off.”
Knowing she’d turned as red as the strawberry tart, she was glad for the darkness. She’d never heard such talk from anyone…but she wanted him to rip her gown off. She wanted that more than she would ever have thought possible.
And he hadn’t even kissed her yet.
She needed to fix that.
Picturing where the bed was in her mind, she began moving them toward it. And recognized the moment he gave in. He knew the room better than she did, and he had them on that bed in a flash.
Not wanting to alarm him, she sat primly beside him and slipped her hand into his. “Are you still worried?” she asked, staring straight ahead into the blackness.
“Of course I’m still worried. Are you not?”
“Just a little.” Mostly she was worrying about how to get him to kiss her. “Maybe we can help each other. What are you worrying about?”
His hand squeezed hers as he considered. “I’m worried for Creath. I’m worried your brother might not know the way to Bristol.”
“We went through Bristol on our way here. You said yourself that it’s just twelve miles away. I’m sure Creath knows the way, too—she’s lived here since birth, has she not? Trust my brother. They will get to Bristol.”
“Once they’re there, he’ll need to bribe a Justice of the Peace to marry them without her guardian’s permission. To marry them without asking her age. I didn’t tell him that.”
“Matthew is clever. Besides, does Creath not know that?”
“I did mention it a few days ago.”
“Then they will do fine. Trust my brother,” she repeated.
She felt him shift on the bed, turning toward her. “What are you worried about?” he asked. “If not the two of them?”
“Your parents,” she admitted.
“Really? What about them worries you?”
“What if we’re found down here, Joseph, with all these holiday trimmings? Your parents could be in some trouble for breaking the law—all because I insisted on celebrating Christmas. They could lose Tremayne to confiscation, like Matthew lost Grosmont Grange. And it would be my fault.”
He squeezed her hand again. “That’s not going to happen. For all his bluster, Sir Leonard is a petty troublemaker. He’s not going to go up against the Earl of Trentingham. At least, not over something as minor as Christmas decorations.”
She did remember the earl standing up to Sir Leonard. Still… “That’s not what your father said.”
She felt rather than saw him wave that off. “My father can be a bit of a fust-cudgel.”
When she began to laugh, he leaned forward to silence her with a kiss. Missing her lips at first, he trailed light kisses along her jaw until he found his target. The gentle caress made thoughts of laughter flee her head. But when she leaned into him, deepening the kiss, he pulled away with a regretful sigh. “Is there anything else you’re worried about?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I thought you were going to say you’re worried my parents won’t approve of our betrothal.”
“No!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “Your mother loves me. Although you haven’t proposed, so there’s no betrothal for them to approve or disapprove of, is there?”
“Holy Hades.” He promptly slipped from the bed. She guessed he had gone down to a knee. He took both her hands in his, fumbling a little till he found them. “Chrystabel Trevor, will you make me the happiest man alive by agreeing to be my wife?”
“Oh, God.” She wished she could see his face. But she couldn’t, so she needed to touch it. She pulled her hands from his to cradle his cheeks, thrilling at the feel of his slight roughness against her palms. “Oh, God. I love you so much. Will you kiss me?”
“You haven’t said yes yet.”
“Yes! Dear God, yes!”
TWENTY-TWO
SHE’D SAID YES. He was going to marry Chrystabel.
Holy Hades, how would he keep his hands off her now? They’d been sitting on a bed, for heaven’s sake. A bed.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I know,” he returned, his own whisper filled with wonder. He could scarcely believe he didn’t know her four days ago. “I love you, too.”
“Oh, my God, Joseph—we’re betrothed. We’re betrothed!” Her whisper was infused with glee. She was adorable. Even when he couldn’t see her, she was adorable. “You said you would kiss me if I said yes.”
“I did, didn’t I?” He came up off his knee and sat again beside her, turning to gather her into his arms, suddenly grateful that his surcoat was gone when he held her close. Through his thin waistcoat and his thinner lawn shirt, he fancied he could feel her heart beating. When he kissed her, she released a blissful sigh.
Keeping himself in check, he kissed her shoulder and her forehead and her throat, because that felt safer than kissing her mouth. He trailed his lips over her soft, fragrant skin. Her carefully crafted perfume assaulted his senses. For the past few days, just a whiff of that
