“And I had a devil of a time making this part out, but no, I’m definitely not married and have no children. Save for the ones I pray you’ll give me. Or let me give you?” He winked. “It’s a task I’m willing to work on with the utmost of diligence.”
Thea’s loins sweltered at that. Dazed, she tried to nod but only succeeded in wobbling in place.
“I’ve written you a poem.”
The solemn way he spoke, the look in his eyes—and the fact that he’d mentioned it thrice now—told her that, clearly, this seemingly simple event was of no little significance. “Well then...” She unpried her fingers from the desk and extended her hand. “I’d be delighted to read it.”
“Nay. Poetry is meant to be recited aloud.” He paced forward until poised confidently at her knees. With broad hands to each, he widened them and stepped directly between. His face was stern but his eyes, they sparkled at her.
“Roses are red, my name is Daniel. Come be with me. Let’s create a scandal.”
“A scandal?” she whispered, flustered.
He jerked a nod, licked his lips and very deliberately said, “Now I am asking for something else, other than your silence, so feel at liberty to chatter away.”
“What?” The question was a near silent sigh.
“Your hand. Your trust. Your life, meshed with mine. I’m asking you to marry me, Thea.”
He really meant it! “And live merrily married forevermore?”
“Aye. Though you make light, I do not. ’Tis serious business, woman, talk of taking a mate. A willing leg shackle. Marry me, Thea,” he coaxed, digging his thumbs into the tender flesh above her knees. “Love me. Mother my children.”
She opened her mouth to protest again but he overrode her before a single sound emerged. “Before you worry overmuch, know that if we don’t have our own, England is bursting with babes in need of loving homes.”
“More strays?”
“More love.”
A whirlwind of feeling pressed behind her rapidly blinking eyelids. She willed it to recede.
“Family, Thea.” He said it with such strength, such convincing sincerity. “Ours. If you would but agree.”
“I…” She gulped. Could she really do that to him? Condemn him and Lady Elizabeth to be ostracized, cast from the social strata that was their birthright? Just because he offered her the world?
For that’s what marriage to a peer was—an impossible dream akin to a trip to the moon. He loves you, Dorothea Jane. Loves you. “I…”
“Thea,” he leaned forward to breathe in her ear. “You’re wavering. I can tell.”
He pulled back to catch her gaze. “I know it’s incredibly sudden, but I love you to the stars and beyond, and I need you to say yes. I need you.”
The moon and the stars?
He hadn’t just promised her the known world but the entire universe.
Her toes curled in slippers that suddenly went from damp to snuggly warm. She released her hold on the desk to loop her arms around his neck. “I will.”
“Will…?”
“Marry you!” Thea catapulted off her precarious perch and into the haven of his arms. “Always! Always, you wonderful, marvelous man. It was the stars that did it. I rather fancy being loved to them.”
“Not the deuced poem?” Though he tried for cranky, she could tell by the way he hugged her how very pleased she’d made him.
“That too.” Then she was kissing him and he her, laughing and—
Thea sniffed.
Then sniffed again.
“Oh, look...” She blinked horridly fast and ran her sleeve across her nose. “You’ve turned me into a snoaching sniveler.”
“And you’ve turned me into a wretched poet. Fine pair we make.”
“Fine pair indeed.”
Thanks for reading Mistress in the Making, Book Three - DARING DECLARATIONS. I adored Daniel and Thea from the moment I met them; I hope you did too. :)
If you have a chance to write a review, it’s always appreciated. Reviews and word-of-mouth are two of the best things you can do for authors you enjoy.
Meanwhile, take peace in the quiet moments and speak up when you need to. ;)
Excerpt from MISS ISABELLA THAWS A FROSTY LORD
Blind from a young age, a Regency heroine risks her overbearing father’s displeasure by attending a house party, never dreaming she’ll meet a formidable lord who will discover all her secrets and still want her for his own.
Part of Chapter 1
The Festivities Begin…
and a Certain Frosty Fellow is Blind to the Truth
The dangling ringlet upon Isabella’s forehead swayed with the motion of her feet. She’d requested the maid arrange it just so, and every light brush was a reminder of how pleasing it was to have her wishes regarded.
Spine flush against the wall, Isabella’s toes rose and fell in time with the lively music. Her right hand, snug upon the strap of her fan, tapped against her thigh in tandem with her dancing toes. She itched to be alone. To indulge in her one vulgar pastime—or so Father labeled it, saying the habit made her look no better than a “bingo mort”, a female drunkard—the activity that had earned her more than one bruised shin and worse, Father’s further disdain. But all the same, the obsession beckoned.
But it was not to be. Not now that the other guests had arrived and she no longer had the privilege of finding herself alone in the great ballroom.
The beginnings of the third set reached her ears. Everyone not already breathless with exertion rushed onto the dance floor at Anne’s prompting. As mistress of the assembly, Anne presided over the dances and called the steps, just as they’d played and practiced when they were younger. Her friend’s happiness was evident.
More than ever, Isabella yearned to join in.
“Dance with me.”
Her head automatically jerked toward the speaker. Startled by the abrupt command, as well as by the rich voice that pronounced it, she blinked. Was he talking to her? Or someone else nearby?
Anne
