“It’s all right, you know,” she murmured once she was toe-to-toe with him. Tipping her head back, she sent a soft glance over the features of his face before returning her gaze to his. “I’m in love with you, too.”
His growl shifted into a moan when she rested her hands on his doubled forearms and leaned forward to press her lips to his pectoral muscle. Then she rose up on her toes and sealed her soft lips to the side of his throat.
“Stop it, duchess.” The words were ragged and barely audible.
“Stop what?”
She pressed another kiss behind his ear, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine.
“You know what. It’s pointless.”
She pulled back to look up at him, a stern furrow between her brows. “Love is pointless?”
“Between us, it is.”
There was a flicker of pain in her eyes, quickly concealed. He stepped around her to walk across the room. Not for any particular reason other than to put some distance between them. When he rounded to the other side of the bed, he looked around for something to do. Spying his breeches, he swiped them up and shoved his feet into them.
“I disagree.”
He closed his eyes at the sound of her stern tone coming from far too close. She’d followed him. Keeping his back to her, he pulled the breeches up and worked at the fastenings though his fingers fumbled uselessly.
When he didn’t reply, she spoke again. Her voice rising. “You’re finished? Just like that?”
Fuck.
His heart was pounding so hard it seemed it might bust through his chest.
“I don’t believe it.”
“It doesn’t bloody matter if you believe it not,” he growled as he turned to face her, his arms once again crossed over his chest in a stupid attempt to create a barrier between them. Stupid because she’d already burrowed a path straight to his core. “Nothing can come of this. Us.”
Her expression was mutinous. And fucking gorgeous. He resisted the urge to press his fist over his heart to contain it.
She tilted her head and stared at him. Her intelligent gaze smoothed over every hard angle of his face, feeling like a caress. Then her features softened as she took a step toward him and brought her hands to his crossed arms, silently urging him to release them. He considered resisting but knew she wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he did his best to remain passive as she unfolded his arms and wrapped them around her waist. Running her hands up his arms to his shoulders, she pressed herself to him. Soft warmth against hard heat.
Mason clenched his teeth to hold back his groan of pleasure.
Looping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down to press a kiss to his firm lips. Then she looked straight into his eyes and said, “Marry me, Mason Hale.”
His arms tightened automatically around her as his breath left him on a harshly muttered curse. All of the pressure inside him pushed outward. He felt like he needed to explode. He searched her face and saw nothing but intense sincerity. And for some reason, it angered him.
“That’s impossible and you damn well know it.”
“I do not,” she argued stubbornly. “Nothing is impossible.”
“A marriage between a duke’s daughter and a villain of the East End sure as hell is.”
“Says who?”
“The whole fucking world.”
“I don’t care about the rest of the world,” she retorted. Then she arched a brow. “If you don’t want to marry me, Mason, just say so.”
He growled again and his arms tightened involuntarily.
She smiled.
“That’s what I thought.” Framing his face in her hands, she looked confidently into his eyes. “You’ve been fighting all your life. Fighting to survive. To protect. To claim your place in the world. You don’t have to fight this, Mason.” She smiled. “Just let it happen.”
Emotion churned inside him. He couldn’t respond. It didn’t seem real.
“You should know right now that I’m not going to give up on this. On you.”
Giving in to the need inside him, Mason closed his eyes and hauled her into a tighter embrace as he tucked his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. “I fucking hope not,” he muttered thickly.
After a moment, he lifted his head to look down at her.
Damn, she was stunning. Passionate and prideful and beautifully fierce.
He shook his head slowly as he asked with his heart in his throat, “You really want to marry me?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“And you love me?”
“I do.”
“Because once I make you my wife, that’s it. You’re mine forever.”
“Yes, I know.” She smiled.
And then the words were suddenly there. Pressing insistently against his lips. Forceful. Undeniable. And true. “I love you.”
Though she’d already declared as much, the pleasure in her smile and in the depths of her eyes when he said it himself told him he’d be saying those words a lot.
Epilogue
Two months later
Mason snuck into the Mayfair mansion through the garden entrance. All was silent. As expected for the late hour. Though stealth wasn’t his strong suit, he did his best to lessen the noise of his movements by shedding his heavy, rain-soaked greatcoat and wet boots and leaving them by the door before creeping quietly down the hall.
He didn’t get far before he stopped abruptly to listen.
An unexpected sound. And not far away.
A sneaking suspicion arose and he continued carefully forward. Then he saw it—the subtle glow of candlelight flickering in the room ahead.
Emboldened, he approached the doorway to risk a peek inside.
Just as he’d thought.
“Papa!”
Claire saw him first. Warmth rushed through him as her soft cheeks widened in a smile. She lifted a sugary pastry in his direction. “Sweets.”
He chuckled and strode forward to where his daughter sat atop the tall wooden table. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he glanced over her head and met his wife’s dark gaze.
Contentment.
Such an odd word. And an even odder feeling. But he was
