As she stared at him, shocked, he moved closer, his movements slow and careful, as if he feared she would bolt. As if she could leave him in that moment.
“The second Redburn arrived at Seacliff, I should have told him the truth of the matter,” he said in a voice thick with emotion, “that you had stolen my heart, and I could not imagine my life without you.”
“Peter,” she whispered.
A small, tender smile curved his lips as he reached her. His hand came up, his fingers caressing the curve of her cheek. “And I should not have allowed him to prevent me from telling you one very important thing.”
Her heart pounded, her fingers trembling as they found his chest, pressing over his heart, a heart that beat as fiercely as her own. “What is that?”
He sank to his knees. Peter, the strongest, proudest man she had ever known, kneeled before her in front of everyone in that overheated, crowded assembly hall.
He took her hands, held them tight in his own. “That I love you. With all my body, all my heart, all my soul. I love you, Lenora.”
She let out the breath she had been holding on a soft “Oh.”
His smile faltered, doubt creeping into his eyes. “Is that a goodohor a badoh?”
In answer, she dropped to her knees, flung her arms about his neck, and pressed her mouth to his. It seemed to unlock something in him, and he let loose a low moan of pure longing that vibrated through her. He held her with a tenderness that belied his rough past, with arms banded from years of manual labor, hands scarred with the trials and tribulations of a hard life. His mouth worshipped hers, every bit of the love he professed to have for her displayed in the achingly gentle kiss. She nearly cried out when their mouths separated, when he placed his forehead against her own.
The noise about them, which had faded away to nothing, intruded once more. The music had stalled, but gasps and horrified laughter rang through the space. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied faces lax with shock, people whispering.
Lenora had experienced her fair share of embarrassments and scandal. This time was not one of them. How could it be, when she was so happy?
Letting loose a giggle, she lurched to her feet, pulling Peter right along with her. Holding hands, they hurried through the crowd and out the side door. Her last glimpse before the door closed behind them was of Lady Tesh and Margery at their places against the wall, faces beaming.
And then she was back in Peter’s arms, and everything else was forgotten.
“I know I’m not one of the polished gentlemen of theton,” he whispered, the coarseness of his beard a heady contrast to the feel of his full lips against the bare curve of her neck. “I’m rough and crude and ill-mannered.”
Heart aching, she pulled back and placed her hands on either side of his beloved face. “Is that what this was all about?” she asked, not a hint of humor in her voice. “The way you’ve dressed, the proper manners?”
“You deserve a gentleman,” he said, voice thick, his eyes begging her to understand. “And I can be that for you. I’ll go to London, put on this ridiculous suit every evening, polish my speech until no one can find fault with it.”
She shook her head even as her heart fractured. “Do you think I want that?”
He pressed his lips tight, pain flashing in his eyes.
She smiled, a watery thing. “If that was all I wanted, I would have been happy with Redburn. I prefer my men to have hair wild as any Viking’s.” She reached for the strip of silk holding his hair, pulling it loose until his golden locks fell in disarray about his shoulders. “To listen to a woman with respect and interest.” She ran her finger over the swirl of his ear. “To say what they mean instead of mere platitudes.” She caressed the softening line of his lips.
“And,” she continued with a smile, her fingers going to the starched, careful folds of his cravat, destroying what had no doubt taken much work, “to wear their heart on their sleeve. Especially if that heart is covered by a limp cravat.”
Love and joy flared in his eyes. He took her hands, pulling the gloves from her fingers and pressing his warm mouth to her palm. “I know your heart will always belong to Hillram. But do you think you might come to care for me, Lenora?”
“You silly man,” she managed through a throat tight with unshed tears. “Yes, I loved Hillram. But only as my dear friend, nothing more.”
His eyes searched hers, hope a living thing in their depths. “Truly?”
“I told you that night when you came to me, I never felt with anyone else what I feel for you. That includes my heart.” She smiled. “You are one of the most giving, caring men I have ever had the honor to know. You wonder if I could come to care for you? Peter, I have loved you almost from the moment you caught me up against you on Lady Tesh’s front steps.”
He searched her face, more than golden lantern light glinting in his eyes. “Say it again,” he demanded gruffly.
She blinked in confusion a split second before understanding washed over her. Smiling, she caressed the sharp curve of his cheek with her thumb. “I love you, Peter.”
The words were hardly free of her lips before he claimed them again. “Marry me,” he said into the dark recesses of her mouth.
She longed to accept. But a tinge of doubt polluted the haze of happiness that enfolded her. “What of His Grace?”
He would know what she asked: Would he be able to give up his revenge? Would he be happy with her when making the duke pay his debt was so important to him? She tensed, waiting for his answer.
