She did not have long to wait. He smiled, his hands stroking loose tendrils of hair back from her face with an expression amazingly clear and free. “Dane and I have reconciled.”
As shock swirled through her, and more questions than she could wrap her head around, he turned serious. “Marry me, Lenora. Be my wife.”
And then, “Please.”
That one word banished any lingering doubts in her heart. He wasn’t telling her what she should do; he was asking, begging, with every ounce of his soul. He was giving her the choice to accept or reject. “Yes,” she said without hesitation.
Relief flared in his eyes. His kiss was tender, reverent. But she wanted so much more of him. She wanted all of him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her body arching up into his.
He did not misunderstand what she was trying to convey. “Lenora,” he gasped. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
The desire that flared in his eyes was brighter than any flame. Anticipation shivered through her as his gaze zeroed in on her mouth—
A rumble of laughter interrupted them. And not muted through the assembly room door but much closer than anticipated. Peter must have heard it as well, for he stilled, his hands tightening protectively on her before he raised his head.
A small group of grooms stood close by, grinning. One of them saluted Peter with his flask.
“If I may say, sir, you’re a right lucky one,” the man quipped.
To Lenora’s surprise, a deep chuckle rumbled up from Peter’s chest. “Luckier than you know. You may be the first to congratulate me, for this lady has just consented to be my wife.”
As the men burst into a rousing cheer, Lenora peered up into Peter’s face—and nearly lost her breath from the happiness shining there. Never had she seen him so utterly content. Knowing that she had been the one to put that joy there made her heart swell.
Another man stepped into the pool of lantern light under the colonnade, this time Lady Tesh’s own groom. “Mr. Ashford, sir? Are you needing the carriage then?”
In no time, they were being herded to the waiting equipage, the cheers of the men fading behind them. “To Seacliff, sir?” the groom asked as he saw them inside.
Before Peter could assent, Lenora spoke, a smile curving her lips. “To the dower cottage, if you please?”
Chapter 33
Peter gave her a curious look but said nothing as they settled themselves inside the carriage. His arm came about her shoulders, pulling her into his side. She went happily, her arm going about his waist, her head resting on his chest. It was just where she wanted to be.
They rode in silence, the moment too precious, the anticipation too great. She hardly saw the moonlit landscape outside the window for all her focus was on that precious heartbeat beneath her ear. Soon the carriage slowed, then stopped. Before the groom could dismount from the box to open the door, Peter was in motion, throwing it wide, leaping down to the drive, helping her down beside him. In moments, she had her key, opened the door…
It closed behind them with a soft click. And they were alone.
The front hall was dim. Yet there was enough moonlight shining through the mullioned windows to see the wonder that suffused his face as he gazed down at her. As he turned to glance about the space, however, his expression changed to one of confusion. “What is this place?”
In answer, she went to the small side table and lit a lamp. A faint golden glow filled the hall. Suddenly unaccountably nervous, she watched as he took it all in: the narrow hall, the door that led to the small parlor, the simple flight of stairs.
“It’s mine,” she explained, unable to keep the hint of pride from her voice. “Or rather, it is Lady Tesh’s, and mine to lease.”
His gaze swung to hers in shock. “Lease?”
Uncertainty crashed through her. She was a ladywho had gone into trade. It wasn’t done.
In the next minute, she ground those feelings down to nothing. There was no shame in it. And this was Peter, after all. If anyone would understand the importance of this, it would be him.
She nodded. “Paid for with my paintings.”
Understanding lit his features then. And a pride so fierce, she thought she would cry from the joy it gave her. Before she knew it, she was in his arms, his mouth covering hers with a desperation that took her very breath. His fingers grabbed at her hips, pulling her against the hard length of him, leaving no doubt as to her effect on him. His mouth was hot on hers, more demanding than it had ever been. She met the demands with joy, showing him with grasping hands and writhing body that she was no delicate flower he need fear bruising. Her fingers were busy, working at the disheveled folds of his cravat, pushing his jacket from the massive breadth of his shoulders, fumbling at the buttons of his waistcoat. Every brush, every tug, seemed to make him wilder. Until, finally, his mouth ripped free.
“Bed,” he gasped.
She pointed up the stairs. And then she was whisked up into his arms, secure against the hardness of his chest as he pounded up the treads. In mere seconds, he burst through the narrow doorway of her small room, the door closing behind them. Then there was no time to breathe, no time to think, as their lips met in a fiery kiss that fairly melted her shoes from her feet.
