“Because you fancied her yourself?” his friend suggested.
“You might have warned me, by Jove,” the viscount said, sounding considerably aggrieved. “You might have saved me from making a prize ass of myself.”
The Earl of Wanstead grinned at him. “It all happened rather suddenly,” he said.
He was not finding it at all difficult to smile, to accept handshakes and back slaps and kisses and congratulations— and even tears from his aunt. He felt rather like laughing out loud—which was not at all appropriate when he considered the reality of the situation.
But whatwasthe reality? She had lain with him a few days ago. She had just kissed him with the same passion she had shown then. She had meekly agreed that she might be with child—and then kissed him again. She had laughed with him.
Was the reality quite what he had been telling himself it was? Of one thing he was sure. He was not going to go back to Montreal merely because of assumptions he had not tested. No indeed.
He turned with a smile to see who had just placed a hand on his shoulder.
There had been two other sets of waltzes earlier in the evening. Christina had danced neither of them, protesting to the two gentlemen who had asked that she really was not confident of the steps. Gerard had not waltzed either. She had not failed to notice that. She would have been disappointed if he had. She wanted the last waltz to be also their first waltz.
It was the final set of the evening.
“My dance, I believe,” he said, bowing to her and looking at her with bright, intent eyes as she stood with Lady Milchip, Jeannette Campbell, and a group of neighbors.
“Yes.”
She set her hand in his, and suddenly there seemed to be no one else in the ballroom but the two of them as he led her out onto the floor. She neither knew nor cared how many other couples stepped onto the floor with them. She did not notice that by some strange, unspoken assent all those couples stood back so that the newly betrothed couple could dance at least the first few measures alone together.
She even forgot to be anxious about the steps. They moved into the music as if they had waltzed together all their lives.
“It is surely the most lovely dance ever invented,” she said foolishly.
“Without a doubt,” he agreed.
“Gerard—”
“Christina?” He had that dreamy look in his eyes.
“If you reallywantto go back to Canada—”
“I do not.”
“If you would really like to stay here, then. Not just in England, I mean, but here at Thornwood—”
“I would.”
“If there is any chance at all that you still feel—”
“I do.”
“So do I,” she said.
They had understood each other perfectly.
“I love you.”
“So do I. I love you too.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I announce our betrothal, then?”
