Flanking him, Con and Nora dropped into proper curtsies.
There, he thought with an absurd surge of pride. This wild Ashforth clan—or rather what remained of it—could be respectable when the situation merited it.
Jacinda stood, surprise evident on her lovely face as she, too, dipped into a curtsy. With a wink, her father rose as well, sketching a bow.
“Crispin,” she greeted, a frown furrowing her brows. “Forgive me, Your Grace. What are you doing here?”
He held out the bouquet of hothouse flowers he had come armed with. “For you, my love, and I hope this time you shall not crush them into my chest and then discard them on the floor.”
An adorable flush stained her cheeks as she came forward and took the flowers, burying her nose in them for a moment before glancing back up at him. “Thank you. They are lovely.”
“Not as lovely as you,” he said quietly, forgetting for a beat that they were not the only occupants of the chamber.
Then Con giggled, and he felt the tips of his ears go hot. Why the devil had he brought the minxes along, anyway? He cast a warning glower in his sister’s direction.
Con blinked innocently. “What? I did not even say a word.”
“But if she were to say anything at all,” Nora interrupted with a serene smile, “she would say we do hope you will be our sister, Mrs. Turnbow. Indeed, we should like nothing better.”
“And not just because you bake the most divine sweets either,” Con added. “Though, to be sure, it is most appreciated.”
Crispin ground his jaw. “Devil take it, you two.”
Sir Robert cleared his throat. “Perhaps Lady Constance and Lady Honora might like to sample some of the Portugal cakes Jacinda made earlier this morning.”
“Portugal cakes? Oh, my yes, do let’s, Nora,” Con said happily.
Sending a look of gratitude to Sir Robert, Crispin waited until his sibling interlopers had been shepherded from the chamber and the door helpfully closed behind them before turning back to Jacinda. She watched him with a cautious expression, her warm sherry eyes unreadable, the flowers still clutched in her hands.
“What my sisters were attempting to say, albeit with a notable lack of aplomb, is they are in desperate need of a sister who will watch over them and keep them from sliding down the stairs on salvers.” He took a step forward. “And I am very much in need of a wife who will love me in spite of all my faults and scars. Who will not hesitate to give me a dressing down when I deserve it. Who is braver than I could ever be, and kinder and lovelier and my better in every way.”
Her lips parted. “Have you forgiven me?”
“There is nothing to forgive, my love.” He did not stop until her skirts pressed against him, until there was noting separating them but the bouquet he had brought her. “You did what you had to do to protect yourself and your father.”
Unshed tears glistened in her eyes as she searched his gaze. “But I deceived you. I should have come to you, revealed everything. Mayhap then we could have stopped Kilross sooner.”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, banishing her protests. “There was no other way for it to unfold, Cin. The important thing is his machinations are over and you are safe from harm. That is all I care about.”
“I am so very sorry, Crispin.” Her lush lower lip trembled.
He pressed a gloved thumb there, stilling the tremor. “As am I, darling. I should have believed in your love. I should have known you would never betray me. Do you forgive me for doubting you? I swear to you it will never happen again.”
She kissed his thumb. “As you said, there is nothing to forgive. We have both wronged each other in our own ways. I thought you never wished to see me again.”
“You are all I want to see, now and forever,” he vowed, taking the bouquet from her and settling it upon her father’s desk so he could take her into his arms. “I love you, Jacinda Turnbow. My heart is yours if you will have it.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “So much it hurts. My heart is yours as well. Forever.”
“Will you marry me, Cin?” he asked. “Be my duchess. Spend all your days and nights at my side.”
“Yes.” A gorgeous smile stole over her face, and it was like the sun breaking free of the clouds after a storm, light and transformative, glowing and bright and beautiful. “I would be honored to be your duchess.”
He could not wait another moment to claim her lips. Their kiss was open-mouthed and starving, laden with promise. She tasted of tea and Jacinda, and nothing had ever been more delicious on his tongue. “Thank God,” he muttered against her mouth, pressing their foreheads together. “I was terrified you would not want me.”
“There will never be a day when I do not want you, Crispin Ashforth. I love you so much it hurts.” She kissed him, long and slow and sweet.
He caught her around the waist and spun her around and around until they were both breathless and laughing and dizzy. Joy burst in his chest like a volley of cannon fire. “I feel the same way, my darling. What do you say to the notion of getting married today?”
