Curse it, did he spot a few errant freckles there? How glorious. Why had he not noticed them before? And what other mysteries did she hold? He could not wait to unlock them all, one by one.
“Of course I mind, my lord.” Her palms came to rest upon his chest, and she gave him a solid push. “I will not dally with you when you are intent upon marrying someone else. Have you not heard a word I have uttered to you, you arrogant jackanapes?”
“I rather think it is you who are not hearing me, my love,” he told her, searching her gaze. “I do not want a feigned betrothal with you, Grace Winter, because I want our betrothal to be real. I want to marry you.Youare the woman I have chosen.Youare the only woman I want.”
He paused then, pondering what she had just said to him. “Even if you do think me an arrogant jackanapes,” he added.
She went still, all the fight seeming to drain from her. Her green eyes were wide, searching his frantically, as if seeking the slightest hint of deceit. But she could look all she liked, for she would find none.
“You want to marryme?” she asked. “In truth?”
“You,” he said, grinning. “To hell with the feigned betrothal. You are the one for me, Grace. I have realized something profound during my presence here. For so long, I believed love did not exist. But in fact, my love was misplaced. All along, I was waiting for the right woman to come into my life.”
“The right woman,” she repeated, sounding dazed.
“The perfect woman,” he agreed. “Perfect for me in every way. You are the only lady of my acquaintance who has looked down her nose at me. The only one who ever dared to put me in my place.”
“Anyone could have corrected your high opinion of yourself,” she said swiftly. “That alone is not reason for marriage.”
“Is love?” he asked.
“Love?” she repeated, such longing in her voice, it nearly broke him then and there.
“Yes,” he persisted, past the lump in his throat. “Love. I love you, Grace Winter, and you are the woman I want to marry. A feigned betrothal with you cannot be enough, because only a real betrothal will do. I aim to make you mine. To keep you mine. Will you be mine, my love? Now and forever?”
Her lips parted. For the second time since he had first met her, he was so desperate for a yes from her he could practically taste it.
Instead, all he heard was an ear-splitting yowling, emerging from somewhere in the chamber.
Christ.
The fat cat.
Her brows snapped together, her expression fast changing into one of befuddlement. “What was that wretched sound?”
For a beat, he felt as if he had returned to that enchanted night in the gardens when she had caught him smoking a cigar and she had asked him what the wretched smell was.
“Your cat,” he told her, wincing when the yowl turned into a howl.
What the devil was the matter with the creature?
She blinked, looking more befuddled than ever. “I do not have a cat.”
“Correction,” he told her, trying to make the best of his admittedly lackluster attempt at procuring her the feline she had always longed for, according to her sisters. “Youdidnot have a cat before. But youdohave one now, just as you have so desperately wanted.”
Grace frowned. “I never wanted a cat. When I was a girl, a cat I rescued from the streets scratched me horribly, and I have not trusted felines since.”
He frowned right back at her as another terrible meow filled the chamber. “But your sisters…”
Her sisters had led him on a merry chase, he was beginning to realize.
Troublesome minxes, every last one of them.
“My sisters told you I wanted a cat?” she asked. “Why would they do that?”
“I am afraid I am beginning to suspect their purposes were nefarious,” he said grimly. “May I also suppose you do not like pear tartlets, watercolors, or poetry?”
Her lips twitched. “Good heavens. Did you truly acquire a demonic cat, pear tartlets, watercolors, and poetry just for me?”
