“When a woman makes a fool of him,” he said. “That is what you do to me, Charity. You turn me into your fool. I have never experienced such a depth of feeling with another as I do for you. You turn me inside out and tie me up in tangled knots. I am going about this bloody proposal all wrong, and I must beg your pardon.”
“Did you just curse?” she asked.
Yes, he had,damn it.
“You see?” He took her hands in his. “You have me at sixes and sevens. I never curse. At least not aloud in the presence of a lady.”
In his head aplenty.
But as always, he had rules for that sort of thing. He could hardly be blamed if the only woman who had ever caused him to break every last one of his rules was her.
“Perhaps you ought to begin again,” she counseled kindly.
Taking pity on him? He could only suppose. Her beauty was not helping him, nor was the lush scent that would forever haunt him—the rose and orange blossom andCharity. He was thinking of how it had felt to be inside her before he could control himself.
Clamping his jaw against another oath, he shifted to a more comfortable position, given that his trousers were suddenly snug.
He could do this. And properly, too. He would right the wrongs he had made yesterday when he had intended to woo her and had instead ended up bedding her.
“Lady Charity Manners,” he began again, “you are nothing I wanted in a wife.”
She frowned. “Perhaps a pun would have been more the thing.”
“Allow me to finish,” he rushed to add, for she had mistaken his pause for the completion of his declaration. “When I settled upon this house party as a means of finding a bride and doing my familial duty, I thought I knew just the sort of lady I was seeking. I wanted someone who respected rules and propriety. Someone who was quiet and shy. Someone who was not the brightest star in the night sky or the loveliest, most magnetic lady in every room she inhabits.”
She tugged at her hands. “Neville.”
He held tight, not allowing her to withdraw. Not yet. Not until he said everything he had intended to say. Then let her run if she must.
“Allow me to finish, if you please, Charity,” he said. “You are nothing I wanted in a wifebeforeI came to Fangfoss Manor. Yet, over the course of my time here, I have found myself increasingly drawn to you. I am drawn to your loveliness, your wit, your laughter, your lips. I am drawn to your boldness and your refusal to follow the rules, to your reckless tongue and the way you are not afraid to be who you truly are.”
“Oh, Neville.” Her countenance softened.
She was relenting, but he was not done.
“When I first saw you, I knew you were trouble, but I did not understand that you were exactly the sort of trouble I needed. That what I want and what I need are two different things entirely, because what I need is you. I love you, Charity. I do not want to marry you because of duty or honor or obligation or for any reason other than that I am hopelessly, helplessly, utterly in love with you.”
Her brilliant blue eyes burned into his. “You love me?”
“I love you,” he repeated.
She smiled at him, and he felt the force of it in his heart. “I love you too.”
Thank God.
He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “Will you be my wife?”
“I…” She paused, sighing, then caught her lower lip between her teeth.
Her hesitation was not nearly as reassuring as her declaration of love had been.
“Which river runs between two seas?” he asked, needing to fill the silence.
She pursed her lips. “The Thames because it runs between Chelseaand Battersea.”
He was ridiculously pleased that she had a ready answer. “You are correct.”
“I heard it before.”
