She wriggled free because of a lucky elbow to the nose and pulled off the ring. As he scrambled up, she hurled it at him. “Gilded popinjay. Take back your vile diamond!”
They certainly had a fine audience, and despite a broken heart, Genova was enjoying herself.
She ran into the hall and saw an almost empty dish of sugarplums. She tossed the contents, frosting him with sugar. Then she grabbed a basket of walnuts and pelted him with them, one after another as he kept coming after her, undeterred.
When she ran out of nuts she looked for more missiles and realized she’d made a tactical error. He had her trapped near the fire and thepresepe. When he lunged and grabbed her, she couldn’t escape.
She tried to wrench free back in the direction of food, but he cinched her to him unbreakably, her back to him. “Damn you, woman, I love you! Only you!”
“To hell with that!”
“To hell together, then.” Close to her ear, he hissed, “Break up over Damaris, dammit, and I’ll have to marry her!”
That fueled true fury. Genova bent forward, then swung back hard, connecting with his jaw. He cursed and his grip loosened. She ripped free and ran for the food. She turned back swinging a large ham bone.
He went down on one knee, stained, messy, and gorgeous, holding out the diamond ring. “Sweet Genni, forgiving Genni, redoubtable Genni. Marry me? Don’t hold my stupid words against me. It’s not really my fault if you turn me into a gibbering idiot.”
It was like running aground on hidden rocks. Distantly, Genova heard the dowager cry, “Ashart!” and Miss Myddleton shouting something.
Genova’s attention was all on him. “What?”
“I love you, Genni, I adore you, and I want to marry you. I need to marry you. You’re my sanity, my anchor, my balance on the edge. I was trying to find the right words earlier when my grandmother arrived.”
Genova looked around at the shocked but entertained guests.
Damaris Myddleton, seething, was locked in Mr. Fitzroger’s arms, presumably to stop her joining the fray. The Dowager Lady Ashart stood stock-still, glaring as if she wished she were the Gorgon and could turn Genova to stone.
It was also as if she was daring Genova to say yes.
Genova turned back to Ash, happiness bursting out in a laugh of delight. “Yes, Ash, beloved, I’ll marry you. But please, not that ring!”
“No!” cried Miss Myddleton. “He’smine!”
Genova didn’t take her eyes off Ash’s brilliant, joyful face. He rose, pocketing the ring. “You see, you’re my wisdom, too. But,” he said, taking her into his arms, “I amnota capon.”
She smothered laughter in his sugary shoulder. “I know that.” She wove her arms around his neck, and they kissed slowly, gently, a sweet promise of a lifetime of heady delights.
But then a voice spoke, mildly but firmly. “Ashart.”
With a wry expression, Ash turned to his grandmother. Perhaps governed by tact, their audience was dispersing, chattering. Genova couldn’t see Damaris Myddleton. She felt rather sorry for her rival, for Damaris had not only lost, but mortified herself before everyone.
Only Rothgar remained.
Ash kept Genova’s hand in his as they walked over to the apparently calm old woman. Her eyes were not calm at all, however, unless ice is calm.
“A word with you, Ashart. Rothgar, provide us with a room.”
“Follow me, Grandmother.”
Genova saw the old lady’s face pinch as if she’d like to disavow the relationship, but she turned and marched after him. Genova and Ash followed.
This would not be pleasant. Lady Ashart intended to fight. Genova would give as good as she got. She would not let the old tyrant cause Ash any more pain.
Rothgar opened the door to a room Genova hadn’t previously seen. It was of modest size, and gloomy for lack of windows, though one wall hung with heavy curtains.
“This is the Garden Room,” Rothgar said. “The curtains conceal doors leading to a conservatory. Pleasant in summer, chilly in winter, even with the fire.”
He touched a taper to the fire and lit candles, making the room brighter, though nothing could brighten the atmosphere.
