“I might not be able to own my own property in England, but the laws aren’t the same around the world.” She pursed her lips. “I think I’d like my own house. A chateau perhaps, in the south of France.”
“Done.”
She arched her eyebrows. He gave in so easily. He must want her badly.
“And all my earnings shall go into a trust for Eleanor. A dowry is all well and good, but I want her to have independence in case she decides not to marry.”
He nodded. “And I’ll place matching funds in with your wages.”
Her heart melted. “You are determined.” She waved a hand at the flowers woven through the top of the gazebo. “You could have just asked instead of going through these games.”
“Why give you the opportunity to return me an answer I don’t like.” He grinned. “Say you’ll marry me. You know you want to.”
She thought about making him suffer longer. Making a few more demands. But her excitement burbled out of her. “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Her sister whooped from the lawn.
John swept her up and bent her over his arm. “You’ll never regret it,” he said just before crushing his mouth to hers.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave back as good as she got. She would make sure she didn’t. She wouldn’t wait for John to keep her happy; she would grab onto joy with both hands. She’d keep John on his toes, make sure he never went a day without smiling.
That he never went a day without making her moan.
Her parents had been poor examples for married life, but Netta knew what she wanted.
An equal partnership. Trust. Love. Fun. All elements they would have to work at to maintain, but no job would ever be so satisfying.
“There are children present,” someone shouted from the garden. She thought it was the duke.
They broke apart, each sucking down air.
“Are you certain you want this?” she asked. “Because once you sayI do, there will be no going back. I won’t accept anything less than a perfect marriage.”
He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’m certain. I love you Netta Pickle, Antoinette LeBlanc, Agnes Evered.”
“You forgot Ned.”
He shuddered. “And allow me to continue forgetting that particular alias.”
She dug her teeth in her bottom lip. She was smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. “Consider Ned retired.”
“All those days when I thought I was teaching you how to be a lady.” He snorted. “And it was you teaching me the whole time.”
She hooked her finger at the top button of his waistcoat and tugged him close. “What? What did I teach you?”
He cupped her cheek. “That love is the biggest game of all.
“And when it comes to games, you know I always play to win.”
Epilogue
Three months later…
“Plum tart?” Netta held up a half-full platter of the pastries, crumbs dusting her lower lip.
John’s groin tightened. He had licked every inch of her body just that morning, but damn if he didn’t want to taste the tart right from her lips.
He glared at the party around his breakfast table. The very large party. Why the bloody blazes did all his friends insist on coming round to his townhouse for Saturday breakfast? Ever since he and Netta had returned from their bridal tour a month past, the parasites had come each week to eat him out of house and home.
