A bittersweet smile trembled across her lips. “Saying ‘until later’ isn’t much better.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Bringing her hand to his lips, he studied her fingers as he kissed them one by one.
Her breath caught, far too many tingles running up her arm. “Then what did you mean?”
“After spending so much time with Lord Bastion, I havecome to realize there are different measures of success. The viscount’s measure is money and fame—the very things he hoped I would bring to his family. The same ideals my father valued.”
His gaze shot to hers. “But it is in your company, in the richness of our discussions, that I have discovered a world of depth that goes well beyond material pursuits. The way your mind works, the passion you hold for your interests, the bond we’ve formed, these things are truly valuable. People matter more than a hard-fought business deal.Youmatter more. So what I propose is that you don’t say good-bye at all, but rather that you say yes.”
“To what?”
He doubled back to the desk, then returned to her side with a paper in hand. Slowly, meeting her gaze with an unyielding stare of his own, he slid to one knee, pressing that paper into her fingers. “Say yes to this.”
But what was this? A sketched-out new business venture? Some sort of contract? An invoice or ... The words began to soak in, and the more they did so, the more her heart fluttered.
Wut soft lite doth brake be-ond,
At donning, in this golden morn,
In yor eyes, my wurld’s reborn
New promis, new luv, for-ever sworn.
Eturnal plej, owr harts in-twined
For-ever yors, for-ever myn,
Lite or shadow, blis or strife,
Wil yu, my darling, be my wife?
The paper trembled beneath her touch. Could this be?
“Ami.” Edmund’s voice dropped to a husky tone. “Say yes to the possibility of building a life together—you and I. Say yes to facing as one whatever comes our way. Say yes to being my wife.”
The words hung on the air like a promise, a joy, a dream she’d never quite dared allow herself to embrace. This sort ofproposal was for other women, the genteel type, not a scarab cleaning, mummy scavenger like her. And from the most eligible bachelor in all of Oxford?
“Is this real?” she whispered.
“It is.” He grinned, the feel of his thumb rubbing along the inside curve of her palm, a maddening distraction. “So what say you?”
“On one condition.” Truly, it was wicked of her to string him along like this, but she didn’t get proposed to every day, and she didn’t want it to end. Not yet.
His eyes widened, but his voice didn’t falter. “Name your condition, and it shall be done.”
“Promise me another poem on our wedding day and every anniversary thereafter.”
“You must be jesting.” He snorted. “As you’ve just witnessed, I write abysmal poetry.”
“And that, sir, is a mere fraction of your charm.” She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed the back of it.
His grin grew cheeky. “And the rest?”
“You are brave. Witty. You make me smile like none other, and your loyalty and compassion for others is quite frankly astounding.”
His smile faded, a serious glint replacing the playfulness in his gaze. “You didn’t mention my wealth or status.”
“That’s because I would marry you, sir, were you the raggediest pauper in all of England.”
