“Do you mean it?” Addy asked him, stealing his attention again.
“I meant every word I said to you,” he told her fervently.
She bit her lower lip. “But especially the part where you said you love me. Do you mean that?”
“God, yes.” He lowered his head and pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, Adelia Louise Fox. You, not your dowry. Justyou.”
Dandy trotted back over to them and pawed at his leg.
Lion glanced down, amused. “And you as well, mongrel.”
“Dandy isn’t a mongrel.”
“I know.” He couldn’t hide his grin. “She’s your darling.”
“And she’s never sleeping in the stables.”
“I wouldn’t dream of making her.”
“And what about my dowry?”
“It’s yours to do with as you like. The marriage contract will be written as such, should you do me the honor of agreeing to become my duchess.”
“You truly don’t care about my father’s fortune?” she breathed.
“I’m sorry you overheard the worst part of that bloody conversation. All I can promise is that I’ll live each day of our lives proving just how much I love you.”
“And Dandy.”
He chuckled. “And Dandy.”
She squeezed his hands. “Lion?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I love you too.”
His heart soared, a joy so profound that it momentarily robbed him of speech exploding within. He kissed her then, because he couldn’t go on another moment without knowing her lips beneath his. She loved him. Addy loved him. He’d been too afraid to hope, moving through the last day like an automaton.
He ended the kiss, needing to hear the rest. “Will you do me the greatest honor of marrying me, Adelia Louise Fox?”
“You know, when you call me Adelia Louise, I don’t mind it nearly as much as I do when Aunt Pearl does,” she teased.
This woman.
“Addy,” he prodded.
A grin broke over her face. “Yes, I will marry you, Lionel Hawthorne.”
“Thank God.” He kissed her swiftly and released her hands, pulling her into his embrace.
When they were both breathless, he lifted his head, gazing down at the woman who had stolen his heart—his wild American hoyden, so perfect for him in every way.
“Merry Christmas,” she said softly, smiling at him.
Christmas.He hadn’t a gift for her. He hadn’t a tree. They were in London at a hotel, where neither of them had intended to be. What a mess he’d made of it all.
“I’m sorry I ruined Christmas,” he told her earnestly. “I’ll make it up to you, darling. I swear it.”
