“I don’t want to wait,” she whispered.
He gazed at her, his slashing cheekbones ruddy with arousal. “I’m not taking you until we’re wed, Emma. I’m going to do this right.”
She loved him for it. Loved how he treated her, the effort he was making with her family and his own, how determined he was to give her the wedding of any woman’s dreams.
I love him so much, she thought wistfully.
She was tempted to tell him so—but she had decided to wait until their wedding night, to seal that special moment with a declaration of her feelings. She didn’t know how he would respond; he’d been honest about his views on love, after all. Yet in her heart she believed that he cared for her, and she felt confident that one day soon he would return her words.
Taking a breath, she said, “Then let’s get wed.”
“Pardon?”
“Let’s elope,” she said simply. “Gretna Green is on the way to your estate, isn’t it? We could have our honeymoon at Strathmore.”
Desire flared silver in his eyes, yet he shook his head—as if to himself as much as to her. “You deserve a grand wedding, and you’ll have it.”
“I deserveyou,” she said, kissing his jaw, “and I don’t want to wait.”
“Your family—”
“They’ll be happy that I’m happy. We can invite them to visit us at Strathmore, can’t we?”
“Our home is theirs. But sweeting…”
He trailed off when she linked her arms around his neck. Standing on tiptoe, she whispered against his ear, “Please? I don’t want to waste another moment. I need to be yours, Alaric.”
She saw shadows flicker in his eyes, his shoulders stiffening as if he were fighting some inner battle. Surely propriety couldn’t mean that much to him?
Then his arms closed hard around her, crushing her to his chest.
“You are mine,” he said roughly. “Oh, Emma, youare.”
***
Around noon the next day, Marianne found her husband in his study working on a report. As he scribbled, he absently rubbed the back of his neck, a habit she found endearing even after all these years of marriage.
He rose immediately when he saw her, the smile in his eyes softening his somber mien. “You’re a welcome sight. Did you get enough rest, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” Going over, she straightened the lapels of his coat. “Last night’s party didn’t go that late.”
She was stalling… and cursed herself for her foolishness. She was known for her directness. Yet this was Ambrose, the man she loved, and she knew he wouldn’t take well to the news she had to deliver.
“I wasn’t referring to the party,” he murmured as he bent to kiss her cheek.
Her skin warmed at the memory of their private celebrationafterthe party… but she could delay no longer. She decided to let the facts speak for themselves. Wordlessly, she handed him the letter she’d discovered moments earlier on Emma’s neatly made bed.
“What’s this?” Furrows deepened on Ambrose’s brow as he scanned the brief lines. “Bloody hell—they’veeloped?"
“Emma must have slipped out before the servants awakened. I’d assumed that she stayed abed to rest after the party—I should have known better,” Marianne said wryly. “When I went to check on her just now, I found the note.”
“We’ll be travelling by Mail Coach, which promises to get us to Gretna Green within three days,” Ambrose read aloud. “I hope you will forgive my impetuousness, but the truth is I could not wait. Please share in our happiness. Will you visit us soon at Strathmore Castle? I look forward to welcoming you all to my new home. Your loving sister, Emma.”
He crumpled the letter. “Goddamnit, even if I leave immediately, they have a half-day’s lead. I won’t catch them in time.”
Marianne put a hand on his shoulder. “You mustn’t interfere, darling.”
“But eloping—it’s not proper!”
