Her breath came fitfully as silence followed her declaration. She'd exposed her heart: stripped away the layers, left herself vulnerable and without defense. If he didn't want her, if he no longer loved her—
A sound left him, and suddenly she was in his arms. In heaven. His lips claimed hers in a kiss of pure possession, and she almost sobbed with relief. She clung to him, meeting his hunger with her own, wrapping her arms around his neck, needing to be as close to him in body as she was in heart.
"I love you," he said against her lips. "So bloody much, Marianne."
Wonder suffused her. Its warmth spread like sunshine through her soul, melting away the wasteland of the past and sowing bright, beautiful blossoms in its wake.
Nuzzling his chest, she said, "You won't regret me, I promise. I'll be so good to you from now on—the kind of wife you've dreamed of."
"Christ, never mind that. Just be mine."
"I can't wait to be Mrs. Kent," she said tremulously.
"Are you absolutely certain, sweetheart?" The familiar line worked between his brows. Her stubborn, honorable Ambrose—how she adored him. "Because it will change things for you. Even with your money, you'll lose much—"
"And gain more in return." With sly furtiveness, she found the buttons hidden inside the placket of his trousers and popped them free. His breath grew harsh as she raked her nails lightly along his impressive length. "Muchmore, I should say. You'll give me everything I want, darling, of that I have no doubt."
His eyes gleamed down at her. "So I'm to spoil you, is that it?"
"If the shoe—or in this case, thecock—fits…"
Her laughter spilled over as he caught her up in his arms and carried her to the hearth. He lay her on the pallet, the expression in his eyes as he undressed her making her feel like a queen. He shed his clothes, and then she knew shewasthe richest woman in the world. Firelight licked his lean physique, and she could scarce believe that this delicious male, this noble, loving man was all hers.
Yet as he stretched next to her, she saw the question lingering in his eyes.
"What is it, my love?" she said.
"When I overheard you and Lady Harteford earlier today, you said you couldn't make me any promises." He brushed his knuckles along her cheekbone. "What has changed?"
Lud. She'd forgotten all about Black.
Sliding Ambrose a look beneath her lashes, she said, "Promise you won't get angry."
"The fact that you're asking for that promise is not reassuring. Tell me, Marianne."
Reminding herself to begin as she meant to go on, she told him the truth of her bargain with Bartholomew Black.
"Youwhat?" He stared at her in disbelief.
"There's no need to get overwrought," she said quickly. "All's well that ends well, as they say. My only obligation is to plan a wedding—a task so simple I could do it in my sleep."
He sat up, his features carved in granite. "That's not the point. Black could have demanded anything. How could you have been so reckless, so utterly irresponsible—"
She really wasn't in the mood for a lecture. So she rose on her knees and began to press kisses against his hard jaw, noting with interest how the muscle ticked there.
"Don't think you can distract me," he said, frowning.
"I love it when you get stern." She licked the hard bump of his throat.
"Your wiles aren't going to work this time. When I think of the danger you put yourself in, what might have happened—" His voice hitched. "Christ, woman, what are you doing?"
"Answering your challenge," she murmured. "Now are you certain this won't distract you... or this?"
He groaned.
And the lecture was put off... at least until the next time.
Epilogue
