"But what if…" She hesitated. "What if it does not work? What if, now that the chase is over, you find that the reality is less appealing than the fantasy?"
"Vanessa." His voice was gentle but firm. "I have known you for six years. I have seen you at your best and your worst, triumphant at balls, furious in arguments, vulnerable in moments you thought no one was watching. I have memorised the way you laugh and the way you scowl and the particular shade of pink your cheeks turn when you are embarrassed. There is no fantasy here. There is only you, in all your complicated, infuriating, magnificent reality."
"You are being romantic again."
"I am being truthful. The romance is incidental." He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I am not going to wake up one morning and discover that I no longer want you. That is not how this works. That is not how I work. When I love, I love completely. Permanently. Perhaps obsessively, if we are being honest."
"We are being honest."
"Then yes. Obsessively." His eyes met hers, dark and intent. "I have been obsessed with you for six years. I expect I shall be obsessed with you for the rest of my life. I apologise in advance for any inconvenience this may cause."
She laughed…she could not help it. "You are impossible."
"So you keep saying. And yet here you are, in my carriage, wearing my ring…" He stopped. "Actually, you are not wearing my ring yet. That is an oversight I intend to correct at the earliest opportunity."
"You have a ring?"
"I have several. They are family heirlooms, gathering dust in a vault because I have never met a woman I wished to give them to." His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. "Until now."
The carriage slowed, then stopped. Through the window, Vanessa could see the familiar facade of her family's townhouse, the white columns, the black door, the windows that had witnessed her departure this morning and would now witness her return as an engaged woman.
Or nearly engaged. They had not quite managed a formal proposal yet.
"Ready?" Martin asked.
"No."
"Neither am I." He squeezed her hand. "Shall we be unready together?"
She looked at him,this man who had tormented her and delighted her and frustrated her for years, who had read her most private thoughts and loved her anyway, who was offering her a future she had never dared to imagine.
"Yes," she said. "Together."
They descended from the carriage and walked up the steps side by side. The door opened before they could knock, Simmons, the butler, must have seen them approach and then they were inside, in the entrance hall, with the sounds of the household around them and the reality of their situation pressing in from all sides.
"Lady Vanessa." Simmons's expression was professionally blank, but she caught a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "Your mother is in the drawing room. And Your Grace, shall I announce you?"
"Please." Martin's hand found the small of her back, a warm pressure that steadied her. "I believe Lord Wayworth is expecting me."
"Indeed, Your Grace. He mentioned that you might call." Simmons's gaze flicked to Vanessa, then back to Martin. "If you will follow me?"
They followed. Through the entrance hall, past the familiar portraits and furnishings, toward the drawing room where her mother waited with questions Vanessa was not yet ready to answer.
At the door, Martin paused. He turned to her, his expression soft.
"Whatever happens in there," he murmured, "remember: I cherish you. I have always done so. And nothing,not your parents, not society, not the entire weight of the British aristocracy, is going to change that."
"I know," she whispered back. "I cherish you too."
His smile was like the sun emerging from behind clouds. "Then we have nothing to worry about."
Simmons opened the door.
They stepped through together, into the light.
***
Chapter Fifteen
