She laughed."You were perfect."
"I was terrified." He slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, as though it had been made for her. "There. Now it is official. You are mine, and I am yours, and nothing in this world can change that."
She looked down at the ring and the emerald that caught the light, at the delicate filigree that wrapped around her finger like a promise. It was beautiful. It was perfect.
It was real.
“You have captured my heart…I cannot fathom my life without you.”
"Then do not try." He pulled her into his arms, holding her close. "Cherish me forever and allow me to cherish you back. Let us never, ever waste another moment in silence or fear or the belief that we do not deserve each other."
"That sounds like a reasonable plan."
"I thought so." He tilted her chin up, his eyes dark with emotion. "Now, I believe there is a tradition associated with this moment. Something about sealing the betrothal with a kiss?"
"Is there? I had not heard."
"Oh, yes. Very ancient. Very important." His lips curved. "Shall I demonstrate?"
"If you insist."
He kissed her.
It was not like the desperate, hungry kiss on the terrace. This was softer, slower, a promise rather than a confession. His hands cradled her face as though she were something precious, something infinitely valuable. She melted into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, her heart so full she thought it might burst.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing unsteadily.
"We should return to the party," Vanessa said. "People will notice we are missing."
"Let them notice." Martin pressed another kiss to her forehead. "I have waited six years to hold you. They can wait a few more minutes."
"My mother will send a search party."
"Your mother is currently holding court with half the aristocracy. She will not notice our absence for at least another quarter hour." He tucked her against his side, his arm wrappedaround her waist. "Besides, I rather like this moment. Just the two of us, hidden away from the world."
"We cannot hide forever."
"No. But we can hide for a little while longer." He rested his chin on the top of her head. "Tell me something. Now that we are betrothed and you are contractually obligated to tolerate me, what was your favourite letter? The one you were most embarrassed for me to read?"
"I am not answering that."
"Come now. Fair is fair. I have confessed all my secrets. It is your turn."
"You have not confessed all your secrets. You have confessed one secret, which is that you read my letters. That is hardly equivalent."
"It felt like all my secrets at the time." He pulled back to look at her, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Very well. I shall guess. Was it the letter about my shoulders?"
"No."
"The one where you described my smile in rather excessive detail?"
"No."
"The one where you…"
"It was the one about the Worthington ball," she said quickly, her cheeks flaming. "Where I…where I described what I wanted to do after the supper waltz. In... considerable detail."
Martin's eyebrows rose. "Ah. Yes. I remember that one."
