“A project?” How could some project be more important than her? Her stomach roiled at the realization that his so-called project must be an excuse to stay away. She grasped the back of a chair, her knees weak.
Her father returned his attention to the page before him. “A project.”
“I see,” she whispered. Tears burned her eyes. She whirled and walked to the shelves on shaky legs. If her father saw her tears, he would demand to know what had upset her, and Liza couldn’t tell him the truth. If Papa knew she’d kissed Lord Thomas, he would force them to wed. Liza didn’t want a man forced to have her, especially not one whose happiness she cared about more than her own. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Behind her, the library door opened. Liza tried to stem her tears.
“Ah, there you are,” her father said. “It is time?”
“It is,” Lord Thomas said.
Liza spun at the sound of his voice. He strode across the room toward her. He stopped inches from her, his expression stunned. Behind him, her father wore a ridiculous grin.
“You’re crying.” Worry draped his beloved face.
“No,” she lied. Tears slid down her cheeks.
He brushed her tears away, looking at her with warm, concerned eyes. “Why are you crying?”
“You said… and we… and then you never came back.” Her voice was thick with grief.
Lord Thomas captured her hand in his, but turned to her father. “You didn’t tell her?” he asked, incredulous.
“Wanted it to be a surprise.” Her father’s foolish grin didn’t waver, despite her tears.
“But she’s crying.”
Lord Thomas put enough reprimand into those words to make Liza’s eyes go wide. No one spoke to her papa like that.
Her father’s affable expression didn’t falter. “She’ll stop soon enough. Go on now.”
“I don’t understand.” Liza made the words a plea. Why was her father so cheerful? What hadn’t he told her, and where had Lord Thomas been?
“Come with me.” Lord Thomas exerted gentle pressure on the hand he held.
Baffled, but bolstered by the warmth of his hand and her father’s cheer, Liza let Lord Thomas lead her from the library. He didn’t relinquish her hand, nor did she wish him to. He took her through the house, to the foyer, and out the door.
He kept up the pace across the street, where his butler waited, door already open. Liza was aware of gawking passersby, but then they crossed the threshold and entered Lord Thomas’s home. It was brightly lit, as lovely as she remembered from her few brief visits, and he was headed toward the ballroom.
“What are we doing?” she asked, breathless from his rapid pace.
“You will see.”
Liza couldn’t recall the exact layout of Lord Thomas’s home, but as they neared the ballroom, the hall took a turn she was sure hadn’t been there. It ended at a set of double doors, thrown wide. He led her through them, and into a grand, two-story-tall library.
She craned her neck, looking up, and around. Book-lined shelves soared toward the ceiling. The second level was ringed with a walkway. Evening sunlight filtered through tall windows. Soft carpets covered the floor. Plush couches and chairs were arranged in small groups, candlelight on every table.
There had not been a library there before, that much she knew. This was, “Impossible,” she breathed.
“Not impossible,” Lord Thomas said. “If you ask it, I’ll turn the entire house into a library.”
Her eyes sought his as he dropped to one knee before her. Tears threatened once more, this time from joy. Lord Thomas clasped her hands in his.
“Liza Milton, will you marry me?”
