“Mm,” he repeated, and before he pulled back, he gently tugged her lower lip with his teeth.
“Oh,” she breathed as her stomach flipped again and her heart thumped a rapid beat. When he tried to draw away, she clasped her fingers in his soft, thick hair at the nape of his neck.
“Again,” she demanded.
And he did.
A LITTLE WHILE LATER, she sat primly and properly at one end of the sofa while he sat at the other, grinning at her like a fool. Charles couldn’t help himself.
“Miss Rare-Foure ... Charlotte ... I should make some pretty speech,” he began.
She shook her head. “Not needed or expected.”
He halted, not having expected her comment. Then he went over in his mind what he’d rehearsed before his mirror and decided to leap ahead to the best, most pertinent part. “I confess my heart is overflowing with love for you. Will you be my wife?”
He didn’t expect her to laugh in his face, but she did. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and a thousand fears raced through his veins.
“Oh dear!” she said at once, probably because he’d gone pale. Reaching out, she took hold of his hand, which he ought to have done in the first place, not to mention going down on bended knee, and he would have done both if he hadn’t been so distracted by their heated kiss. More than that — he was truly nervous to learn her answer.
“No, please,” she said, “don’t look offended. It’s only that I didn’t expect such a short declaration any more than I had expected a pretty speech. After all, you are a barrister. So I expected a long persuasive argument, designed to quell any misgivings I might have.”
“Do you have any?” he asked, hoping this wasn’t going to end badly. He wasn’t sure he would have the fortitude to try a third time. Waverly would have a field day making fun of him if a viscount couldn’t secure the hand of a shopgirl. Even the most spectacular shopgirl who ever existed.
“No,” she confessed.
He’d nearly forgotten the question. “No? Oh, you meanno, you don’t have any misgivings.” He blew out a breath of relief. “Preparing any such argument seemed a waste of time, as I hoped I knew your thoughts on the matter. May I dare to believe my feelings are reciprocated?”
“Yes, and in the strongest measure,” she agreed, wrinkling her nose in a sweet fashion and treating him to a generous smile of her full lips.
The strength left his body along with the tension he hadn’t realized was holding his muscles taut. He put his head back and closed his eyes, all the while feeling her squeeze his hand which she continued to hold.
“Charles?” she asked uncertainly.
“I’m simply so very relieved and happy.” Then he realized what a besotted noodle he must appear to this vivacious woman. Sitting up, he did right by her and dropped to his knees next to the sofa.
“Charlotte, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” He realized belatedly he was still staring at their joined hands. Lifting his gaze to her face, he looked into her eyes, the color of rich chocolate and saw a few tears glistening there. His heart clenched.
“Oh, no,” he said at once. “Don’t cry. Please. I want you to feel solely happiness at the thought of being my wife.” A uneasy thought flitted across his brain.Had his own mother held in reserve her hopes and dreams for a life of travel and fun when she became a countess with all the dreary duties and expectations?It seemed to him, if she had truly loved his father, she would have created the life she wanted within the boundaries of their marriage.
“I am extraordinarily happy,” Charlotte said, putting all his doubts to rest. “Make no mistake. As long as you truly love me.”
“Dear lady,” he murmured, “you have entirely captured my heart. I think from the first time I went in the back room of your shop and—”
He stopped when she gasped. “That’s exactly what my mother always says. I have long thought the shop had a magical power,” she trailed off. “You’re frowning.”
“I assure you, it was not your shop. It was you, Charlotte. You made it impossible for me not to love you. Your sweetness and caring manner, the way you laugh and see fun in everything, even dancing with a bunch of pompous folks who tried to insult you.”
She shrugged. “I like to dance, especially with you.”
“Especially! I should hope so, too. I would rather you never danced with another man again,” he declared.
“I would be considered terribly rude and never invited to any dances. And how could I be your viscountess and host parties if I refuse to dance with anyone except my dashing husband?”
“Dashing? Who are you marrying again?”
She giggled, but then her expression turned serious as she rested a palm on his cheek. “I’m marrying a barrister who rides to the defense of strangers without being asked.”
“Or paid,” he reminded her.
