Marian’s eyes widened, her gaze snapping to his before searching the area, though no one paid them any mind.
George smiled, though he tried for self-deprecating, it was more weak and uncertain. “From your reaction, I would say I am a wretched kisser.”
Marian bit down on her lips, her cheeks blossoming cherry red, and shook her head. Then, pulling in a sigh, she let it out in one long breath, her words slipping out as though pulled from her. “You are not a wretched kisser. Not in the slightest.”
George wanted to press the issue but saw the thoughts churning in her mind and remained silent as she sorted through them. It was hardly more than a few heartbeats, though it felt like time stilled until he was standing there for minutes, even hours, as he waited for enlightenment. Scrunching her eyes closed, Marian clenched her jaw, seemed to shake off whatever was holding her tongue, and faced him.
“I do not know what to make of it, George.” Stiffening, her eyes widened as she hurried to correct herself. “Mr. Finch.”
But the words were spoken, and a smile stretched across his face. George didn’t bother to hide it. Not that he could’ve anyway. Such a slip meant she must think of him in such intimate terms, so surely her heart was not closed off to him.
Holding her gaze, he moved closer. Not so close that others might take notice, but enough that she would hear his whisper. “That kiss meant precisely what it was. I wished to kiss you, and I want you to be my wife.”
Rather than relax at that reassurance, Marian’s body tensed even further, and she stared at him as though she expected him to lash out like some drunken lout. George’s ribs constricted, pressing down on his heart as a ripple of pain swept through him at every heartbeat. Marian should never look so frightened—certainly not when faced with his declaration.
“You needn’t answer now,” he said, filling his voice with all the soothing kindness he could manage. “I do not mean to rush you into anything. But you must know I was—and am—in earnest.”
Chapter 34
Marian’s gaze broke from him and swept through the crowds as she put a touch more distance between them. George shifted to stand at her side again, tucking his hands behind him as though they were merely standing about, gabbing about all the ridiculous nonsense that punctuated the rest of the conversations in the ballroom.
But that term was a bit of a misnomer. Yes, this was the room in which the ball was being held, but like so many other estates, Farleigh Manor did not have a ballroom. With a few adjustments, one could be fashioned together from the formal gallery and drawing room, with the sitting room and a few others on the ground floor being pressed into service for cards, dining, and anything else the party required. Once decorated with all the trimmings, one couldn’t tell the difference between it and the ballrooms found in the finest of homes.
And so, the rooms were called by their individual names when used for their original purposes, but when considered as a whole, the family referred to it as “the ballroom.” Rather odd. But that was the way of things.
Was he truly thinking about ballrooms when standing beside Marian? After waiting nearly a sennight to speak with her again, George had anticipated some grander scene to play out between them, but he was content enough knowing that she hadn’t sent him packing when he’d asked to escort her about tonight. Of course, her parents hadn’t given her a choice in the matter, but only a fool would assume Marian Wakefield would remain at his side if she didn’t wish to be there.
“You invited Mr. Highmore?”
Marian’s question took him by surprise, and George needed her to repeat it before he fully grasped the words. Turning his gaze towards her and then following her line of sight, George caught sight of the fellow, who stood with a group of gentlemen, engrossed in their conversation and completely oblivious to the lady Mr. Highmore claimed he was courting.
“I did not send the invite personally, but I asked my mother to include him.” The words tasted sour on his tongue.
With brows raised high, Marian turned to face him, her gaze holding his with more firmness than anything she’d shown so far tonight. “Why would you do that? After Mr. Clements…”
Her sentence drifted into silence, for there was nothing more to say. They both knew her meaning, so additional words were a waste, even if George wished she would say them so as to lengthen the time before he needed to respond. Shoring up his reserves with a deep breath, he sighed.
“I know I behaved abominably before, and I do not wish to repeat my mistakes. I have made my intentions clear, but if you desire Mr. Highmore instead, I shan’t stand in the way.” Even if it made his insides twist and wrench at the thought. Luckily, George was able to deliver his speech without a single quiver or faltering word. Quite the accomplishment.
“I do not know what to say to that, Mr. Finch.”
George forced himself not to wince at the use of his surname. It was well and proper, but now that he’d heard her speak his given name, he couldn’t help but long to hear it again; it sounded so delightful when spoken from her lips. His mind conjured the image of drawing her into his arms and asking her to call him George. Of course, then he would need to kiss her again.
All of which was quite unacceptable at present.
“I only wish for you to be happy, Miss Marian,” he replied, forcing himself to use her proper address. Or as much of it as he could stand when it was just the two of them speaking together. “I know I haven’t shown that properly in the past, but I want whatever will bring you the greatest joy. If that is with Mr. Highmore, then so be it—though I stand by my previous assertion. You ought not to give yourself to a man who does not adore your passionate heart.”
George caught her gaze and held it, hoping beyond hope that whatever passed between them, she would believe that. The thought of losing her to anyone was painful, but at the very least she ought to find someone who cherished her as much as he did, though George didn’t think such a man existed.
Raising her gaze to meet his, Marian held it, and George’s heart soared as the last of her nerves slipped from view. He was not foolish enough to think them erased entirely, but for now, she was at ease, and that was enough.
*
Of all his features, Marian adored George’s eyes the most. But then, there was something to the slope of his nose and that lopsided grin of his. Who was she trying to fool? Marian thought all his features quite nicely put together, and standing there, held in his gaze, her heart began to do some very silly somersaults. But then, he’d always had the ability to drive her to distraction with merely a look; when the whole of his attention was turned on her, Marian was powerless.
However, it wasn’t his eyes themselves that captured her so. George had a way of looking at her. Seeing her. As though he knew the whole of her and approved heartily of it. It was the look that had stolen her heart all those years ago. It warmed her through on a chilly day and lightened her spirits when nothing else could.
“You look lovely tonight,” he said, his eyes sweeping her figure in a manner that had Marian blushing once more. Would her cheeks never cool? “The color is so becoming on you.”
