Mary’sentire body was tying itself into tight little knots of unsated need. Every heated look and sensual touch made her want to reach out and grab Caleb and never let go. She wanted to feel his lips against hers again, his hands on her body, caressing in ways she could only imagine. And she wanted to run her hands over him, too, and explore the rippling muscles she’d seen on his arms when he’d stood shirtless before her at Clearview during the rainstorm. She wanted to slide her fingers across his broad back and clasp his solid shoulders.
But can you trust him?
He lied to you once. Most egregiously.
This was true. But it was also true that he’d tried to warn her, that he was at heart an honorable man with no more desire to be a duke than she had to be a duchess. But law of inheritance had determined his fate, so if she wanted a life with him by her side, then that was the price she must pay.
Did she love him enough to do so? To ignore her aversion and marry into the very society that had mocked her and shunned her and made her leave London?
The answer was yes. Yes, she did. Especially when he was prepared to go against all expectation and give her the world. “A cottage,” she murmured bemusedly as she climbed into the carriage. Only a simple man with simple needs would ever suggest such a thing with the kind of eagerness he had shown.
She watched him take the seat opposite her and suddenly wondered if in his effort to please her, to make up for what he had done, he was putting aside his wants in favor of hers. “We could do something else,” she began, drawing his attention. “We could hire staff to run the orphanage while we live elsewhere on the estate. In a cottage like you suggested.”
A slow, affectionate smile tugged at his lips. “Is that what you want?”
“It is not all about me, Caleb. It is also about you and what your wishes are.”
His smile widened. “My wishes will be fulfilled the moment we are wed.”
As much as she appreciated such a selfless notion, she would not let it distract her. “But would you prefer to live in a cottage or in a grand manor?”
“Honestly?” She gave a firm nod. “My home in France was small, consisting only of one bedchamber, a parlor and a kitchen. I was very content there, as I was in the cottage I lived in at Clearview.” Leaning forward, he reached for her hand. “I do not need or want anything beyond that, except you and your happiness.”
“That is a very roundabout answer and not very helpful.”
He grinned. “Very well. If it were entirely up to me, I would pick the cottage, but I fear my estates do not have any, except the ones already inhabited by the caretakers.”
“Then you must build one,” she said. It wasn’t something she had thought of until this very instant.
He stared at her. “Build one?”
“Yes.” She was warming to the idea of it already – especially if it would allow her to watch him roll up his shirtsleeves and show off his arms. “It makes perfect sense, does it not?”
Caleb blinked. “I suppose…” He refocused his gaze on her. “You would support me in such an endeavor?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”
He chuckled in an almost bashful way that stole into her heart and prompted it to expand. “No one has ever done so, Mary. Not my father or my mother.”
“Only because they have preconceived ideas of what the son of a duke is expected to do. But I am more progressive and far more open to new ideas.”
An eyebrow rose and his eyes darkened to glistening shades of blue. “Is that so?”
A shiver scraped the length of her spine in the most delicious way possible. She nodded and made the effort to voice her remaining thoughts on the matter. “We can stay in the main building until the cottage has been completed, if that is agreeable to you. And we will go to London each spring so you can attend to your parliamentary duties. I shall not deny you that, and besides, the occasional ball might not be so bad.”
“You do realize I have not yet proposed?”
“And I have not given my answer either, but that is just a small formality at this point, don’t you think?”
“Indeed I do, Miss Clemens.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her kidskin-covered knuckles while gazing into her eyes.You’ll always be mine, they seemed to say, and that thought alone made her belly swirl like champagne being poured into glasses.
The carriage slowed and they exited onto the pavement. “We’ll be a couple of hours, Charles,” Caleb informed his coachman while Mary braced herself against a sudden gust of icy wind. Tiny snowflakes danced through the air, melting the moment they hit the ground. “If you would like to take a break and return for us later, please go ahead. I do not want to keep you out in this chill.”
Thanking him, Charles tipped his hat and urged the horses onward. Caleb put his arm around Mary and hastened her toward the restaurant door. A waiter opened it wide to grant them entry, and Mary stepped forward, into the dim interior where hundreds of candles cast shimmering light across the limestone walls.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” a finely dressed man said. “Your table awaits. This way please.”
He led them toward a circular stone staircase where niches filled with lighted candles illuminated the stone steps. Reaching the bottom, he showed them to a table tucked away in a private corner behind the stairs. Again, candles scattered about on every available surface produced a golden haze of flickering light that faded into darkness. It was without a doubt the most romantic place Mary had ever visited, perhaps the most scandalous too, considering the seductive atmosphere.
