Will! She looked around frantically. "Charles, go tell your uncle all is well. Tell him I just need to be alone. Do it now."
The boy ran as if to obey, but she had no more than sunk deeper into the shadows when his voice, muffled by the slats of the door, reached her. "She's in the barn, Uncle Will. She thinks she wants to be alone, but I think you need to talk to her."
Catherine scrambled up the ladder to the loft, scooted through the stored hay, and sat against the wall. She pulled her knees up protectively. I love him. God help me. I love him, but I can't face him.
She heard the door open, and Will's firm tread pace the length of the barn, lantern light marking his progress. Silence followed, but her heart pounded so loudly, it echoed in her ears. She dropped her head to her knees and closed her eyes.
"Catherine," a soft voice said, startling her with its nearness. Will's head looked over the top of the ladder. He lifted the lantern and put it in the loft. The light flickering off his hair lit up the golden highlights. "Did I frighten you so badly? Did I go too fast?"
"You aren't thinking," she replied. "You can't marry me."
"Why not?" He pulled himself into the loft and placed the lantern securely on a nail that extended from a beam. "I'm unwed. I'm in possession of all my teeth and body parts. I can support a wife." He stood several feet from her.
"I am the baseborn daughter of a country scholar, who knows more about egg production than formal dinner etiquette."
"It's easier for you to learn how to set a table than for some society chit to learn egg production." He took a step closer.
She tried to scoot farther back, but the wall at her back held her in place. She scowled at his attempt at humor. "Your best friend is one of the most powerful men in England. His mother?—"
"—is the worst sort of society dragon. I didn't let the Duchess of Sudbury tell me who to befriend when I was twelve, and I'm not about to start now. Neither does Glenaire. She means nothing."
He came two steps closer. "I love you," he whispered. "I've dared hope you return the sentiment."
"Of course I love you, you daft man. Who wouldn't? That doesn't signify."
"On the contrary, Catherine. It matters a great deal, so much, that nothing else does. If you can love my poor self, why can't you marry me?" In the lamplight, he looked like a puzzled boy, with tousled hair and a rumpled jacket.
His jacket! Her eyes widened when he removed it and tossed it on a pile of hay. She watched in fascination while he unwound his neck-cloth, tossed it the same way, and stretched his neck and shoulders. "That's better," he said, coming closer. "Why, Catherine? Tell me the real reason." He took one more step, so that he stood so close he could reach down and touch her.
"I can't be a countess," she wailed. "I can't. You're an earl, and I can't be your countess." She couldn't take her eyes from the spot at his neck where his shirt gaped open. When he went down on one knee in front of her, her heart beat erratically.
"What—"
He put a finger to her mouth. "Quiet," he said firmly. He took her hand.
"Miss Wheatly, having established that you cannot marry an earl, may I ask you to marry a farmer? I'm a much better farmer than I am an earl."
She stared, open-mouthed.
"I beg you, Miss Wheatly. My two thousand acres, my under-producing hens, and my fading rose garden need you. I need you. I need a companion. I need a partner. I need a lover. Will you marry me?"
She swallowed hard. "Under-producing hens?"
"Badly," he said, his eyes holding hers. Lost in those eyes, she couldn't find her voice. Neither moved, until at last Will growled, "Damn it, Catherine," and pulled her to him. The movement unbalanced both of them, and they tumbled into the hay. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her hungrily. She ran her hands into his hair, but couldn't pull him close enough. She wanted to crawl inside him. She wanted to touch him everywhere at once. She wanted… him.
When he tore his mouth away, she whimpered and tried to connect her lips to his. "Say it," he demanded, pulling his head to the side. "Say 'I'll marry you, Will.'"
"I'll marry you, Will," she murmured, moving in to kiss him. She could feel his smile under her mouth.
Voices drifted through the loft window. "We need to test the angel part again, Randy. Get the goat," Freddy called.
"Do we use a pulley?" Charles asked.
When Will's hands began to move over her, reality faded away.
This time, Rosalinda the goat is on her own. With that last coherent thought, she sank into the love of her farmer earl.
Epilogue
