“Oh yes, love, I did. And I assure you, it was as beautiful as the rest of you.”
Also true. Moreover, he could not bloody wait to see it again.
“Do you truly love me?” she blurted next.
Ah, now they were back to the proper subject. “Yes. I truly love you.”
Belatedly, it occurred to him that she had not made any declaration of her own feelings. That it was entirely possible he was alone in the way he felt. That she did not love him back.
He told himself he would make the best of whatever situation he was presented with. If she did not love him now, perhaps she could grow to love him in time. He could love her enough for the both of them, he was certain.
“Oh, Blade.” She bit her lip, her hazel eyes glistening. “I love you too.”
Thank fuck for that.It would have been bloody awful if she hadn’t. No denying it.
Blade would have hauled her into his arms and kissed her until they were both breathless, but then he recalled they were not in their proper place just yet. He intended to get this business right.
He held his hand out for her. “Come with me.”
She settled her hand in his without hesitation, their fingers entwining. “Where are you taking me?”
“Not far,” he promised.
Only to the mistletoe. Not that he required an excuse to kiss her. But everything about this moment felt sacred. He did not want to ask her to marry him by the door.
She went with him. “Loving each other changes nothing. I still have to marry well for the sakes of my sisters, and you have no wish to wed. Do you?”
He stopped them beneath the mistletoe and took both her hands in his. “Marry me.”
“Marry you?”
Damnation, he had meant to say something flowery and sweet. Something about how he was not a gentleman, but he would do everything in his power to become the husband she deserved and no less. He had not even asked her. Rather, he had issued the words as a demand. If he could, he would have kicked his own arse. He had no excuse save the anxiousness swirling within him, along with the fear of her refusal.
His hands trembled. Quite embarrassing, that.
He took a deep breath and tried again. “What I meant to say was I ain’t a gentleman. No secret there. You won’t be marrying well if you marry me. But you will be marrying a man who loves you. A man who will do everything to try to make himself worthy of you. I may be from the East End and born on the wrong side of the blanket, but…”
She held a finger to his lips. “Stop. Stop talking. You want to marry me?”
He nodded, because her finger was still in place. He kissed the pad. “Yes.”
“And you love me?”
“Stupidly. I’m a spoony son of a—”
She pulled his head to hers and replaced her finger with her mouth. He had hardly finished his entire declaration, but there was only one thing to do when his woman kissed him, and that was kiss her back.
Thoroughly.
When it ended, they were both breathless. She cupped his face. “Do you truly want to marry me?”
“Trust me, love, marriage is not the sort of thing a man jests about,” he told her, trying for some levity before he humiliated himself by falling to his knees and begging her to accept his offer. “I want to make you my wife. I know I am not a lord, but I also ain’t a pauper. I have enough blunt to give your sisters dowries. Dom and Devil have moved to Mayfair, and I will find a house there too. Lady Emilia has offered to take your sisters under her wing and help with their seasons. I’ll help your father with his debts—”
Her finger returned, pressing to his lips.
“Hush,” she ordered him. “You do not have to do any of those things for me.”
“I know I do not have to,” he countered against her finger, his words slightly muffled. “I want to, Felicity.”
