“By ‘things’ I assume you to mean our engagement.”
When she nodded, he muttered a curse and raked a hand through his hair, mussing the pomade. “For being the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met, you are remarkably dimwitted.”
Her lips parted. “Excuse me?”
He cupped her face between his large hands, his thumbs sweeping away what remained of her tears. His eyes were piercing in their intensity, his temple creased, his mouth a firm, somber line. In all the time they’d known each other, she had never seen him look so serious. “I am not marrying you because of who I want you to become. I am marrying you because of who you already are. I’ve no interest in a duchess who wants to pack our house full of pompous aristocrats every week. And while I enjoy a good outing now and again, I’ve sowed my wild oats. There is nothing that a ball or a pub or, God forbid, a charity dinner could possibly offer that would be better than staying home with my wife, if that’s what pleases her.” His head canted to the side. “Assuming, of course, that we’d both be in some state of undress.”
Her face warmed. “But…but you wanted to come here, tonight.”
“There will besomeevents that we probably ought to attend. This being one of them, as I’d rather not have Prince Albert thinking any more poorly of me than he already does.”
“Why would he think poorly of you?”
Sterling winced. “A few years ago, I may or may not have…erm…kissed his wife.”
“YOU KISSED THE PRINCESS OF–”
“Please keep your voice down,” he hissed.
“Sorry. It’s just that…you kissed the Princess of Wales?” Rosemary was not oblivious to Sterling’s well-earned reputation as a rake. As she wasn’t a jealous person by nature, and he’d shown no indication that he intended to pursue a relationship outside of their marriage bed, his past conquests were not something that she dwelled on very much. But now that she knew one of those conquests was none other than Princess Alexandra, future queen-empress…
“It was dark. There was wine. A complete accident. Could have happened to anyone. And as I said, it was years ago. Practically another lifetime.” His brow furrowed. “I believe we’ve gotten a tad off track. What I am trying to express is that I don’t give a damn if you want to attend every soiree from here to Paris. Or if you want to stay home and knit stockings for Sir Reginald. I am marrying you foryou, Rosemary. To hell with anyone else’s expectations. They’re not important.Weare important. The two of us. That’s it.”
Her name.
He’d said her name.
Tears sprang to her eyes again, but these didn’t sting. “You’re certain? Because soon, you won’t be able to change your mind, and I just want to make sure you know that I’m not…I’m not going to be a conventional sort of duchess.”
He kissed the middle of her forehead, then lowered his arms. “I proposed after your pet squirrel bit me on the thigh. I think I’ve an idea of what I am getting myself into.” Behind him, the trio of gentleman snuffed out their cigars and started back in. “Trust me, if I could rid myself of my title, I would. Butyouwere the one who told me that a title doesn’t define a person.”
So she had.
Advice, it appeared, that she’d forgotten to heed for herself. But then that was what anxiety did. When it built and built, like water coming to boil in a kettle, the pressure made it impossible to see anything past the roiling bubbles.
“Should we return inside?” he asked. “Or do you want to remain here?”
“Here. Just a little while longer.” Turning around so that her back was to the garden, she tilted her face to the diamonds twinkling in a black velvet cloak. “The stars are pretty tonight, aren’t they?”
“Stunning,” he replied huskily, except he wasn’t looking at the sky. He was staring straight at her…and the smoky glint of desire in his eyes was as bright as the stars.
She wet her lips when the muscles in her belly quivered. “I’ve–I’ve always found autumn to be the best season for stargazing.”
“Have you?” He prowled to her. There was really no other word for it. No other word to describe the sensual, sinuous ripple of his muscles as he placed an arm on either side of the railing, effectively trapping her between his body at the edge of the balcony. He bent his head, his mouth a hair’s breadth from her own. “The moonlight suits you, little hawfinch.”
“Are you referring to the bird?” she said, momentarily confused. “Did you know that their beaks are strong enough to–”
On a groan of laughter, he kissed her.
Chapter Seventeen
Sterling had alwaysmaintained the opinion that a kiss–while enjoyable–was really nothing more than an interlude to better and far more wicked endeavors.
How wrong he’d been.
About so many different things.
But he was getting to where he needed to be.
