The feeling was the same.
“I apologise for putting us both in this intolerable situation.”
Ah, so he was regretting it.
Over the course of the morning, she had convinced herself that maybe a long engagement would be best. To see if they would suit, see if they could sit in the same room together for one whole hour without provoking or…kissing.
It was true she could retreat to Ireland, but gossip travelled faster than the four-in-hand club at full tilt, and no doubt Da would hassle some squinting squire into marrying her. One with sweaty hands and fetid breath, and in that company the duke emerged a better option, even putting aside his verdant gaze and firm thighs.
So, the duke then…but with an extended engagement.
Perchance, they could attend the theatre and take rides in Hyde Park. Talk sensibly and find what else they had in common. And when the Season ended, if they were still contrary, they could part amicably, the gossip having died down. A little.
But it seemed he had changed his mind. Well, no matter, she would weather the ruination.
“’Tis fine,” she agreed. “I do not wish to marry a duke.”
“I beg your pardon?” He peered with incredulous eyes. She’d always thought the colour akin to spinach, but they were lighter in the day, almost like lichen in an Irish forest. “Everybody wishes to marry a duke,” he said somewhat arrogantly.
“I don’t. All that prancing around and sniffing at people.”
“I do not prance…ever.” He took another step forward, although he glanced at the open terrace door with narrowed gaze.
“Oh, ’tis well for a duke,” Aideen continued, feeling quite roused. “You prowl around and appear haughty, and all the women throw their skirts up and–”
“I have not perceived your skirts sailing skywards.”
She was about to say he never would either when he took another step, leaned close and inhaled.
“I didn’t mean sniffing quite so literally,” she whispered.
“You drank chocolate this morning.”
“Yes.”
Green eyes gleamed before he started to sink downwards.
Appalled, excited and utterly bewildered, she followed his broad shoulders as he kneeled before her, his nose practically in her gown. She could even make out the dark auburn strands in his harshly restrained hair.
“Miss Quinlan, become my wife.”
“Erm. Why?”
The duke’s shoulder twitched, and she realised he was laughing. With face now raised, she could see the mirth, lips curving and little lines crinkling to the side of his eyes.
He appeared younger, warmer.
He appeared suave, virile, aristocratic and awfully difficult to refuse.
“Only you would ask me that,” he said. “But I believe we’d deal well together.”
“We vex one another.”
“Not all the time,” he drawled from the ground. “Do you need me to point out the advantages? Or are you avenging yourself on my knees.” He shuffled. “Aideen,” he said seriously. “I am a duke, and I do not ruin young women. I am sure we can put aside our vexations and pass a pleasant life together. And we do have a certain…attraction.”
Pleasantsounded most dull but he was correct about the attraction. She hesitated for the briefest of moments.
“I… Yes, I will marry you.” There, it was said, and she would ask for a long engagement in just one moment.
