Page 114 of Courting the Country Miss

He’d never felt more complete or more certain of his path. Leticia loved him. She would never leave him.

Though his body screamed to stoke the fire blazing between them, he slowed the rate of their ardor to short, sweet kisses. Then he pressed his lips to her cheek, the hollow behind her ear, her brow, her forehead. He set a chaste kiss on her lips and cradled her face. With his uneven breathing—and hers—breaking the silence of the room, he rested his forehead on hers and grappled with his self-control. As he lifted his head, he gazed at her, admiring the curve of her cheek, the arch of her brow, the moist redness of her lips plump from kissing.

“I love you, Leticia.”

She opened her eyes. Tears glistened her eyes and fell onto her cheeks. “Heaven help me, but I love you, too.”

Using the pad of his thumbs, he wiped away her tears. “Heaven help us both, because I mean to marry you.”

She smiled again, but something akin to pain dimmed the joy that should have been there. “I don’t know if we should…”

“If I can trust you with my heart, you can trust me with yours, can’t you?”

“Trust me with your heart.” Her eyes widened. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

“I always have.”

She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him, the sweet kiss of promise. “Forgive me for doubting you. I do trust you.”

“Marry me.”

She let out a long breath. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s very simple.” He enfolded both of her hands with his and tried to keep his tone confident and persuasive instead of desperate. “I will approach your father, vow to treat you like a queen and love you faithfully all my life, assure him that I have adequate means to provide a comfortable life for you and our future children, and beg him to let me marry you.”

“Tristan.”

“Then we will purchase a marriage license and get married—unless you’d rather post banns.”

“Tristan.”

“I’ll carry you over the threshold…”

“Tristan.”

“Then I’ll show you why reformed rakes make the best husbands.” He grinned rakishly.

“Tristan!”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Yes, my love?”

She smiled at the term of endearment but looked down and squeezed his hands. “I…well, I…have an understanding with Lord Bradbury.”

All the warmth inside him froze. “Has he formally asked for your hand?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Did he speak to your aunt? Seek your father’s permission?”

“No.” She drew out the word.

He let out a pent-up breath. “Then you tell him that you came to the realization that you don’t suit.”

She sighed. “You know it’s not that easy.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated. You love me, and I love you, and we belong together. No two people were created for each other as perfectly as we are.”

The front door knocker boomed and the butler’s voice in the great hall carried to them. “One moment, Lord Bradbury, and I will announce you.”