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“Hopelessly so,” he agreed. She leaned back to look at him, smiling now, her face soft and radiant in the lamplight. He brushed his thumb along her cheek, feeling the warm, silken skin. “Does it frighten you?”

“Yes,” she admitted, with a small, shaky laugh. “But I am happy, too.”

He kissed her, slowly, until he felt her smile beneath his mouth, its curve against his lips. When they parted, she stayed close, her forehead resting against his.

“I should like a future with you,” he said, his voice low and unsteady. “One we choose together.”

Charlotte studied his face, searching. “What sort of future?”

“I should like to marry you.” Her breath caught, and he felt her fingers tighten upon his shoulder, her nails pressing lightly through the linen. Before she could think, he continued, expecting an immediate answer, the words coming gently and steadily now. “I want to share your days as well as your nights. I want you to come to me when something troubles you, and I want to be able to come to you. I should like us to make a home together.”

She looked around the library, at the crowded shelves and the lamplight pooled on the worn carpet, and her expression was thoughtful and a little shy. “I have made a home.”

“Yes,” he said gently. “You have.” He looked over the crowded shelves, the worn spines, and the lamplight pooled on the old carpet. He felt a wave of tenderness for the room she had built around herself, one book at a time.

“I would find it difficult to leave,” Charlotte said. She spoke carefully, as though she were laying something fragile on the table between them.

“Then that is something we must discuss,” he said, and he made his voice easy so she would hear no demand.

She returned his gaze, her eyes wide and bright. “You would consider living here?”

“I have spent the afternoon wishing I need never leave it.” The admission came out rougher than he intended, and he did not try to soften it.

Charlotte’s smile trembled, and she pressed her fingers briefly to her lips, as though to hold the feeling in. Her shoulders loosened, and he saw her breathe out. “Your books might prove troublesome,” she said, from behind her hand.

“I believe you have demonstrated considerable skill in arranging them,” he said, with a slow, warm smile.

“Only when you follow instructions.” She lifted her chin, and mischief flickered back into her eyes.

“I shall require a shelf upon which I may exercise my own judgment,” he said, and spread his hands in mock supplication.

“One,” she said, and tapped a finger against the air.

“Two,” he said, and watched her laugh.

Her laughter eased his last fear, bright and unguarded, and he felt it settle through him like warm sunlight. He took both her hands, her bare fingers cool and small within his, and held them against his chest, where his heart beat hard beneath her palms. “We need not settle everything tonight. But will you consider marrying me?”

Charlotte looked at him for a long moment, her eyes shining and her lips parted, as though committing his face to memory. “Yes,” she said. “I will.”

Charlotte had loosened his cravat before Alexander discovered that she wasn’t finished with the conversation. “Your mother,” she said, her fingers resting upon the linen, still and light against his throat.

He looked down at her, his pulse stuttering at her touch. “What about her?” He did not wish to discuss his mother as she was undressing him.

“Will she mind?” she asked.

“That you have undone my cravat?” he asked, with a half smile. He prayed his mother never thought about him while he engaged in wicked behavior.

Charlotte gave him a look, her mouth twitching, and tugged the loosened end in reproof. “That we might choose to remain in London,” she said. “That I have my own house and my own opinions about how I wish to live.”

Alexander covered her hand with his, pressing her palm flat against his collarbone so she could feel his heartbeat. “My mother has been managing her own household for years. I suspect she will understand your attachment to yours.”

“And you?” she asked.

“I shall occasionally disagree with you,” he admitted. “But I will be exceedingly happy to be yours.”

“How alarming that we shall occasionally disagree,” Charlotte said, with a small, rueful laugh. “But I do l like the idea of claiming you as mine.”

“I thought it wise to confess before you make your decision,” he told her. “Because you will always have my heart.