Page 66 of Becoming Lady Dalton
Piers rolled over to pin her to the bed. “I shall ask you every Christmas, for as long as it takes to make you my Lady Dalton, Viola Cartwright. I promise never to pressure you in any way, for when you give me your hand—and I am arrogant enough to believe that one day you will—I want you to give me your free and unencumbered heart along with it.”
He covered her mouth with his. Viola tasted of spice and wine, laughter and lightness, and more love than his heart could bear.
Almost.
30
Nine Years Later
Viola rolled onto her back,panting.
Beside her, Piers heaved a contented sigh.
“Merry Christmas,” he managed before tucking her naked body close to his. Viola kissed him softly. With Emily and Matthew home from school, they couldn’t linger. Tomorrow was the holiday and their unofficial anniversary.
“Mmm. I suppose we have to get up.”
“If we don’t want the festivities to find us in the altogether, together.”
Viola shuddered but remained where she was, nestled against him. “Are you going to ask me again this year?”
“I rather thought I’d spare you the embarrassment this time. After ten years, I’ve received the message. You prefer being Mrs. Cartwright.” Piers kissed her forehead. The first year, he’d understood why she didn’t want to rush into marriage immediately after the passing of her husband—his actual, documented death, this time.
Their first year together had been a wonderful journey, and though felt certain Viola had changed her mind about him, he’d refrained from speaking his heart. The second year Piers had presented Viola with a glorious sapphire ring. Her refusal that Christmas had stung badly.
Each Christmas thereafter, over mulled wine and after the family had exchanged gifts, Piers asked Viola to be his wife.
Every year, she said no. The third year, Viola’s rejection hadn’t hurt quite as much. By the fifth, it had become a joke. Emily and Matthew made gagging faces while Gwen attempted to persuade an embarrassed, pink-cheeked Viola to become her sister-in-law at last.
“Viola, darling, I love you no matter what name you prefer. Though it would be nice to go into dinner with you once in a while.”
Tradition usually left her seated at the opposite end of the table, with the other non-peers.
“Ah, that’s too bad, Lord Dalton. I had rather thought I might say yes this year.”
Piers stilled. His heart swelled in his chest, too full of emotion he couldn’t express. Viola grinned down at him.
“Are you certain?” he rasped in a half whisper.
“Yes. After a lengthy trial, I believe I can trust you not to infringe upon my independence … too greatly. I also feel that after nine years of lady training, I am finally capable of becoming the next Lady Dalton.” Viola chucked him under the stubble of his chin and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. These days, when he looked in the mirror, Piers found more grey than brown in his reflection. The unmistakable sign of age had crept up to the hair above his ears. “Unless, you prefer to court a younger specimen. I understand Miss Nelson is quite the catch.”
She broke off into breathless giggles as Piers pulled himself up to tickle Viola into silence.
“Never suggest such a travesty again,” he growled playfully. This too had become a running joke. Viola liked to tease him about setting him up with the latest young debutante who’d captured theton’s collective imagination. For his thirtieth birthday, Viola had presented him with vouchers for Almack’s.
Viola squealed with delight.
“Are you certain?” she wheezed. Piers redoubled his efforts. He recognized her prods to seek a young wife were an expression of her own anxiety that he would leave her. She’d given him every option of choosing to preserve his heritage over the past decade. Piers’ resolve on this was as firm as ever. He had Matthew for a stepson in all but name. The thought of beginning again with a new family made his bones ache with weariness.
“The last thing I need is a young bride with no idea how to please a man. Cameron will be a fine viscount when his time comes, my lady.”
The Ranleigh lineage would be broken. So be it. Piers was more than a list of names in Debrett’s. He was a man very much in love with the woman who continued to refuse to be his wife. He’d brought his cousin, Cameron, under his tutelage to prepare the child for his role as heir to the viscountcy. Emily, at fourteen, was deeply jealous of her cousin’s relationship to Matthew. Fortunately, she had two cousins on her mother’s side to keep her company in her adolescent temper.
But now, there was only Christmas to celebrate with mulled wine and an engagement announcement. Warmth spread through him until his chest felt so puffed it hurt to breathe.
Later, when they were dressed and surrounded by family—Matthew, Gwen, and Emily—Piers brought out the scuffed velvet box he’d kept for nearly a decade. He knelt before the fireplace and opened the creaking hinge.
“Mrs. Viola Cartwright, as is our habit on this holiday, I ask you the honor of becoming my wife.”
