Page 128 of The English Duke
“Would you care?”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you expect me to come up with a name for you?”
He studied her. “I doubt you would,” he said.
“I could, if you want me to. Something like the Daunting Duke. I find you daunting a good deal of the time. Or even the Dangerous Duke if your eyes get any steamier.”
“Steamier?”
“They’re positively boiling with emotion right now,” she said.
He was, in fact, trying to fight the impulse to kiss her. She was sitting there with her face pale, her lips tremulous. He wanted to calm her mouth, place his on it until she sighed against his lips.
“I’ve been trying to think of an inducement to make you marry me,” he said. “And I’m coming up with little to offer you. You don’t seem to care about Sedgebrook. Do you want to become a duchess?”
“Not particularly,” she said.
“Then I have little to offer. I could give you half the boathouse. You could do your work on one side while I worked on the other.”
“Would I get lunch there, too?”
“Absolutely. Perhaps we’d even have wine from time to time.”
“Would you balk at my expenditures for copper or a new compressor?” she asked.
“Hardly, since you’d make it possible for Sedgebrook to get a new roof.”
“There’s my ruined reputation,” she said. “That’s a good reason to marry as well. But I doubt marriage will save either of our good names after today. I think we’re destined to be shocking to a great many people.”
“Then it’s settled?” he said. “We’ll marry? Not, however, at Griffin House, unless it’s a private ceremony.”
She sat back against the seat. “Not a proposal steeped in romance,” she said.
“On the contrary. It’s extraordinarily romantic, given I’ve declared myself to you and you’ve done nothing of the sort. I’m working on the assumption that you’ll find yourself smitten with me in due course.”
“The Darling Duke,” she said, startling him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“That’s what I’ll call you,” she said. She smiled at him, which lightened his heart immeasurably. “You could offer me you. It’s all I really need. I love you, too. I think I fell in love with you long before we ever met in person.”
He reached over and pulled her onto his lap, desperate to kiss her. He found, to his immense relief, his leg didn’t object at all to Martha being there.
“I love you, too,” she said once more.
He pulled back and looked at her. “You really are my Joan of Arc, you know.”
She was not going to weep at the look on his face or the expression in his eyes. He was letting her see all his vulnerabilities, everything he held back from other people.
She was well aware of what a great gift he’d given her.
Instead of weeping, she decided it was time for another kiss.
Chapter 36
The reception for a wedding that never happened became a celebration for a marriage just announced.
