Page 53 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"You do not need to apologise," Lord Crabb finally replied, with a light smile, "It is difficult to disbelieve one's eyes, Miss Mifford."
"Really," Jane rushed, for his words had an air of finality about them, "I am dreadfully sorry for not believing you, when you had placed so much of your own trust in my hands. If there is anything that I can do to make it up to you..."
Jane trailed off, aware that she did not wish to openly beg him to reconsider her—she had some pride, after all. A simple apology would suffice, and she would have to make do with having the man's friendship, which was better than nothing at all.
"There is something that you can do," Lord Crabb replied, his green eyes glinting with mischief.
"Oh, and what is that?" Jane raised an eyebrow, suddenly nervous.
The space between them had closed and he was standing awfully close to her. He was much taller than she had ever given him credit for, she realised, as she gazed up at him. Far more handsome too. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he looked down at her, and Jane longed to reach up and sweep it away. Despite her reservations, she could not resist the impulse, and she reached her hand up to his brow.
Lord Crabb's generous mouth gave a smile as he realised what she was doing and once she had smoothed his hair away, he caught her hand in his and held it tightly.
"You can marry me," he said simply, as he brought her hand to his lips.
The feel of those lips against her bare skin caused Jane to gasp with longing. Her eyes flew up to meet Lord Crabb's and in his gaze, she saw her own desire reflected back, tenfold.
Without saying a word, the viscount pulled Jane toward him, his strong arms holding her close. He dropped his head and captured her lips in a kiss which seared with passion and left Jane's knees weak with longing.
As though she had done it a dozen times before, Jane's arms snaked around his neck, marvelling at the strength of his shoulders and his heady, woody scent which left her dizzy.
She could have stayed locked in his embrace for hours, but from outside in the hallway, there came a loud clatter as something was knocked over, and Jane reluctantly allowed the viscount to release her.
"I am afraid that having sisters and having privacy are mutually exclusive, my lord," she offered apologetically.
"Ivo," he corrected her with a smile, "And please do not apologise on behalf of your family, I am aware that I am marrying extremely well for a man of my station—your sister is a duchess, after all."
A giggle escaped Jane at his gentle teasing, but still she wondered if he truly knew what he was getting himself in for.
"My mother will be insufferable," she warned.
"I am not marrying your mother," Ivo responded, reaching out to draw him to her once more, "I am marrying you. I love you, Jane Mifford."
"And I you," Jane answered shyly in return.
He then kissed her again, a more tender affair than the first time but no less passionate, and when they broke apart, Ivo looked almost as dazed as Jane felt.
"I feel drunk," he confessed, watching her face closely, as though memorising every line.
"Good," Jane answered with a smile, before reaching out to take his hand, "That shall make telling Mama a much easier affair."
And then they both set off for the parlour, to listen to Mrs Mifford tell them "I told you so."
Epilogue
Though Ivo had voiced a desire to procure a special license and marry immediately, Jane had preferred to do things the traditional way.
"It's only three weeks," she had argued, "Having the banns read will give you time to consider if you truly wish to marry into this family of Bedlamites."
"And after three more weeks under your mother's roof, my risk of being jilted at the alter by you is certain to decrease," the viscount had reasoned.
"Lud," Jane had not thought of that, "Perhaps you should try for a special license after all."
Luckily, Ivo had not listened, perhaps sensing that Jane needed time to become accustomed to the idea of being his wife. The viscount had called faithfully every evening, to sit and take tea in the parlour room with Jane, her sisters, and their mama. In stolen moments, he had reassured her with soft words, tempted her with burning kisses, and won her heart with his kindness and patience. So much so, that Jane began to count down the days until the final banns were read and they might be married. She felt she could not wait another second to be Ivo's wife, excepting one, niggling worry...
"Jane," Mrs Mifford declared, on the morning of the wedding, as Jane's sisters helped her finish dressing, "I must speak with you about something very important."
"Mama, no," Mary interjected, her vehemence taking everyone by surprise, "There is no need; I shall pass on to Jane what she needs to know. After all, you did such a good job with me on the morning ofmywedding."
