Page 36 of The Taming of the Duke
“Catherine—dearest Catherine—would you do me the honor of permitting me to court you properly? Before the whole world, so that they might witness the admiration and love I bear you?”
“Oh, how romantic!”
Cat glanced round to see Lady Hardwick with her husband, her hand over her heart.
“Hush, Beatrice, my love,” Hardwick whispered.
“Don’t be so staid, Augustus!” she laughed. “Didn’t I tell you I thought he was in love with her?”
Catherine’s skin tightened with need as Daxton brushed his thumb over the back of her hand.
“What do you say, my love?” he whispered. “Will you permit me to court you? Then, perhaps…” he hesitated, and vulnerability flickered in his eyes which tore at her heart, “…perhaps, in time, when you have found it in yourself to forgive me, I might be permitted to ask for your hand in marriage?”
Sweet Lord!He’d spoken aloud—in front of a roomful of guests. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw no mischief or deceit. She saw something she had never seen before—a deep regard and love for her—and a plea to be given a chance.
Which is all any good man could ask for.
She curled her fingers around his. “Yes,” she said. “With all my heart, Your Grace.”
He arched an eyebrow in question.
Your Grace?
Then she nodded.
“With all my heart—Daxton.”
He rose to his feet and pulled her into his arms. Then, he placed a kiss on her lips, and she relaxed into his embrace, as if she’d always belonged there.
“Oh, how lovely!” Blanche cried, her eyes bright with tears of joy.
Beside her, Lord Horton shook his head, smiling in delighted disbelief. “That’s something I never thought I’d witness. Petrush—you’ve surprised us all.”
“I’ve surprised myself,” Daxton said, “but I’m glad that it was the duke who was tamed by the shrew.”
Epilogue
London
December 1818
“To think, Cat—adouble wedding!”
Catherine linked her arm with her sister’s while they stood at the church entrance.
Two figures waited at the far end of the aisle. The taller of the two turned, and Catherine caught a flash of sunlight in a pair of deep blue eyes, framed by a face with strong, angular features, and hair as black as the night. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she curled her fingers round the stems of her posy—a bouquet of pure white orchids which had arrived on her doorstep that morning with a card bearing a message inscribed in a bold, clear hand.
May the battle of wits begin.
And what a battle it would be! Two people who challenged each other constantly, warring with words, engaging in combat, until the moment of victory and sweet surrender when she’d yield to the pleasures he could give her.
She drew in a sharp breath as a sinful pulse of heat threaded through her body at the notion of tonight. Other than a few stolen kisses and wicked unobserved little moments when he’d brought her to pleasure with his expert hands—in a secluded garden, in his carriage, and even in the hallway while Papa was in his study not five feet away—Daxton had yet to open her eyes to the true delights of lovemaking—delights he’d promised would send her into the realm of exquisite ecstasy.
The second man turned, and Blanche sighed. Lord Horton was handsome enough, but Daxton, in his magnificence, outshone his friend as the sun outshone the moon.
Perhaps that’s because I love him.
The music piped up, and the congregation stood.
