Beatrice sighed, dropped the cloth on the edge of the sink and took hold of Amity’s trembling hands. “You must stop this nonsense. You are Amity Rare-Foure. You’ve had a fiancé, you’ve had a duke ask you to marry him already, you are a wonderful chocolatier. And you are a dear sister. Please, for my sake, because I hate to see you like this, if you cannot wait for him to announce his engagement, please go speak with him. Tell him how you feel before it is too late.”
Her sister’s intelligent brown eyes staring into hers imparted wisdom. All at once, Amity knew Beatrice was right. She was behaving like a spineless, feather-pated ninny. She straightened her shoulders, examined herself in the mirror, and nodded.
“You are right. Let’s go.”
Back in the ballroom, she marched straight over to the duke, who was chatting with her parents.
He turned to her ... and her voice vanished.
Coughing, she gestured for him to draw closer. “Please, Your Grace,” she whispered, “may I have a word with you? Alone?”
He cocked his head at her plea, looking downright surprised.
“Always,” he answered when he’d recovered. Unexpectedly, instead of speaking discreetly to her parents, he said in a louder voice, encompassing those around them, “If you will excuse us, Miss Rare-Foure and I need to discuss a sensitive chocolate matter.”
Amity’s eyes widened at his bringing attention to their rather improper private meeting. Nevertheless, he was a duke, and she supposed he could do what he liked at his own party, or anywhere else for that matter.
When her parents nodded, she had to wonder what the civilized world was coming to. The duke gestured for her to precede him out of the ballroom. In the hallway, he paused and considered.
“I believe the drawing room is empty now, as everyone has gathered in the ballroom for the grand announcement.”
He’d supposed correctly, and Amity found herself alone with the duke, who closed the door behind them and waited.
The grand announcement. His words echoed in her brain, making it nearly impossible for her to continue. She hadn’t thought about what to say between the ballroom and the drawing room. Should she declare herself right away?
When she said nothing, he asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure of a private tête-a-tête with London’s premiere chocolatier?”
She blinked. Whether to ease her nerves or merely to make a jest, Henry had made reference to their first meeting on the pavement when he’d invited her into his carriage.
In reply, she said the same thing as she had that day. “That is redundant, my lord.”
He smiled and showed her his dashing dimples, and she wondered how she could have ever let this man get away. She could only pray to God and to her queen that it was not too late.
“Not my lord, Miss Rare-Foure. Have you learned nothing?”
“I have learned a great deal, in fact,” she confessed. “I can but hope I did not learn too late.”
He stepped closer, and she let him take her hands in his, feeling a measure of hope and inner fortitude from merely his touch.
Mustering her courage, she said, “First, I must ask outright if you are in love with another woman.”
He drew one of her hands to his mouth and kissed her bare knuckles, all their gloves having been removed in order to eat. “I promise you I am not.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Then I must confess how very much in love with you I am. You intend to become engaged tonight, and now I know you don’t even love the woman. Please don’t make me watch such a travesty. I couldn’t bear it.”
He raised her other hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across it, sending shivers down her spine.
“You will never have to watch me pay tribute to or court another woman. I promise you that, too.”
“Thank you. I am sorry I turned you away before — gave you the mitten, as my sister calls it — but I didn’t realize how empty everything would seem when you withdrew from my life. Instead of the happiness I usually feel when making chocolate, now the hours stretch endlessly ahead of me, and my beloved craft has become a chore, all because I do not have you in my life. Without you, it is far too narrow an existence.”
“I understand completely,” he said, his green gaze flickering over her face. “Everything I usually do to fill my days now seems petty or pointless because my heart wants to have you in my life.”
“Are you truly getting engaged tonight?” She could scarce credit him doing so.
“Yes, I believe so.” He said, staring down into her eyes through which she could no longer see him as they filled with tears.
“I must leave directly,” she said, tugging at her hands to free herself. “You are punishing me for not accepting you the first time. ‘Male pride,’ my sister said. Yet you just promised I did not have to watch.”
“You will be there for this engagement, Miss Rare-Foure.” With that, Henry dropped down upon one knee. Still holding her hands, he gave them a gentle squeeze as she realized what he was doing.
“Amity Rare-Foure, you have changed me, making me see the shallowness of my life as a duke. I was missing out on the rich experiences beyond the pampered and the privileged. I didn’t think I would find passionate, exciting, real love because I was trying to match up with the notion in my head of a composed and perfect duchess. After I spent precious time with you, I discovered your passion for chocolate and for life to be positively contagious.”
She did not want to cry, but blinking caused the tears to fall. Brushing them aside, Amity bit her lower lip to stop more from coming.
“I want to eat in public houses and window shop,” Henry added.
She laughed although it sounded more like a sob.
“But only if I can do those things with you,” he continued.
She squeezed his hands in return. Then, at last, he asked her. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my duchess?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Without hesitation, Amity answered, “Yes, Your Grace. I certainly will.”
He rose to his feet and enfolded her in his arms. When she looked up at him, he lowered his mouth to crush hers beneath his. The kiss was far too full of desire to be tender, but she didn’t mind in the least, pressing close to him, her fingers grasping at his broad shoulders. He was hers!
Against her mouth, Henry said, “Thank you.”
When he drew back, he added, “And will you stop calling me ‘Your Grace.’ It sounds like a condemnation every time you say it. My name is Henry Westbrook.”
“I know,” Amity said, thinking she might be floating for she couldn’t feel the floor. “It is very nice to meet you, Henry.”
His dimples appeared. “I’m so damned relieved. I couldn’t face another day without you as mine.”
Amity placed a palm on either side of his face. “I feel the same way.”
After another moment, he drew back so they could look into each other’s eyes.
“You haven’t mentioned chocolate once, and I’m almost fearful of mentioning it now.” His hands were tight upon her waist as if he thought she might pull away and change her mind.
“I know chocolate-making is not the proper pastime for a duchess,” she told him, feeling him grasp her even tighter as she said it.