“And I to you,” I confessed. “That was the problem.”
I reveled in the feel of my hands in his. Having him near felt so right. I wanted this. I wanted him. I needed him. I would always need him. Admitting it sent a shiver racing through me.
He dropped my hands, shrugged out of his coat, and draped it across my shoulders. The smell of him surrounded me. Every empty place within me filled to overflowing. It was too much. I swallowed, but it didn’t keep the tear from slipping down my cheek.
His hand raised, hesitated, then rested on my cheek, his thumb slowly wiping my tear away in an achingly tender arch. “I never meant to hurt you.”
I leaned into his hand, thirsty for the feel of him, unwilling to deny myself a moment of his touch. “You never promised you wouldn’t.”
“But I did promise to try not to. And I thought—I thought I could make you care for me. I thought I could make you love me.”
His gaze was so full of tenderness and desire it was hard to breathe. “You did.”
He lowered his head until he was staring straight into my eyes. “I love you, Margaret. I’m not sure if it happened when you looked me in the face and boldly declared, quite truthfully, that I had never been in love, or when you fell off that wall while spying upon your own family. I knew I would do anything to keep you when you showed me that letter.”
“The one from Louisa?”
He nodded. “Although, come to think of it, I believe I realized I was falling for you when you couldn’t keep your eyes off me after dumping me into the lake.”
“I distinctly remember not looking at you,” I protested. Unlike now, when I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
He smiled. “Perhaps we’ll have to agree to disagree?”
“Is that even possible?”
His hand slid under my chin, lifting it. “With you, anything is possible. Marry me. Please. This last week has been agony. I do not think I can bear to pass another moment without you in my life.”
His whispered words dissolved any remaining hesitation; all my silly promises swept away. A weightless sensation steadily filled my chest, dispelling the misery that had lodged there for too long. “My lord—”
He let out a long sigh. “Are you ever going to call me Gregory on a consistent basis?”
The corners of my lips twitched as I struggled to keep a straight face. “You would prefer I call you the name of a donkey?”
“Margaret!”
His low sigh of exasperation made me smile. I raised a hand to his chest, my fingers curling around one of his lapels. “Yes, Gregory.”
My response surprised both of us. “Yes?” His voice was breathless with hope.
“Yes.” Because even if there was pain in my future, or betrayal, or heartache, the promise of being with him was something I wanted more. Something I was willing to risk all of my safety for.
We stared at each other. The cold of the night disappeared. The darkness lightened. Time stopped. And then I became conscious of the sound drifting from the open door. A strain of music in three-quarter time floated to us from inside.
Gregory’s lips curved. “A waltz, my lady.”
I could scarcely speak. “I believe you owe me a dance.”
He took my hand and slowly raised it to his shoulder. “There are numerous positions for the waltz.” His voice was as gentle as his touch. He lifted my other hand to his other shoulder before his fingers slid down my arms, coming to a stop on my own shoulders. “This is one.”
Then they slid down my back, encircling my waist and pulling me closer to him. I gasped.
His voice held a trace of laughter as he said, “This is another.”
“This is not a dance position. This is an embrace!”
“Not yet, it isn’t.” He grinned before his gaze fell to my lips and all amusement vanished. He pulled me closer and a hand slid up my back in an agonizingly slow path to my neck. His fingers slid into my hair.
“Is this another position for the waltz?” I asked, breathless.
He froze, then started to pull his fingers from my hair.
“Because,” I said, curling my own hand into his hair, “I believe you owe me much more than a dance.”
His smile grew deliciously wicked. “I believe you are correct.”
His arms tightened, his head lowered. I lifted onto my toes.
Our lips touched, softly, as though neither of us could believe it had finally happened.
I pulled away.
Gregory lifted his head in surprise, his expression quickly turning to concern.
“That was for the wager,” I said quietly. “You should have won.”
He quirked a brow. “Then this is for everything else.”
He lowered his head and our lips met again. His lips were warm and tender, almost hesitant. I didn’t pull away. I pressed against them. I never wanted to be apart from him again.
His kiss turned insistent, possessive, as though he felt the same way. His arms wrapped tighter around me and I moved closer, wanting more, needing more, needing him, and was gratified to hear a strained murmur of my name escape him.
A throat cleared behind us. Suddenly recalling where we were, I jerked away, but Gregory tightened his arm around my waist so the most I could do was turn my head. “Why are we always interrupted?” he groaned quietly.
My father stood not far from us. “This is not quite the scene I expected to find.”
My cheeks flamed with embarrassment and the lingering warmth of Gregory’s lips. “Father, I. . . .” There was nothing to say, no excuse to make. Except that I couldn’t be sorry.
Gregory relaxed his grip, one of his hands sliding down my arm to my hand. “Mr. Brinton, I have asked your daughter to marry me. She has consented.”
My father murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, “Finally.”
“Father!”
He chuckled, then stretched out his hand to shake Gregory’s. “I offer you my congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir,” Gregory replied, a wide smile on his face.
“Shall we return inside?” my father asked. “I believe the company is about ready for supper.”
I glanced up at Gregory, who smiled down at me. “Yes.”
He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it again, then wrapped it around his arm. We paused just outside the door and he assisted me with Alice’s ribbon. As he tied the bow, he leaned toward me and whispered, “It appears I need to teach you the waltz in private, to ensure we are not interrupted again.” He moved back to my side and again placed my hand on his arm, his smile curving suggestively.
Excitement shivered through me. “I believe that is a very good idea.”
Forty-Five
18 Months Later
“Are you ready?”
The warmth of Gregory’s whisper brushed my ear, sending chills of pleasure down my back.
I glanced behind us to where the back of Gregory’s house—our house—stood like the backdrop to a play. The morning sun threw most of the garden in shadows, but the parts of the river that showed through the trees sparkled like mirrors reflecting the light.
Turning back, I took in the lake stretching before us, the white of the stone gazebo on the tiny island at its center barely visible through the light mist rising from the water. Low black clouds threatened in the distance, plunging the land beneath them into darkness.