They were still dancing, but Catherine felt like the world had stopped. Around them, people were watching, whispering, understanding that something momentous was happening.
"I need to think," she managed.
"No," he said firmly. "You've been thinking for two weeks. For three months. What does your heart say?"
"My heart is a fool."
"What does it say?"
Catherine looked up at him, at this man who'd stolen her virtue and her heart in one night and had been slowly giving her his soul ever since.
"Yes," she whispered.
James stopped dancing. "What?"
"Yes," she said louder. "Yes, I shall marry you, you impossible man."
He kissed her. Right there, in the middle of the Cowpers' ballroom, in front of half of London society, he kissed her like they were alone, like they were back at that inn with the storm raging outside.
The room erupted. Gasps, applause, shocked exclamations. Someone, probably Lady Jersey, actually whistled.
When they finally parted, both breathless, the entire room was staring.
"I believe," James said loudly, not taking his eyes off Catherine, "that I should make this official. Lady Catherine Mayfer has done me the honour of accepting my proposal. We'll be married as soon as possible."
"How soon?" someone called out; Lord Ashford, sounding skeptical.
"Tomorrow, if I have my way," James replied, which caused another wave of gasps.
"Three weeks," Catherine corrected. "A proper wedding, not some rushed affair that makes everyone think we have something to hide."
"We do have something to hide," he murmured for her ears alone.
"Yes, but they don't need to know that."
The rest of the ball was a blur. Everyone wanted to congratulate them, to hear the story, to be part of the scandalthat had become a romance. Catherine found herself separated from James, surrounded by ladies who suddenly wanted to be her best friend.
"So romantic!" Lady Cowper gushed. "A proposal in my ballroom! It'll be legendary!"
"When did you know?" Lady Jersey demanded. "When did you fall in love?"
Catherine caught James's eye across the room. He was similarly trapped by well-wishers, but his gaze found hers, and the heat in it made her shiver.
"The moment I met him," she said truthfully, which caused another round of delighted exclamations.
It was past midnight when she finally escaped to the terrace for air. She'd had too much champagne, too many congratulations, too much everything. She needed a moment to process what had just happened.
She'd agreed to marry James. To become a duchess. To bind herself forever to a man she'd known carnally for one night and socially for two weeks.
"Second thoughts?"
She turned to find James behind her, having apparently escaped his own admirers.
"No. Maybe. I don't know."
He moved closer, backing her against the terrace railing. "Which is it?"
"I love you," she said. "That's not in question."
