Morrison flushed again but managed a grin. "I'll knock loud enough to wake the dead, I promise." He moved toward the door, then paused. "For what it's worth, I think you're well-matched. The way you bring out the best in each other's work, push each other to greater heights... it's inspiring."
After he left, Eveline and Adrian stood in silence for a moment.
"Well," she said finally. "That wasn't how I planned to spend the afternoon."
"At least it was Morrison and not someone less understanding." Adrian pulled her back into his arms. "Though perhaps we should be more careful about where we lose control."
"We should be more careful about losing control at all," she corrected, but she didn't pull away.
"Where's the fun in that?" He kissed her forehead. "Besides, our secret is out now. Morrison knows, Harriet knows, I suspect half the household staff has guessed..."
"Which is why we need to make some decisions." She pulled back to meet his eyes. "About what this is, where it's going, how we proceed without destroying everything we've both worked for."
"I know where I want it to go," he said quietly. "The question is whether you're ready to hear it."
"Try me."
He took a deep breath, his hands tightening on her waist. "I want to marry you. Not someday, not eventually, but soon. I want to stand up in front of God and society and claim you as mine, just as publicly as you'll claim me. I want your names on my library door; 'The Duke and Duchess of Everleigh's Collection.' I want to watch you publish brilliant translations and revolutionary theories while wearing my ring. I want everything, Eveline. The question is: what do you want?"
She stared at him, heart racing at the picture he painted. It should have terrified her. The loss of independence, the social complications, the risk to her carefully built reputation. Instead, she found herself imagining it: their names linked professionally and personally, working side by side without pretense or careful boundaries.
"I want that too," she admitted. "But I'm terrified of losing myself in the process. Of becoming 'the duchess who dabbles' rather than a scholar in my own right."
"Then we make sure that doesn't happen." His voice was fierce with determination. "We write it into the marriage contracts if necessary. Your right to publish, to pursue your work, to maintain your professional identity. I don't want a decorative duchess, Eveline. I want you, exactly as you are, brilliant and independent and occasionally impossible."
"Occasionally?"
"Frequently," he amended with a smile. "The point is, we create something new. A partnership that enhances rather than diminishes. That preserves your autonomy while acknowledging our connection."
"You make it sound so simple."
"It's not simple at all. It's complex and unprecedented and probably scandalous." He cupped her face in his hands. "But we're both rather good with difficult texts, aren't we? Perhaps we can translate this into something that works."
She kissed him then, pouring all her hope and fear and love into the contact. When they parted, she saw her answer in his eyes before she spoke it.
"All right," she whispered. "Let's write our own rules."
"Is that a yes?"
"That's a 'start drafting contracts and we'll negotiate terms.'" She smiled at his expression. "What did you expect? I'm a scholar. I don't sign anything without thorough review."
"I would expect nothing less." He spun her in a circle, making her laugh. "Harwick will be delighted. He loves a challenging contract negotiation."
"We should tell Morrison first," she said when he set her down. "He deserves to hear it from us, not gossip."
"And Harriet. She'll never forgive us if she's not the first to know." Adrian's expression turned thoughtful. "We'll need to be strategic about this. Control the narrative before gossip takes hold."
"Look at you, thinking practically." She smoothed his disordered cravat. "Perhaps there's hope for us yet."
"There's always been hope for us," he said softly. "From that first day in Hatchard's, there's been hope."
There was loud knocking on the door—Morrison had clearly taken their advice about knocking to heart, the sound echoing through the library.
"Sorry!" he called before entering. "Just wanted to be absolutely certain you were...decent. I came back because I forgot my papers, I apologise."
"We're fully clothed and discussing marriage contracts," Adrian assured him. "You can safely enter."
Morrison's face lit up. "Marriage? Truly? Oh, that's wonderful! When? How? Will you continue working here, Miss Whitcombe? Will you..." He stopped, visibly collecting himself. "I apologise. I'm babbling."
