He was still standing in front of the fire, she just inside the door. But her face lit up from the inside, so that he found it difficult to remain where he was. She leaned slightly toward him, though she did not move. ‘‘You love me?” she asked.
“I love you, Emmy,” he said. “Will you have me?” She was the one who moved finally. She came hurrying toward him, wide eyes gazing into his.
“You love me,” she said. “Can it be true? And you have been all the way to ask Papa for me?”
He was not sure who had reached for whom, but they were suddenly in each other’s arms, his wrapped about her slim waist, hers about his neck. Without the barrier of her winter cloak and the domino, she fitted against his body as if she had been made to rest there.
He kissed her, opening her mouth with his, running his tongue back and forth across her lips and up to the soft flesh behind them.
But he would not lose touch with reality. If all went well, he would have a lifetime for that. He drew her even closer, afraid that he might yet lose her.
“If we are betrothed,” he said, “this is only slightly improper, Emmy. If we are not, it is unpardonable. Are we?”
“I love you,” she said. “Roger, I love you.”
“Despite everything?” he asked, looking into her eyes. “Despite that ghastly first encounter?”
She smiled. “I spent days dreaming of it,” she said.
He grinned. “Hussy,” he said. “What have you dreamed of in the past four days?”
“You,” she said. “You taking the rose from my hair. You waltzing with me. You kissing me. I have pressed the rose so that I will have it with me always.” He lifted a hand to smooth lightly over her hair, which was in its usual simple style. “Will you marry me, Emmy?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes, Roger.”
“I won’t need any pressed roses, then,” he said. “I will have the real thing to hold in my arms for the rest of our lives. I can’t change my past, Emmy, but I’ll treasure you for the present and all of the future. I promise most solemnly.”
“And I you, Roger,” she said, smiling eagerly up into his face. Her cheeks flushed. “Kiss me again. As you did after the ball.”
“Anything you say,” he said, rubbing his nose lightly against hers, “my fairest golden rose.”
He kissed her. Not in quite the same way as he had kissed her four evenings before. But she did not complain, either while he was busy doing it or later.
But by then so much time had elapsed that it was probable she had forgotten her request.
