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“You want to marry me,” she breathed. Her words were a statement, not a question, but she sounded as if she could not quite believe it.
James shot her an amused smile. “I’ve only asked you a dozen times in the past few days.”
Elizabeth jerked her head, as if waking up from a dazed dream. “If you ask me again,” she said mischievously, “I might give you a different answer.”
“Is that so?”
She nodded. “Most definitely so.”
He ran one finger down the side of her neck, his blood running hot when he saw the way his touch made her shiver. “And what changed your mind?” he murmured.
“One might think”—she gasped as his finger moved lower—“that it had something to do with being compromised, but if you really want the truth…”
He leaned over her, smiling wolfishly. “Oh, I definitely want the truth.”
Elizabeth allowed him to close the distance between them to a mere inch before she said, “It’s the book.”
He froze. “The book?”
“HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS.” She cocked one of her brows. “I’m thinking of writing a revised edition.”
He went white. “You’re joking.”
She smiled and wiggled beneath him. “Am I?”
“Please say you’re joking.”
She slipped down farther in the bed.
“I’ll make you say you’re joking,” James growled.
Elizabeth reached up and wrapped her arms around him, not even noticing the loud clap of thunder that shook the walls. “Please do.”
And he did.
