“No. Do not answer quickly. I know who you are. You are a baron. A gentleman. A man accustomed to command and obedience and every privilege society can heap upon you.” Her voice softened despite herself. “You will always be a little overbearing,” she added, with a sad attempt at a smile. “I suspect it is sewn into the coats.”
His brow lifted faintly. “The coats?”
“And the cravats. Possibly the boots.”
That almost coaxed a smile from him.
Almost.
But then he sobered.
“I cannot promise never to be afraid for you,” he said.
“I do not ask that.”
“I cannot promise never to want to interfere.”
“I do not ask that, either.”
His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Then what are you asking?”
Beatrice swallowed.
“For you to trust that I am not helpless.” Her voice nearly failed, but she forced it onward. “For you to stand beside me without deciding my choices for me. For you to remember that if I give you my hand, I do not cease belonging to myself.”
Gideon went very still.
Then, slowly, he lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to her fingers.
“You will never cease belonging to yourself,” he said.
Her heart cracked open a little more.
“You will belong to yourself,” he said. “Always.”
Her throat tightened.
“But your heart…” His thumb moved once over the back of her hand. “Might that belong to me?”
There was no teasing in his eyes now. “As mine belongs to you?”
Oh.
Oh dear.
It was not a demand. It was an… offering. A fair and even trade.
Her hand trembled in his.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Gideon’s expression changed. “Yes?”
“You are already in possession of it.” Had he been holding it all along? Her voice shook, but she did not look away. “I love you, Gideon.”
His mouth parted as he released a slow breath, equal parts relief and joy.
“And yes,” she added, before her courage deserted her entirely. “I will marry you.”
