Page 153 of The Siren of Sussex

Moonlight glimmered on the silver frames of her spectacles. “Because you wanted to see me in it? Dancing and so forth?”

“I don’t care about your ball gown.”

She drew back. “Then why—”

His hands closed around her upper arms, silencing her. “I care about you, Evie. That’s why I came. I’m here because I care about you.”

She stared up at him, lips half parted in tremulous hope.

“These past weeks, I have thought and thought about our predicament. I’ve weighed the judgment of society and the limitations of my bank balance. I’ve considered your sisters and my cousin. I’ve even deliberated over the upkeep of your horse. And I’ve come to one conclusion.”

Her glistening hazel eyes were riveted to his. “What conclusion?”

“That I can’t live without you.” He bowed his head to hers, his voice dropping to a husky undertone. “You were right. You are more than my muse. You’re my love.”

A soft breath shuddered out of her. “Ahmad—”

“I’ve fallen in love with you. But it isn’t—”

“I don’t believe anything is impossible,” she said in a rush. “Not if people care for each other, and are willing to work and to try as hard as they can.”

He rested his forehead against hers.

And he felt, all at once, the full responsibility of loving her. It meant more than mere affection. More than passion or desire. It meant taking care of her.

A solemn obligation. As serious as any he’d ever undertaken.

“I wasn’t going to say it’s impossible. I was going to say that it isn’t going to be easy.” He couldn’t offer her the life of a society wife. A grand house with a fleet of servants and a stable full of carriages and four. He could only offer her himself. A modest life to start, with a chance at brilliance. A future they might reach for together.

She set her silk-gloved hands flat on his chest. They smoothed over his waistcoat with infinite tenderness. Small hands, but strong ones. Strong enough to hold for a lifetime.

“I don’t want you to have false expectations,” he said. “Business is beginning to go well, but there are no guarantees. My fortunes could turn in the blink of an eye. It’s going to take time. And if I fail—”

“You won’t fail.”

“If I do . . .” He was insistent. She had to know the risks, no matter how much it hurt his pride. “To say our life would be humble is an understatement. You may soon regret ever joining your fate to mine.”

“Never.” She slid one hand to curve around his neck. “I have faith in you.” She tugged him closer, her lips a whisper breath away from his. “And I do love you, so very much.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. Her feelings were no surprise. She’d alluded to them several times before. Her words, nevertheless, crashed over him like a tidal wave. “Evie.”

The privacy they had was an illusion. They weren’t in a brougham or in his rooms above the tea dealer’s shop. They were on a dark walk at Cremorne Gardens. Not the best place for intimacy between a respectable young lady and her beau.

In that moment, he hardly cared.

His mouth found hers in the moonlight. And he kissed her softly, deeply.

Her body listed against his, pushing her full skirts out behind her.

His arms encircled her waist, holding her close as his mouth moved on hers. She was warm and pliant. A voluptuous armful.

“I wanted to tell you for so long,” she murmured.

He kissed her again, feeling foolish and besotted. Like a green lad with his first young lady. “How long?”

“Since we went to the Jolly Tar.”

“Did you love me then, sweetheart?”