Page 102 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

“The house is staffed, but no one speaks to me if they can avoid it.”

She came to sit on the ledge next to him.

“You’ll get wet,” he said.

Shaking her head, she swiveled toward him. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

“Eight years. The land steward oversees the estate.”

“What about when you were betrothed to Miss Thorne?”

“I stayed in London. In the town house.”

“I see.” She shrugged the wrap from her shoulders, and it settled around her waist. Closing her eyes, she tipped her face toward the stars. “This feels good. I preferred the cold nights in the mountains.”

He longed to reach for her hand, but he held still. “I prefer wherever you are.”

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, staring up at the sky. “Did you tell her you loved her, too?”

“No.” He studied her profile, trying to read her reaction, but it was too dark.

“Why not?”

He hesitated. Would she judge him for being honest? She must know most marriages were simply convenient arrangements. He took a chance and held her hand. She allowed him to lace their fingers, turning to face him.

“Because she wasn’t you,” he said.

Her fingers twitched, a brief involuntary squeeze of his hand.

“She didn’t love me either. I wasn’t Ben Hillary. She and I never fit together, and we realized it too late. I think we were drawn to each other because we wanted children and a home, and we couldn’t foresee a future where we would each find our perfect matches.”

Only the sound of the fountain bubbling and his own heartbeat filled the silence.

“A-am I your perfect match?”

“You are the only one for me. The only one forever. I love your mind and kindness. And I love how you challenge me, partner with me.” He held her gaze, needing her to see his sincerity. “If I never see you again, I’ll lose half of myself.”

“Oh,” she said on a wisp of breath and leaned toward him.

He stayed perfectly still, his pulse racing. Her tongue swept across her lips.

“You should kiss me this time.”

He closed the distance between them and cupped her face. “I love you,” he whispered.

When their lips touched, hers tasted faintly of mint. The courtyard faded away—the fountain, jasmine, the stars above. There was nothing left, only her. And she was everything.

He moaned under his breath as her fingers curled around his shirt. Her touch was warm through the thin fabric. When she slanted her head, he deepened the kiss, taking what she freely gave.

Hot blood seared his veins, and he drew her closer. He broke the kiss but cradled her against his chest. Their breathing was ragged; her heart pounded as hard as his.

She slid her hand to his cheek, her forehead to his. “I love you, too,” she murmured. “I don’t want to be apart any longer.”

“Then marry me.”

He sensed her smile.

“Yes.”