Page 47 of The Boxer’s Belle

“Whatever you’ll give me and more besides. I’ve tried to move on—live without you—for years. Didn’t fancy it.”

Bella reached up to cup his jaw and brought his lips to hers in a tender display.

“That was a wretched proposal,” she whispered when they separated.

Miles froze beneath her, save his eyes, which darted between each of hers as if an explanation could be found there. “What?”

“You said whatever I’ll give you… I’ll give you anything—if you ask for⁠—”

“Marry me.”

Bella arched a brow.

“I can give you a home—any home you want. All the pretty frocks your heart desires. A little hair knife—let me give you little hair knives. Dozens of them. And you can stab me with them if I muck it up again.”

“You’ve got quite a lot of work ahead of you.”

“I do?” Confusion settled across his forehead.

“This house, I’ve recently heard it described as a heap...”

He rose, guiding her off him and onto the settee. He reached for his breeches and shoved one leg through, half falling over in the attempt.

“This house—perfect. Never seen a more perfect house.”

“Miles,” Bella laughed at his eagerness. “Tomorrow will suffice.”

He turned his gaze back on her, eyes darkening at the sight of her bare chest. He collapsed back against the settee, trapping her beneath him his oversized chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A smile spilled across Miles’s face, bright and warm, and so, so loving. Bella’s heart threatened to burst at the sight as their lips met once more.

EPILOGUE

Michaelmas, 1838

West’s fiancée’s hand was warm in the crook of his wool-covered arm. He could still taste the hint of Bella’s apple tart on his lips from when he’d pulled her behind the stables to kiss her silly before Ben caught them and shooed them off.

The sun was warm and bright—perhaps the last riot before winter set in. The whole of the town had turned out for Eliza’s Michaelmas festival. With games, food, and music, laughter abounded on the grounds of Blackwood Grange as it hadn’t ever before---at least not in West’s lifetime.

A flower crown, chrysanthemums woven with other wildflowers from around the dower house, sat atop Bella’s golden curls—made by his own hands. She looked pretty as a picture in her new burgundy velvet frock—perfectly caressing her curves with the express purpose of tormenting him.

“There you two are,” a feminine voice called from behind. They turned to find Eliza herself carrying a basket overflowing with blooms. She added a heap to Bella’s nearly empty basket. Bella’s task was to ensure every person in attendance had a flower somewhere on their person. West didn’t fully understand the purpose, but the effect was nice, and his burgundy lapel bloom matched the ones in Bella’s hair.

“Two more days until the wedding. Are you nervous?” Eliza asked, half distracted as she surveyed the festival with satisfaction.

“Not at all,” Bella said as West answered, “Terrified.”

She whirled to face him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a fearsome little thing. And devilishly hard to keep happy. Of course I’m terrified. Overjoyed, restless, and more than a little excited as well. But also terrified.”

Bella rolled her eyes and turned back to Eliza. “Ignore him. It’s easily done.”

Eliza’s smile was warm and… knowing? “I’m glad you two worked out your differences. I was beginning to fear I’d made a wretched mistake.”

“Yes— Wait… What sort of mistake?” Bella asked.