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She looked up at him, mischief in her green eyes. “I think we would be more comfortable at home,” she said.
Oh, they would have been very comfortable in their small flat above the bakery, but once she started kissing him and undressing him, he’d never manage to say what he wanted.
“I might even let you be on top this time,” she whispered.
Tristan took a shaky breath. They had all night to indulge her fantasies—and she had so very many fantasies.
“Humor me,” he said, indicating the bench again. She thrust her lower lip out, but sat. He shifted from one foot to the other. “Do you remember when we were leaving Paris I said I had a favor I wanted to ask of you after the play?”
“Yes. I just assumed you wanted to use the scarf to tie me up again.” She flashed him that dimpled smile.
“No.”
“No? I rather liked what you did when the scarf—”
He held up a hand. He’d liked it too. “This isn’t about what the two of us will do in bed tonight.”
“What’s it about, then?”
“I suppose...” Now that the moment was here he couldn’t think of the words. “It’s about the two of us in bed for the rest of our lives.”
Her foot had been tapping impatiently, but now it ceased and her face went completely blank. This was a skill she’d learned as an actress, a method she employed when she didn’t want to show emotion.
Tristan lowered himself to one knee and took her gloved hand. “I don’t have a ring,” he said. “I don’t have anything.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes as her mask began to break.
“All I can offer at the moment is myself and my love. I can’t promise you security.” God knew French tutors were poor, due to the fact they were abundant at the moment, what with all the French émigrés in London. “But I can promise I will always love you.”
Her free hand went to her lips. “Tristan, you don’t have to—”
“Let me finish. Alexandra Martin, will you marry me?”
She inhaled sharply, and for a moment he feared she would say no. But then she threw her arms around him, almost knocking him over. “Yes! Yes!” She kissed him, even though several people were walking by. “I’ll marry you. I love you, Tristan Chevalier.”
He held her tightly, ignoring the tsks of passersby. “I promise I will try to buy you a ring.”
“I don’t need a ring,” she said. She rose on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “Let’s find that scarf again.”
