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“You really want to marry me?” Her voice was so quiet he would not have heard her if he wasn’t sitting so close.
“Yes, I very much do.”
“If you are doing this to catch the men trying to kill you, you can tell me. I can take it.”
Bertram huffed in amusement. “As if I would ever marry for such a flimsy reason. Victoria would reach out from beyond the grave and kill me.”
Her lashes flew up and she stared at him, eyes wide and hopeful. “Are you sure, Bertram?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
She stared a bit more before she began to smile. “It’s my baking, isn’t it? You just want me to stay here and feed you my pastries.”
Bertram smiled but then he grew serious, squeezing her hands so that she would heed him. “If you never baked me another piece of bread, or cake or pastry, I still would not regret my decision.”
She gave a shaky sigh and then laughed. “Mon Dieu, this is truly so unexpected.”
“Nevertheless, will you give me an answer?”
She laughed, but met his eyes, her lashes gleaming opals with the moisture from her tears.
“Yes.” She whispered, “I will marry you.”
He smiled, meeting her gaze as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he whispered before taking her lips with his. She whimpered against his mouth and he snatched the opportunity offered by her parted lips to slip his tongue into her mouth.
They kissed desperately, his hand holding her cheek steady as he plundered every hidden depth of her mouth. It was heady and passionate but more than that, it felt like coming home.
His body relaxed, leaning into the feeling, a euphoric giddiness taking him over, overlaid with relief.
Finally, the war between his feelings and his duty could be laid to rest.
* * *
Letty was spinning with happiness and confusion.
What has happened?
She had come into the study expecting to end up in a dungeon awaiting execution at worst, or banished from England at best. Instead, a man she was quite sure she loved had asked for her hand in marriage.
It was surreal.
She pulled away from Bertram’s embrace, so as to be able to look into his blue eyes. “What about this reception? Are you going to do it?”
Bertram nodded slowly. “We have to announce our engagement anyway and if we can kill two birds with one stone…” he shrugged one shoulder.
“I understand…but,” she breathed in deeply, licking her lips with nervousness. “It could be very dangerous. These people are not playing about.”
“Of course they’re not. And neither are we. The Duke is right, however, we must flush them out or forever be looking over our shoulders.”
With a sigh, she reached out to squeeze his hands. “Promise me that you will be careful and have as much security about as you can.”
He smiled, soft and affectionate, his eyes boring into hers. “I promise. Now stop worrying about me. We must do this quickly and you must order your gown and such. We must make preparations to host this ball, there is no time to waste.”
Letty groaned, rolling her eyes. The thought of standing about for hours while somebody measured her for a gown, perhaps a veil, too, was nerve-racking. She would rather be asked to run barefoot in the woods.
“Very well, then. But if you think that I know a thing about organizing a ball…”
Bertram threw back his head and laughed before bending over to press his lips to hers, his hands warm on her waist, pulling her into him. “Do not fret,” he murmured against her lips, “I shall take charge of that.”
