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All of them look at me expectantly.
"I’ll do anything to protect her. I promise to cherish her for the rest of my life. I swear, she’ll never want for anything as long as she lives. I’ll ensure she’ll always be happy."
I glance around the faces of the knitters, then turn back to the woman who spoke.
"But do you love her?" A frown creases her forehead.
Next to me, Nadine tenses. I sense Isla watching me closely. Dorian leans forward on the balls of his feet. Even the dog has stopped panting. Every person in the room is watching me with rapt gazes.
I cross over to stand on the other side of Isla. I pull a box from my pocket, then open it.
The early evening sun slants through the window and reflects off the sapphire.
"Holy shit," Isla breathes. "Is that a—"
"Ring." I pull the ring out, then slide the box back into my pocket. "Isla, will you marry me?"
The tension in the room seems to multiply.
Isla’s gaze is caught on the diamond. It’s her turn to sway. Her mother wraps an arm about her waist and steadies her.
"Isla?" I frown. For some reason, sweat pools in my armpits. Which is crazy. This is a charade. I’m not really going to marry her. Well, I am going to marry her, but not in the way a man who loves a woman and wants to spend the rest of his life with her is going to. I’m doing it so I can fulfill the clause in my father’s will and ensure I have an heir to whom I can pass on my legacy. That’s all this is about. So, why is my throat dry? Why is my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth? Why is there a hollow feeling in my chest? And what if she refuses me? Nah, she won’t. She needs this wedding as much as I do. So, why is she still hesitating?
"Isla?"
She doesn’t respond.
"Look at me." I lower my voice to a hush.
She blinks, then glances up at me.
I hold her gaze. I search her features, and her pupils dilate. Color flushes her cheeks. She bites down on her lower lip, then nods. "Yes. Yes, I will."
"Yes!" Dorian is the first to clap. The others follow.
I take Isla’s hand in mine, then slide the ring onto her ring finger. It’s a perfect fit. Naturally.
I tug her closer, and she comes without resistance. I press a kiss to her forehead. Her entire body is stiff. The muscles of her back and shoulders are so tight, I can feel the stress pouring off of her. "Relax," I murmur against her skin, "or else they’ll suspect something."
"Oh, I’ll give them something to suspect, all right." She tips up her chin, stands on her tiptoes and smashes her lips to mine.
Heat explodes under my skin. A current of electricity zips out from where our lips connect. Adrenaline laces my blood. My fingers and toes tingle. A yearning explodes deep inside and fights its way to the surface. I grasp the curve of her waist and haul her even closer. Her breasts push into my chest, and the slight roll of her belly fits into the concaveness of my stomach. She’s soft where I’m not, her warmth a balm to the coldness I’ve carried around inside without even knowing it. Her scent curls around my senses—seductive, evocative, a fragrance that stirs desires I’ve only called upon when I’m able to control them. With her, it would be impassioned, intense, fierce, ardent. With her, it would… Itisdifferent. I lean into her, tilt my head, and take control of the kiss. She moans, then parts her lips, and I sweep my tongue in. I kiss her, drink of her, draw from her so I can fill every cell of my being. I—
The pop of a cork from a champagne bottle cuts through my mind.
I tear my mouth from hers so suddenly she sways. I hold her about her waist for a second longer. Her features are pale, her lips swollen. She looks at me with the same expression of surprise and terror that I know must be reflected on mine.
I lean in, press my cheek to hers and whisper, "If I’d known you’d respond like that, I’d have kissed you sooner."
She makes a sound deep in her throat, and when I pull back, I notice her face is flushed. Her eyes glitter. Good. She’s angry. That makes this much easier.
I turn her to face the Lymington Knitting Club. "Does that answer your question?"
The same woman who’d asked the question earlier scowls. "You still haven’t answered it. Do you—"
She’s interrupted by the sound of paws hitting the wooden floor. I spot movement from the corner of my eye then turn in time to watch Tiny execute a perfect leap through the air. He grabs the bottle of champagne from a surprised Dorian, then upturns the bottle so its contents pour down his throat.
"Tiny, stop that." Dorian yanks on the bottle, but Tiny refuses to let go.
