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“Granted, but at the time I didn’t know it was you I was avoiding.” He glanced again at the mistletoe hanging above and shifted closer to it—and to her. “To confess all, the idea of inheriting a spontaneous betrothal, along with the title and everything connected to it, directly upon losing this…” He gestured toward the overhead berries with his severed arm. “Not to mention both brothers and Father, well…”
She shoved lightly at his shoulder. “’Tis enough. More than enough. When enumerated thus, I feel a veritable shrew for the injurious feelings I fostered over your absence.”
Her thumb couldn’t stop its slow motion over the glass face. “This is lovely, your thoughtful gift.” Her fingers below halted their similar caress of the back when thin grooves met the tips. “Wait.” She held it up between them, trying to read in the dim light. “You had it engraved? What did you—”
“Mary! Blazes—Anne. No. Stop, will you?” He lunged for the timepiece. “I forgot—”
She raced toward the branch of candles upon Papa’s desk.
They wrestled. She held firm even when his arm came round her stomach and pulled her back, her spine snug along his front. Even when he begged. “Stop. Please—”
But ’twas too late.
“I already read it.”
“Damn.”
Mary—
I regret not asking.
Yours, Ed
Her head jerked up and she spoke over her shoulder. “Ed? Your mother calls you Ward.”
“Ed…ward. Edward Snowden Thomas Redford if you want the full introduction, discounting the title that now comes after, which I would just as soon do with you.” Held indecently close, she couldn’t miss his lips upon her nape… His arm nestling her closer, hand splayed as though to prevent her escape.
“Edward,” she whispered. Fitting, so very fitting for her Mr. Edwards.
“You are not angry it’s dedicated to Mary?”
“Nay, to Merry.” By now, the discernible line of his erection was unmistakable between them. While he made no move to wedge it against her, neither did he make an effort to withdraw.
His scent, so clean and strong and absurdly familiar wrapped around her and she leaned into him. “Tell me true. What do you regret not asking?”
“Any number of things. Where you lived. If I could see you again.” He kissed the side of her neck in between each curiosity. “If you would consider being not mistress… But mayhap more… You, Anne. Will you?”
Rather than flinch away, as a proper, English miss should, she wiggled ever deeper against him.
He lurched into her. “Damn. Ah, pardon.”
“Will I what?” she whispered amidst more wiggling, smiling at how very much he now sounded like her unruly stranger.
“Agree to be my wife? Please?”
Please.
Please?
Anne hadn’t expected that.
Nay, she’d expected excuses and demands. Never anticipated a gift and an honest entreaty.
Oh please, the man may curse like a soldier but he’s thoughtful—he bought you a watch—and just as intriguing and attractive as when you thought him a gamekeeper.
“I want to yell,” she told him.
“At me?” he sighed, his lips leaving her neck as he straightened.
