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I want to do so much more than that, if he would only let me. He likes me, always has. I never doubted that.
Like is not love.
I shift, my nose closer to his neck, taking in the spicy smell of him. The scent of my dreams.
He stops, his mouth still close to my ear.
“You never loved Montague?”
That saps the dreams from my thoughts.
“I am not so foolish.”
“No,” he agrees and turns back to his cabin.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond.
He slips inside his cabin, places me on the chair, kneels with one knee down, the other bent, and takes my hand.
“Kat, will you accept our marriage, of your own volition, no scandal, just me?”
It’s too much to hear those words on top of all the turmoil, and my eyes brim.
“I’m not good enough for you,” I confess.
“Not good enough?” His laughter hurts. I refuse to look at him. “Stop,” he says. “Not good enough?” He is astounded now. “You are the cleverest, bravest, most loyal woman I know. I could live a thousand lives and not be good enough for you.”
“You care for me?”
My voice is small and pathetic.
“From the first day I met you,” he claims, “but what of you? Can you come to care for a boring, dull husband like me?”
“It is you who is wonderful. Brilliant and kind and caring and…” No hope for it now. “The only man I’ve ever loved.”
I’m crying so hard, deep in his hold, that I barely hear him confess, “I’ve loved you forever, Kat. It’s been hell to see other men falling at your feet.”
I push away, repeating, “I’m not good enough. Even Papa says so.”
“He said the same to me, when we worked out the marriage settlement.” He hesitates. “Before the Ball, Kat. I asked permission to marry you before the Ball. I’d been trying to propose, planned to that night, but couldn’t navigate what was between you and Montague. Whether I was being selfish to keep you from what you wanted.”
“Montague is an outright scoundrel.”
“But if your heart was fixed, I’d force him to toe the line. Anything for your happiness.”
“And Lady Clarissa?”
“Really, Kat, not even you could think I’m that tepid,” Bentwood’s half smile is warm and delicious. “Shall we go to the salon?”
I stroke his face, because I can now, I’m allowed. I’m no longer an unwanted wife, forced upon him.
“No, my love. Why don’t we stay here?
“Excellent plan,” My husband stands, and holds out his hand, “come, my love, let’s explore a world of mysteries.” And we do.
Chapter Twelve
Consequences
