Page 60 of The Viscount and the Vicar’s Daughter

“There was no need for us to remain engaged,” she said. “Not when I’m settled with Lady Hermione and you’re making such a success of things in Northumberland. Neither of us particularly needs the other anymore, do we? My reputation is safe. And you needn’t fear being cut off from your father’s money. There’s no longer any purpose—”

“Is that how you feel?” he demanded.

She looked away from him. Her fingers plucked nervously at one of her gloves. “I’d never forgive myself if I let you act out of obligation. And you’d never forgive me either. In time, you may even come to hate me for allowing you to make such a sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice,” he repeated. “Is that what you think? That I would sacrifice myself in marriage because I’ve compromised you?”

“I know that you would.”

“With my reputation?” he scoffed. “Any number of people have warned you about me. If you think I’d behave in such a noble fashion, you clearly haven’t been listening to them.”

“I know what your reputation was before, my lord. But you were at a crossroads the day I met you. You have ever since tried to do the right and honorable thing. Even if it made you uncomfortable. It’s why you went to Northumberland.”

He regarded her for a long moment, an expression in his eyes hard to read. “What of your heart, Miss March? In Yorkshire you said it was mine.”

A deep, mortified blush rose in Valentine’s cheeks. She wished she’d never said it. But there was no taking it back. Not now. It was the truth, after all. “So it is.”

“And what about my heart?”

“Your heart?” Her brows lifted in surprise. “That’s never been a concern, surely.”

“The hell it hasn’t,” he growled. “Why the devil do you think I’ve done all of this? Attempting to become independent. Tracking down the origins of your real father. Staying away from you when I might have written or visited or—”

“Because it was the right thing to do. The honorable thing to do.”

“Curse the honorable thing,” he said. “I did it because I’m in love with you.”

Valentine’s mouth fell open. She felt, for one frozen second, as if he’d spoken to her in Ancient Greek or Swahili. The words were so foreign. So shockingly unexpected. She could only reckon that she’d misheard them. “What did you say?” she whispered.

Tristan looked down at her, a vulnerability in his gaze that she’d never seen before. “I said that I’m in love with you. And I’ve come to Kent with this blasted carriage and four to ask you to come away with me, my fair one. To Gretna Green. To India, or China, or St. George’s Hanover Square. To anywhere you please.” He brought his hand to her cheek. It was large and warm, cradling her face like a delicate treasure. “I’ve come to ask you to marry me, Valentine. Not because I compromised you. Not because of my father’s money or because I must do the honorable thing, but because I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in this world.”

She blinked rapidly against a sudden swell of tears. “Do you?”

“Yes, you little fool.” His deep voice made the words a caress. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you in the folly. Since you quoted that Bible verse at me. It was the most damnable thing. But you were right. The winter was over the day I met you.”

“Oh, Tristan,” she said. “This is…” Her voice broke. “This is all quite unexpected.”

The pad of his thumb brushed along the delicate bones of her cheek with infinite tenderness, wiping away the first spill of tears. And then, with a muttered oath, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

Valentine wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him as his lips moved on hers. He wasn’t gentle. Nor was he careful. He employed none of his rakish arts. He kissed her as if he were a starving man, made insensible from want. As if she were as essential to him as light and air.

“Obligation,” he muttered when they paused for breath. “Is that what you thought I felt for you?” He pressed a kiss to her cheek as he held her. “You mad, beautiful creature. How little you know of men.”

Her fingers twined through the thick black hair at the nape of his neck. Her bosom was pressed tight to his chest. She could feel his heart hammering against her own. “I wanted to believe you cared for me,” she said softly. “But I dared not hope.”

“If I cared for you any more, I would be a candidate for bedlam.”

“You never said anything.”

“No.” His expression sobered. “My words haven’t ever counted for much with women. They came too easily. All the compliments, flattery, and broken promises. I wanted to give you something better. Deeds, not words. I wanted to show you that your faith in me wasn’t misplaced.”

“Of course it wasn’t. I knew that. I’ve always known that. Still…” Her lips tilted briefly in a rueful half-smile. “I wish you’d shown your feelings on occasion. It would’ve saved me many a sleepless night.”

“I would if I hadn’t stayed away. There would have been no hiding it. And then the whole world would have known.”

“Known what?”

“That I love you. That I adore you beyond reason.”