Page 84 of The Trouble with Tweed

Michael laughed and gathered her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Of course I do, Claire. I’ve loved you for years.”

“Me too,” she managed to murmur.

“You’re also in love with you? A shocking assertion, but I’m not surprised to hear it.”

Claire shook her head, enjoying the pleasant rumble of Michael laughing at his own joke while he held her.

“I love you, I mean.”

Michael drew back to look down at her; his smile was dazzling. “Then marry me, Claire. Please. I’ll love you until the end of time, I swear it.”

“Of course,” she said, breathlessly. “Yes, please. I’d love to.”

Yes, please? she thought scathingly. Who answers a proposal like they’ve been offered a glass of punch?

But her self-castigation quickly came to an end when Michael kissed her again. This one lasted much longer than the gentle peck he’d started with. Claire decided that her memory of their first kiss had been but a pale watercolor rendering of this one.

This one was far more delightful, far more meaningful, now that she knew he felt the same way she did. Now that they were betrothed!

Michael finally broke the kiss. He still held her, but leaned back far enough to study her face. Claire had to blink several times before he came into focus.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he said. “If the time ever came for me to propose, I meant to do everything properly, as you wanted.”

“It turns out I’m not a very good judge of knowing what I want,” she admitted, even as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “This is perfection.”

“And yet, there are some things that are worth doing the correct way,” he said, dropping another kiss onto the tip of her nose. “You know, prudently.”

“I find I tire of the word.” She gripped the front of his jacket and tried to draw him back to her.

He laughed into her hair. “Claire, darling, a gentleman only has so much self-control, and I fear that you are trying mine at the moment.”

“Wonderful,” she murmured, pressing kisses against his jaw.

Michael set her gently but firmly back by the shoulders and grinned at her. “I shall call upon your brother tomorrow. For now, let me escort you back to the safety of the ballroom. And you should probably do your best not to look at me in such a manner, or I shall kiss you no matter who is about, and we’ll scandalize everyone.”

Claire gave a little shake of her head, trying to clear the haze from her vision. Perhaps if someone had told her convincingly how wonderful it was to be held and kissed by a man whom one loved, she would have been looking for love all along.

Despite her pleasant stupor, she saw the wisdom of Michael’s leading. She put her hand into the crook of his elbow and let him show her back to the ballroom.

Claire joined Beatrice and Lily, who were speaking with Rachel Warrington. Claire was exceedingly grateful that the walk back inside had been long enough for her to compose herself, even more grateful that the ladies were in deep discussion about the handsome Lord Shaw dodging the female set.

“One wonders why he doesn’t just marry richly and put a stop to their chasing,” Rachel said.

“He’s another who must marry for funds,” Beatrice said, ostensibly to catch Claire up on the topic.

“How gauche to mention it,” Lily said, a teasing smile on her lips.

“Is every gentleman a fortune hunter this Season?” Claire asked. She was proud at how even and normal she sounded.

“Not Lord Shaw, which is why he’s an anomaly,” Rachel said. “Handsome and poor. He’d probably fare better than Lord Forthswithe if he were looking to make a match for wealth.”

“Forthswithe is nice enough looking,” Lily said.

“To be sure. If he had lower standards, he would have found a bride immediately.”

“Claire, wonderful news.” Margaret skidded to a stop at their grouping, her cheeks flushed. “The lovely brunette is only Michael’s cousin.”

“Where were you a half an hour ago?” Claire said. “That would have been excellent information to have then.”