Page 70 of Better Off Wed

“Well, I wouldn’t use the word dreadfully. Although I am my aunt Mildred’s sole… Anyway, as you say, it won’t matter overmuch, since most of the money is tied up in my dowry, and you’ve already told me I’ll never be Lady Sterling in earnest.”

“Laura.” That voice again, that wonderful, scolding, scandalized voice, the vowels of her named shaped by a hint of laughter. “You said you didn’t want to marry.”

“No. If you recall, I said that I did not think I would ever find a man willing to let me go on being Lady Sterling—which is to say, I did not think I should ever find any man willing to let me be…myself.”

“As changeable as a spring wind, in other words.”

“Yes,” she conceded. No point in denying what he already knew to be true.

He released her hands only to lift his palm to her cheek and draw her closer. “My very favorite season,” he whispered against her mouth before kissing her.

She brought her hands to his chest, then slid them upward to curl around his neck. The chess piece made a soft thump as it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. When his other hand reached for her, she leaned forward, closer and closer, until it was the most natural thing in the world for her to tumble into his lap.

“I’m quite sure this is still madness,” he told her, as he trailed his lips to her ear.

“Why? In the brief history of our fake marriage, we’ve already conquered the main challenges: richer, poorer, sickness, health,” she said, ticking them off with her fingers. “I’d say we’re off to a grand start.”

“A real marriage might involve a few more complications.”

“And also,” she countered, toying with the buttons of his waistcoat, “a few more benefits.”

“Why, Lady Sterling. Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Indeed I am.”

“I think we’d better make this official first.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t quite disguise the disappointment in her voice. “You’re right, of course. Better to wait until we’re actually mar—”

“After all we’ve been through, even I am not prepared to be such a stickler as that,” he said, after stopping her words with a kiss. “I’ll settle for your answer to this: will you marry me, Laura? Because you’ve stolen my heart, just like you stole my title. You’ve turned my orderly, logical, bookish world upside down, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It might be madness to say it, but I’ve fallen in love with you, and nothing would make me happier than to spend the rest of my life wondering what’s next.”

Tears stung her eyes and the back of her throat. “Jeremy. That’s ever so much better than anything I’ve heard in a play. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you,” she cried, raining kisses on his brow, his cheeks, his lips. “I tried to make myself stop wanting you, stop needing you. But I couldn’t—and now I know why. Because I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”

“Sounds like the makings for a scandalous marriage,” he said.

She recognized the teasing reference to the play she had first suggested as a model for their performance in Kent—the story of two people trying, and failing, to disguise their true feelings for one another. “I predict a successful run and rave reviews from even the most persnickety critics.”

“In the meantime, could I interest you in the prequel? It’s called A Scandalous Engagement.” He nuzzled a soft kiss into the hollow behind her ear. “All the action takes place in the downstairs bedroom of an unassuming little cottage on the outskirts of London.”

“Intriguing. Tell me more.”

She felt the muscles in his shoulders and legs tauten as he gathered her closer, then got to his feet with her cradled in his arms. “I’d rather show you.”

* * * *

Jeremy nudged the door of his bedroom open with his hip. The only light inside was that of the moon, slipping in like quicksilver through a narrow gap between the draperies. As he bent to lay her on the bed, his muscles quivered, strain and worry giving way to desire.

Quickly he shucked off his coat and boots before joining her. “You’re sure, Laura?” he whispered, leaning over her. After years of self-abnegation, self-recrimination, the thought of a future with her was still so new, so fragile, like the first delicate shoots of a plant he’d kept dormant for most of his life, now unfurling cautiously toward the sun.

“Sure about what?” Her tone was teasing. “That I love you? That I want to marry you? That I want you to make love to me tonight?” In the hint of light from the window her eyes glittered as she nodded. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and reached up to kiss him.

Her lips were hot and sweet—he’d almost persuaded himself he’d dreamed it before, their soft eagerness, the little noises she made, the way the mere touch of her tongue to his sent a bolt of lust straight through his core.

He kissed her back, harder, struggling to restrain his hunger, a starving man who’d suddenly found himself at a banquet. Denying his desires had become second nature. But he could not, would not deny what he felt for her. “I want you, Laura. I need you.”

“Yes,” she hissed again in the darkness, fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat. “I need you too.”

“Let me.” He straightened to strip off waistcoat and shirt, tossing aside the tangled garments as her palms swept over his chest and back, then began to tug at his breeches, devouring him with her touch. “Easy, love,” he whispered, catching her roving fingers. “This is already bound to go too fast.”