Page 81 of Distracting the Duke

Was there anything this man hadn’t thought of? She was going to have to change her view of him. He wasn’t controlling, he was clever.

She had also mistaken his perceptiveness for arrogance, his magnanimity for manipulation, and his insecurities for aloofness.

There was one final thing she needed to be sure of. It took a good deal of courage to ask, but it mattered. It mattered very much.

“Do you truly love me?” she asked, desperate to hear his answer, but at the same time, petrified.

His eyes twinkled. “Do you think I would have broken your door down twice if I didn’t? Did you think I would just discard you after our superlative lovemaking? In fact, every moment I refrain from taking you again is proof of how much I love you. You need to be respected, as well. Listened to, cared for, supported. I love you, and I like you, too, and have every hope that you will become my best friend as well as my wife.”

There could be no better answer than this. It was perfect.

He was perfect.

“I…I never imagined I c-could be so happy,” she stammered as tears of relief threatened to overwhelm her. She could find no words to describe her elation, her gratitude.

“However, once I have your consent, we’d better move quickly. I don’t know how long I will be able to keep my errant body under control.”

Now she knew he was truly hers, she was struggling to control her own. It wasn’t every day that one had a gloriously naked man in one’s bed, expressing his desire…

“If I agree to marry you, do you think perhaps we might, while they’re all out—”

“Hussy. Now who is trying to manipulate whom?”

“I’ve learned a lot from you, Your Grace.”

“That’s the Clara I like to see. But no, we’re not going to make love now. If Philip can’t open the door to shoot me, he’ll probably just climb in the window. Still, there are other things we could do to pass the time… But first, I’ll need your answer.”

Burying her hands deep into his tousled hair, she pressed her lips against his, and made the most momentous decision of her life.

“Yes, Marcus Albemarle, fourth Duke of Ulvercombe, Lord Wroxham, etcetera, etcetera, I will be your wife.”

Chapter Forty-Five

By the time the rest of the family returned from their walk, Clara was the happiest woman in all of Devonshire—in all of England, most probably. At Marcus’s insistence, they were both up, fully dressed, and taking tea on the little terrace as they watched the sun go down.

There were still matters to be arranged, and Clara had no idea how Ellie would take their news. If Clara had read matters right, however, Ellie’s heart was likely engaged elsewhere, and she wouldn’t mind a bit.

Nevertheless, Clara was tense as she heard the tramp of feet in the lane. She made a great show of pouring tea, calling out in a voice tight with anxiety, “What a long walk you took! We thought you might be hungry, so we’ve made a fresh pot of tea and some griddle cakes.”

Fortunately, the prospect of refreshment provided a happy distraction, and by the time everyone was seated and admiring the tranquility of the evening, her nerves were under control.

“So,” said Philip, buttering a cake, “have you talked her round, Ulvercombe? At least all seems amicable.”

“I’m pleased to say Lady Clara has consented to marry me.” Marcus shot her a wicked, knowing look that made her feel as if she’d just drenched herself in hot tea. Fortunately, it was quite acceptable to blush when announcing an engagement.

“Capital!” exclaimed Philip, while Sarah and Ellie jumped to their feet and embraced and kissed her, one on each side.

“I’m so sorry, Ellie,” Clara said, “I never expected this to happen. You must think me such a hypocrite, encouraging you to set your sights on Marcus.”

“No, indeed! How could anyone predict you’d fall in love with him? I’d far rather see people marry for love than any other reason.” Ellie looked terribly self-conscious for a moment, but her eyes shone.

Rescuing them both, Marcus said, “I confess, it took some work to convince her. But we got there in the end.”

Awful man! Could he not spare her blushes?

“I suppose we might see more of Lord Snettisham,” ventured Ellie, unable to disguise the hope in her voice, “since our two families are to become closer, and he is your particular friend.”

Marcus said kindly, “I daresay you will. He’s planning on staying at Kessington for the next few days. Snetty loves a bit of small game shooting in the season. You will all have to sample Cook’s splendid raised pies.”