Page 98 of Anything But a Duke
“Will you be mine, Diana Ashby?” He offered her a small band of gold, inset with a string of tiny diamonds.
The words were so raw. No negotiating terms or thoughts of what they might exchange in this bargain. Just an offer of belonging, and a promise of love.
“Yes, I will be yours.”
His smile said she’d given him the moon and stars and everything in between. He got to his feet. His hands shook as his slipped the ring on her finger, and his mouth trembled when he kissed her.
“Did you expect this when I saved you in the Belgravia mews?” Diana whispered when he lifted his head.
“I knew you were beautiful, fierce, and utterly unforgettable.”
“I feared I’d never see you again,” she confessed. “Now I know I don’t want to be without you.”
He looked at her as he always did, as if she was the most interesting woman he’d ever seen, as if he didn’t want to take his eyes off her. But now there was something else. Contentedness. She felt it too.
Being in his arms felt right, but having him as her own felt like a gift.
“You never have to be without me, love. I’m right where I belong.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
May 1846
Mayfair
“Have you seen my wife?” Aidan quizzed the crew of workmen who were converting his billiard room into a workshop and laboratory for Diana. The space was large enough and had a sufficiently high ceiling to allow her to work on larger prototypes and stack raw materials several feet high, if she so desired.
When the three men grumbled and shook their heads, Aidan made his way down the hallway and was befuddled by the absence of servants. Usually there was a maid or butler about, especially this close to the dinner hour.
His day at the office had been long, tedious, and full of meetings with men who blustered too long and had very little of interest to say.
In short, he wanted to see his wife.
“Diana!” he shouted, not caring which of their neighbors heard him.
“Aidan.” She approached from the opposite end of the hall, a smile on her face, and the evening post clutched in her hand. He scooped her into his arms and kissed her before she could tell him about the post. He didn’t care who’d billed them for what service or which invitations they’d received from the Tremaynes or Huntley or one of his Lyon’s Club cronies.
She kissed him eagerly, hungrily, and Aidan sidestepped with her into the study, kicking the door shut with the toe of his boot.
“I missed you,” she told him, “and I—”
He kissed her again and she laughed against his lips.
“Is this one of those you’ll-kiss-me-every-time-I-interrupt-you moments?”
“No,” he said, dipping his head to kiss her cheek, her neck, the spot just below her ear. “I’ve simply missed you too and haven’t had my fill of you yet.”
“You’ll want to hear this news,” she said, waving one of the letters in her hand.
“Tell me.” He didn’t want to let her go, but he could hear the eagerness in her voice and didn’t wish to stifle that either.
“I think you should read it for yourself.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Aidan released his wife and took the letter she offered. He frowned as he read and then both brows winged up.
“He’s invited us to dine at his home,” she told him.
“So I see.”
