Page 38 of Her Duke at Midnight
“See,” Cecily teased, “if I marry Adam, I won’t be able to be in the club.”
Fiona furrowed her brow. “Nonsense. I’d still let you in as a founding member and advisor to other widows just out of mourning.”
Cecily let out a soft chuckle. “I never dreamed that in the space of a few days, you would become such an advocate for remarriage.”
Fiona settled back into her chair and gave Cecily an assessing look.
“I suppose I don’t think of it as remarriage, since I think this one will be so different from your first that there can be no true comparison. This one could be a true marriage. And your dreams of travel and donating to charities could still happen.” She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “I suspect Everton is a man who could bear having a very busy, independent duchess at his side.”
* * *
The coffee at the village inn that the Derwent coachman had delivered Adam to was the worst he’d ever tasted. But he decided that bad coffee was better than no coffee.
After gulping down another mouthful, he returned his attention to the letter he’d been trying to write for an hour. Attempting to string words together was far harder after a sleepless night, though even if he’d had plenty of sleep, translating the feelings of his heart onto paper would have been just as difficult.
He didn’t have a poetic bone in his body. Murmuring romantic words when a woman’s body was tangled with his was one thing. Stringing them together to tell the woman he loved how he felt was proving nearly impossible. He’d scratched out half the words on the page and crumpled up one piece of foolscap with his first attempt.
The maid who’d promised to bring him food despite the early hour scratched at his door, and he was grateful for the reprieve.
Though when he pulled the door open, it wasn’t the maid.
“I hoped you’d still be here.”
Cecily looked like a snow goddess. Flakes coated her shoulders and flecked her auburn hair, glinting in the early morning light shining through his window.
He swept her into his arms, and finally, it felt like he could breathe again. Every part of him felt improved, as if her mere presence was an elixir. He kissed her cheek, her nose, swept snow from her hair, and then she arched up and took his mouth.
The kiss was hungry, hurried, full of desperate pulling and stroking, and by the end of it, she’d shed her cloak and his shirt had been unbuttoned so she could press her palm to his bare skin.
“I take it you’re happy to see me,” she said with a saucy grin.
“Never more relieved to see anyone in my life.” He wouldn’t hold anything back with her anymore. Even if he expressed his feelings ineloquently or didn’t quite have the words, he’d try. He’d do his best to let her know, to show her, what she meant to him.
Adam sensed she had something to say. She stayed in his arms, but took in his rented room, then stepped away to stand before the fire.
“I’ve been thinking,” she finally started, “about the question you asked me.”
“I made a muck of asking, I’m afraid. Not my finest moment.”
Her brows arched, and he wanted to stroke his fingers across them.
“As I recall, we had some very fine moments before you asked,” she teased.
“You deserve more than a two-word proposal.”
“Perhaps, but don’t you want to know my answer rather than critique your manner of asking?”
Adam laughed even as his stomach tautened with tension. “Yes, of course, my lady.” He took a step closer and waited, forcing his hands to stay at his sides rather than reach for her as he longed to. “I’m ready for your answer.”
“I quite like the notion of marrying you—”
Adam reached for her, and she pressed a hand to his chest.
“But…”
Thebutfroze him in place. Froze every inch of him, except for his heart. That damned organ twisted as if someone was trying to wrench it out from between his ribs.
“But?” he asked, feeling every tenterhook that held him suspended as he waited for the rest.
