Page 45 of Miss Determined
“You want to try my paces?” he suggested.
“You aren’t a horse.”
“I am a prospective husband.” He’d never thought to say those words so joyfully. “You have been disappointed by others, and you are entitled to sample my wares if you please to before we get to the pretty speeches, though I warn you, Amaryllis, they will be short speeches, however heartfelt.”
“Do you suggest I might have to yield my crown as the most plainspoken member of the family?”
Family—he was to be a member of her family, as she was to become nearly the sum total of his.
“I’ll have a tiara made for you instead of a crown,” he said, though the Tavistock jewels included at least four tiaras. “Shall we make love, Amaryllis?” He could pose the question without any agenda other than acceding to her wishes. They’d all but agreed to be married, she knew who she’d be marrying, and all was right with Trevor’s world.
She stood and held out her hand. “I’ve kept the second bedroom dusted. The balcony has a nice view of the Twid, and I like to read and nap here when the weather is fine.”
Trevor took her hand, kissed her knuckles, and rejoiced to recall the day he’d decided to see Crosspatch Corners for himself.
“Before we yield to passion—because I will yield, Amaryllis, and will do my utmost to see that you do as well—I have one very short speech to make.”
Her expression said his speech had best be the shortest in the history of speeches.
“I love you,” he said, though he wanted to throw open the window and shout the words to the world. “I love you and—”
She bundled him into a ferocious hug. “I heard you the first time. Thank you for the words, now show me that you mean them.”
She was shy, bless her. Trevor felt shy, too, also pleased, proud, and determined to prove that Amaryllis would never, ever regret her choice.
“Let the wild yielding to passion begin,” he said, opening the bedroom door and bowing her through, “and may it never, ever end.”
Amaryllis sailed into the bedroom on wings of rejoicing.
Trevor’s illegitimacy explained so much. A peer’s by-blow had a foot in the fashionable world and a foot in the common man’s realities. He’d be a canny fellow accustomed to keeping his own counsel. He would be well educated, well dressed, and well mannered, but also cautious, never presuming he’s welcome and always aware of the appearances. Fashionable Society would receive him, though an invitation to show his face at Court would have been unusual.
She could well understand why he’d enjoy Continental society, which operated with fewer strictures and conventions. His titled half-brother apparently did too.
Trevor’s enviable self-possession had clearly been learned early and well, in a world that had frequently judged him for matters beyond his control.
Amaryllis knew how it felt to be held accountable for the previous generation’s choices. Her grandfather had been a shopkeeper—a shopkeeper!—and her father was still regarded as little better. How much more complicated if her father had been a titled, philandering martinet disregarding his marriage vows?
“I want to hurry,” she said. “To tear your clothes off before you succumb to a sudden attack of propriety.”
“If you succumb to such an attack, Amaryllis, or to an understandable bout of cold feet, I will respect your decision.”
Because he respectedher. That was what made Trevor different. Other men had found Amaryllis attractive. Other men had been taken with her settlements, or her figure, or her agreeable conversation.
Trevor relished their disagreements and even incited the occasional argument out of sheer deviltry.
He closed and locked the bedroom door—a nice bit of gallantry, though nobody would intrude here—and gestured to the vanity stool.
“My lady’s boots should be removed.”
Trevor meant for them to undress. That realization dashed a bit of cold water on Amaryllis’s fog of delight.
“I’ve done this with my boots on, you know.”
“As have I,” Trevor replied, “but those were passing moments, while what we undertake nowmatters, Amaryllis. If we are to be intimate, I’d like for our first time to be more than a quick interlude against a sturdy wall.” He studied the room, a particular gleam coming into his eyes. “Unless you’d prefer a sturdy wall?”
Gracious.“The bed will do.”
He patted the back of the vanity stool, and Amaryllis’s heart gave an odd leap. She’d dreamed about him, speculated, wondered, and hoped, and he was right—this mattered. She settled on the vanity stool and held out her right boot.
