Page 102 of Enticing Odds
“Never would I ask you again to wed me as I had stood these months past, a humble doctor with a surgery in Marylebone. I’m not a fool; I know very well what that would mean for your reputation, your social standing. But perhaps this,” he said as he handed the papers to her, “this would do a bit to redress the balance… if you would have me.”
She began reading, then almost immediately glanced up to him, that one brow raised warily.
“Go on,” he urged, his voice rasping.
She looked back, her face softening as she read. His heart was in her hands now.May God have mercy on me.
And then she looked up, grinning coyly.
“Cookham Place?”
“In Sussex,” he croaked mildly. “It’s supposedly a lovely clime for gardening. Very temperate.”
“You… purchased a home?” She lowered the papers.
“Er… won it, actually. Admiral Braden offered it in lieu of the debt he’d incurred to me. He praised the house, called it charming, exceptionally appealing, though I’ve yet to visit and—”
“An admiral?” she interrupted, tilting her head. “What was the game?”
“Whist,” Matthew said, feeling as if the wind had been knocked from him.
“Well,” Cressida said, reaching for his hand, inviting him up the final steps to join her on the landing. “Very well done, you.”
“It’s yours,” Matthew said, unable to bear this torture any longer, wanting to bury his face against her neck, her chest. “No matter your answer.”
“Really?” Cressida laughed and looked back to the papers.
“Of course,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Although you might not return the sentiment, I… Cressida. You must know, by now. I love you. I adore you. I would do anything, anything at all, only say the word.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and shut his eyes as he placed a devotional kiss upon it.
“Please, say the word,” he murmured against her fingers.
“Matthew,” she crooned. “You cannot think me so simple-minded as all that.”
He squeezed his eyes tighter, readying himself for a devastating blow.
“My sweet doctor,” she said, and he felt her hand upon his cheek, gently guiding him to turn, to face her.
He did, and when he opened his eyes, he saw a wide, joyful smile upon her face, those sweet dimples and warm toffee eyes glittering with excitement.
“I would never dream of wagering my reputation on something as capricious as weighted dice if I didn’t mean to marry you anyway and put any threat of blackmail well to bed. How better to cut him down than to accept your offer? Why, you ought to have sorted it out at the first, an intelligent man such as you.”
His heart nearly stopped.
“You’d… already decided? That you would?”
“Of course I had,” she scoffed. “The rest of the evening was mypièce de résistance. A gamble, to be sure, but one that paid off handsomely, I’d say. For Charles Sharples surely feels as foolish now as he once made you feel.” She narrowed her eyes. “Which was my intent.”
“But… you would give it all up?” he murmured. “The balls, the parties… for me?”
“I shall,” she said. “It’s become awfully boring, all these meetings and societies. Too many soirées, too many operas.”
His heart leaped.
She stroked his cheek and wet her lips.
“Truly?” he whispered.
