Page 80 of The Notorious Dashing Viscount
“I… I want to marry you, Clayton,” she ventured at last. “When you told me that you were falling in love with me at Vauxhall, I felt a sort of happiness I’d never expected to feel. It was dizzying. But…”
“If it’s the business of the wager, Isolde, then let me tell you I’ll wait as long as you want. On the other hand, I would marry you tomorrow if you wished it. I’ll proclaim our engagement to everybody I meet until everyone in London knows it, or I’ll keep it a secret. Whatever you want. I’m a rich man, and I don’t want your money. Not,” he added, “like Lord Raisin.”
She bit back a smile, but there was the old, familiar worry fluttering at the back of her mind, and she could not let it go. The clouds were more threatening overhead, and she could smell rain on the air.
“I have a secret, too,” she said at last. “I… I have never told anyone. My family know, of course, but…” she swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes closed. “The Duke and Duchess of Belbrooke are not my parents. They are my aunt and uncle.”
There was a brief silence. The first few drops of rain fell, soaking into the thin material of Isolde’s dress.
“What?” Clayton managed.
She didn’t dare open her eyes. She ploughed on, desperate to get the words out.
“My mother is the Duchess’ sister, and her name is Dorothy. The scandal is old, but not forgotten. She ran away, shaming the family. I am not… I am legitimate. I don’t even know who my father is. My mother died in childbirth, and so my uncle and aunt adopted me as their own and kept it all a great secret.”
Isolde let out a long, slow breath. When she opened her eyes, Clayton was on his feet again, a light frown between his brows.
“You are serious?” he said, and all of Isolde’s worries came flooding through in one great, overwhelming flood.
“I should never have told you,” she gasped, and tore her hand away from him. The rain began to fall as she sprinted across the lawn, light slippers digging deep into the wet earth, the groundwater soaking through to her skin. She was already wet by the time she reached a tiny folly near the wall, designed to look like a small Grecian villa.
And then Clayton was right behind her.
“You can’t tell anyone!” she burst out. “Nobody can know. I’ll say you’re lying, I’ll bring up the business of the wager, I’ll…”
“Stop, stop, Isolde!” he reached out and grabbed her shoulders, his palms warm against the damp fabric.
She drew in a ragged breath, wiping her eyes.
“Isolde,” Clayton said quietly, curling a finger under her chin and tilting up her face to look at him, “Do you think this would change my feelings for you?”
She went still. “My parents – uncle and aunt, rather – always thought that it would change a man’s feelings for me. It’s a great secret. It’s a sin.”
“A sin? Not as great as mine, wagering to win a young woman’s heart. Although, I did win that, didn’t I? Lord Raisin might have bragged about your dowry, but he’d overlooked thetrue treasure. Isolde, your illegitimacy is not your fault. It never was. Society is unforgiving, true, and I understand why you might need to keep it a secret. But it doesn’t change a thing about you. Not a single thing. And it certainly doesn’t change my feelings for you.”
She swallowed hard. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, no more than you knowing what a stupid man I am has changed your feelings for me. I have a great deal to change about myself, but you… you are perfect.”
“I am not perfect,” she managed. “Neither of us are. We never will be, and that’s quite alright.”
He smiled down at her, and Isolde’s insides did a sort of loop.
“And there you go, already making me a better, cleverer man. I love you, Isolde, and I want to marry you, if you’ll have me.”
“But marrying an illegitimate woman…”
“I am Viscount Henley, with an independent fortune, and very much my own man. If you don’t wish for people to know the circumstances of your birth, that’s your choice, but if it ever comes out, I guarantee you that nobody would ever dare speak badly of you in my presence.”
She let out a long, slow sigh.
“Then my answer is yes,” she said, and her voice wobbled. “I will marry you, Clayton.”
He grinned down at her, almost wolfish for a moment, then bent his head and kissed her full on the mouth. Isolde wrapped her arms around his neck, too enthralled to think about propriety, or even whether anyone could see her from the windows of the house.
They could, as it turned out.
Epilogue
