Page 92 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
“Thank you.” Petal soft lips touched his cheek and she scratched at his beard, reminding him a gentleman should have shaved. He vaguely hoped she was not whisker-burned, but he could barely move much less mumble an apology.
“You are a good teacher,” she teased.
He moved a finger along her side and heard her draw in a breath.
“Will you marry me now, Charley?”
He opened one eye.
Her dark eyes burned into him. “For love. Will you marry me for love? I...have grown to trust you. To love you. Not just because of this. But we can do this often, can we not?” She looked away and frowned. “I would not wish to share you though.”
He put a finger over her mouth. “Day after tomorrow. No later.”
“What?”
“Our nuptials.”
She smiled. And laughed. And crawled atop him, kissing him, stirring him anew.
“Shall we skip the diplomatic ball tomorrow night?” she asked.
At dinner, Father had said they would all attend. Her sudden frown and the faraway look told him she was thinking of the Duquesa.
“The Duquesa might be there, but so will her husband. Half the world will be there. We’ll go and tell that world our plans.” He drew her to him. “Now, before you bring me back to life, I think we should sleep. Our daughter will be up in a few short hours.”
“Ourdaughter.” A tear plopped onto his chest.
He flipped her over, pulled her bottom close, his chin resting at the point on the back of her head where her plait began.
If he had this every night of this life, he’d have no need of heaven in the next.
He held the hand spread on the sheet in front of her and whispered his plans for their future together until her breaths evened out and he knew she was sleeping. Only then did he let himself drift off.
Gray light was streamingin through the window when he woke.
Gracie was still wedged next to him, her dark hair tickling his chest. He stroked it away and studied her back. The bruises were healing, quickly and well, but the skin might scar where the switch had cut.
Her back dipped gracefully to a slim waist that led to a rounded derriere and hip.
She stirred and lifted sleepy eyes. “Good morning, Charley.”
No shock at waking in a man’s arms?Because she’s where she belongs.
He pushed down his desire and said “It’s morning. We need to get you back to your chamber.”
“Who will care?” She kissed his neck.
Whowouldcare? Not his brothers and their wives. Not his sister. Not the men who served his father. Not even his father, likely, if this reached an honorable conclusion. The servants were used to strange goings-on, though perhaps not this sort.
Herservants certainly weren’t.
“Francisca will flay me alive, if Juan doesn’t shoot me first.”
“She wants me to marry you.”
“She despises me.”
“No. She wants you to keep me safe. She is very pragmatic.”
