TWENTY-SEVEN #3
He was right, of course. She would have still felt beholden . . . And then perhaps wondered, in later years, if she would have chosen to marry him without gratitude and a sense of obligation compelling her.
But Matthias would still need to grovel for her forgiveness. After he answered her questions.
“What happened with Drempton?” she asked.
“Gray tracked him down a few days after his lordship left Avoch and threatened the man with social banishment from the ton if he ever came within a mile of you again.”
“Can Grayburn do that?”
“He’s a duke.” Matthias waved his hand, as if that explained everything.
“Drempton is a mere baron. More importantly, Drempton isn’t particularly well-liked, to no one’s surprise.
Once Gray returned to London, he hired a Runner who uncovered scandalous details about Drempton’s dealings with the underbelly of London.
It is hardly fit for a lady’s ears, but needless to say, the knowledge will guarantee Drempton’s behavior.
Releasing such scandalous information, particularly by someone with Gray’s reputation for honor, would ruin Drempton forever, and well he knows it.
Apparently, his lordship has embarked upon a tour of the continent. He will never bother you again.”
Cecily sat with that knowledge for a long minute. The relief of Drempton being banished for good. A tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying eased in the muscles of her spine.
“And yourself?” she asked. “How have you been?”
“Sad. Lonely. Missing you dreadfully.”
She sniffed. “That is rather well-deserved, I think.”
He grinned, a flash of bright sun in the night air. Her heart triple-skipped.
“I’m still very angry with you,” she continued.
“I know.”
“You will need to grovel to earn my forgiveness.” Tears clogged her throat and stole the edge from her words.
“I would expect to do no less.”
He closed the final sliver of space between them, head dipping down.
Cecily feared for her heart, ringing fiercely with happiness.
“Don’t kiss me unless you mean it,” she whispered against his mouth. “Don’t kiss me unless you intend to never stop.”
“I do. I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
His lips touched hers, feather-light. A brush of sensation.
After Cecily’s months of late-night weeping and bitter regrets, it was decidedly not enough.
Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, she pulled his head down to hers, kissing him with punishing force.
He groaned, a puff against her mouth, and instantly banded his arm around her, lifting her body into his.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to the place where her pulse fluttered against her throat.
“I shall take it under consideration.” She clung to his shoulders, arching her back to give him better access. “But I was not jesting about the groveling.” She felt his smile against her skin.
“Noted.” He dragged his lips under one ear, sending gooseflesh cascading down her spine. “I shall begin immediately.”
But he didn’t, because they kissed and kissed until Cecily was rather sure her lips were puffy, and a group of drunken field hands whistled as they exited a pub along the riverbank.
Pulling back, breathing ragged, Matthias ran a thumb across her bottom lip. “I’m glad you’re angry with me.”
“Why?”
“Because it means that your glorious heart still cares. I feared you would greet me with indifference.”
“You cannot woo me and make me fall madly in love with you as you did at Avoch, and then think that my love wouldn’t continue.”
He stilled in her arms. “You love me?”
Her wretched tears fell faster. “Of course I do! You plied me with horses and kindness and that atrociously handsome face of yours. Any sane lady would fall head over heels in love with you! But, oh, Matthias . . . I am so glad that lady was me.”
Her words earned her another kiss and long moments in his arms.
“I love you, too,” he said against her mouth. “From that first moment under a ballroom chandelier ten years ago, you have been the only lady for me.” He kissed her softly.
Cecily ran a palm along his jaw. “This might be unconventional—but I feel our entire acquaintance has been unconventional, and so . . .”
“Do not stop there.”
She smiled. “I merely wanted to say that, if you were to ask me to marry you again, the answer would assuredly be yes. No hesitation.”
“Even without my groveling?”
“Oh, you will still need to do that. I have faith in your ability to accomplish both tasks simultaneously.”
“I see.” His tone was grave, but his eyes lit with happiness.
“So . . . if I were to say something like, Cecily, my love, life has been a misery without you, and I cannot bear going another month, another week, another day without calling you mine. Will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?, you would—”
“Yes,” she interrupted.
“I didn’t quite finish.”
“I know. But I felt the need to make sure you understood my sentiments on the matter.”
He grinned. “Well, then, consider yourself my betrothed.”
Bending down, he claimed her mouth again.
This time . . . for keeps.