Chapter Nine
Millie
“You haven’t seen him in two days?” Dolly asked with a rising tone of skepticism in her voice.
“No one has seen him in two days,” Millie responded on a huff.
Or rather, she wanted to respond on a huff, but she refrained from doing so because this was Dolly, after all, and she was only asking in her cousin’s best interest. It was odd to all those who knew—and in all honesty, everyone knew—that Marlowe hadn’t shown his face since disappearing from the ramble a few days ago.
Millie felt the need to justify his actions—mostly because she truly felt in her heart that they were indeed justifiable.
“He’s been attending to his ailing mother.
It’s not as if he doesn’t have a reason. ”
“But you’re… You’re his—”
Claudette interrupted the hushed conversation happening on the curb of the fountain in the middle of the garden.
“You’re the one he’s courting. If anyone should have seen him, it’s you.
” And she stuck her nose up in the air like any good villainous character would do from one of Millie’s Gothic novels, yet she still managed to peer down said nose and glare haughtily at Millie.
And…perhaps it was the haughty peering… Perhaps it was the jutted nose… Perhaps it was the sun… Perhaps—and Millie wasn’t quite ready to admit it—the truth was that it truly represented her feelings. Whatever the reason, Millie blurted out a lie. “Actually, I’m his betrothed.”
And she said it while rising to meet the aforementioned obnoxious snout.
Claudette sputtered like the fountain behind Millie. And Millie was pretty sure Dolly was holding in a similar sputter, if only to show a supportive front for her cousin.
“Betrothed?” ragged Claudette. “I don’t bel—”
“She said the duke was her betrothed.” Goldie stepped in, and Millie sighed in relief. Flanked by two moral buttresses of cousin support, she stood on sturdy—albeit shaky—legs.
Claudette wasn’t finished yet. She and her claws weren’t through. “You’re just after him because he’s a duke.”
Millie turned to face Claudette head on and scoffed.
“First of all, every known lady is after him because he’s the most handsome duke in England.
Second of all, I’m not after his status.
” And the words just started rolling out of her like the soft droplets of water from the fountain that were pelting her face.
“I’m after his heart. That man is up there with his mother”—she pointed to one of the turrets of the manor, unsure exactly as to the location of her, hopefully, soon-to-be mother-in-law’s room—“taking care of her. He has things on his mind other than the looming proposal.” There.
That wasn’t a lie…precisely. He had said they were to marry.
She was just prematurely taking him up on that offer.
And her heart squeezed as she laid claim to the promise. “He’s more than a duke.”
“He’s a rake,” Claudette mocked.
“And he’s more than a rake. My betrothed is the best person I know. And that’s why I’m marrying him.” The air held on to those words and strung them up like a flag.
They lasted a beat—or six—before a deep clearing of the throat caught everyone’s attention. And Millie knew without turning around that said throat clearing belonged to Marlowe.
“May I…have a word with my betrothed?” He emphasized the last word with unknown intention and consequence.
The garden quickly cleared with Dolly and Goldie giving Millie a quick squeeze of the arm and Orlan and Mace slapping Marlowe on the back.
The exchanges were quick and quiet, but Millie could hear the distinct offers of congratulations as well as the questions asking after his mother.
“She is fine, and thank you,” Marlowe replied succinctly.
When the space was empty, he did a rather slow and ominous about-face in her direction.
She was in trouble. And trouble felt an awful lot like an army of ants crawling up her calves.
It also felt like grasshoppers pouncing about in her stomach.
And that flutter of butterfly wings up her spine wasn’t helping.
In a most desperate fashion, Millie found herself despising bugs of all kinds.
Even the good kind like the ladybugs inching up her forearms.
Worst of all, the dratted fountain must have been broken because spurts of water kept dashing against her face. And she really should have just moved out of its spray zone, but doing so required the usage of her feet, which—for some inexplicable reason—would just not move.
“Millie—”
Splash! A huge douse of water covered her from head to toe. Too much shock—and probably too much soggy fabric, really—kept her rooted in place. Only her fingers worked to wipe the water from her eyes.
“Are you all right?” Marlowe was in front of her face.
Inches away. Hands cupping her neck, his eyes darting from the fountain back to her.
Back to the fountain. Back to her. And several more times until he finally just burst out laughing.
“I only seem to make you wet, Millie. I don’t know what it is about us together, but I’m here for it.
” His eyes, full of joy, locked her in place.
“I’m here for it. For you.” His voice softened as his fingers gently pushed the sopping-wet strings of hair back behind her ears. “I live to make you wet, Bookworm.”
And her insides danced a most ridiculous jig at the words. That, and her thighs squeezed together.
“I heard what you said. Was it all true?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You want to marry me now?”
“Yes.” She nodded with moisture accumulating in her eyes that wasn’t from the fountain.
“It’s not just because the gossip will run you out of the ton?”
“No,” she said, reaching up to place her hands on his chest. “I fell for you, Marlowe. I can’t pinpoint when it happened. But I’ve seen your heart. I’ve seen how you care. How you’re loyal to those you love, even when they’ve threatened you. I’ve seen you, and…I love you.”
He crushed her to his chest and nuzzled against her neck. “I love you, too, Millie. You’re incredible, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Loving you. Making you happy.”
And to seal their fate, his lips found hers—
Splash! Another stream of water from the fountain blew over them, soaking them. But they didn’t move. Their lips were locked. Just as their love. No amount of water could quell the fire of a love like theirs. In fact, it somehow had the miraculous properties to make it only burn brighter.
The End