Say Yes to the Marquess(88)

His words were a low growl against her lips. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

She slid her hands to his hair, smiling so broadly it was difficult to kiss him back. “I was hoping you’d do this.”

He kissed her. Hungrily, at first. Then sweetly. More sweetly than ever before, sipping at her top lip, then the bottom. Teasing her tongue with his. Murmuring soft words she couldn’t make out, but didn’t need to, really. Stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers and taking all the time he wished. Because now they didn’t need to rush. They needn’t worry about any interruption.

At last, it was only the two of them.

All too soon, he pulled away. “We should w—­”

“No.” Panicked, she pressed her fingers over his lips, pursed as they were on the brink of destroying her. “Don’t say that word. I’ll take any other word beginning with W, but not that one. Writhe, wash, wiggle, whip . . .”

He looked a bit alarmed at that last option.

“It’s an example. You know what I mean. The next word out of your mouth had better be anything but ‘wait.’ ”

She removed her fingers.

His thumbs traced soothing circles on her lower back. “Warm. We should warm you up. Get you something to eat.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fine. And much better than any of my suggestions.”

“No doubt. I’ll get you a blanket, and then we’ll see about peeling off this silk.” As he lowered her to the floor, his face went suddenly, direly grave. “You’ll have to marry me, you know.”

Yes.

She did know.

In that moment, Clio looked inside her heart. It was the clearest glimpse she’d ever had. She saw the entirety of her future. Their future. The castle, the brewery. Children. Christmases and Easters and summer rain.

They’d always have rain.

“There’s no way around it,” he said, backing away and going to the bed. “It might not be what you wanted, but . . . You came after me in the rain, all wet and shivering. And I should have sent you back, but I’m too impulsive for anyone’s good. Especially yours.”

Oh, drat. He was hurt. She should have just blurted out the word yes, but she hadn’t and now he didn’t understand. He’d mistaken her pause for reluctance.

He tugged at the blankets. “I’m a fighter. If anything good remained of my reputation, last night I’ve destroyed it. The only thing I can offer you is the protection of my body.”

“Rafe . . .”

“But there’s no refusing it now.” He paused, pillow in hand, holding it like shield. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Of course I have choices. When you signed those papers, you gave me all the choices in the world. I’m a new Clio. I’m not doing anything because I have to, and I don’t care what ­people say. I’m certainly not going to marry you simply because you say I must.”

His fingers flexed, digging a stranglehold into the pillow.

“For heaven’s sake, that poor cushion.”

She took the pillow from his hands, and gave it an apologetic plumping before placing at the head of the bed.

“Rafe,” she said, “I’m going to marry you because I love you.”

He blinked at her, and she realized with a sudden pang in her heart that he might never have heard these words before. His mother was gone so young. No matter how his father and brother might have felt, they wouldn’t be the sort to voice it aloud. And if what he told her was true, about his history with women being shallow and unsatisfying . . .

Clio was likely the first. And the fact that she could give him this gift? Oh, it just filled her heart with joy.

She took one of his hands in both of hers. “I am madly in love with you, Rafe Brandon.”

He was quiet for a while.

“Are you feverish?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” She lifted his hand and pressed the back of it to her brow. “See?”

“I didn’t mean about the fever. Are you certain about me?”

Clio supposed she deserved that skepticism. As far as Rafe knew, these feelings were a recent development.

“I’m certain. It’s been coming on for some time now. I’m not even sure when it began, but . . . long before this summer. For years now, I’ve read everything I could find of your career. I cheered your successes; I worried when you were hurt. Why else would I keep reaching out with all those silly invitations and holiday greetings? I’m a nice girl, Rafe, and yes, I was raised to be the model of gentility and good breeding. But even I’m not that polite.”

She took his hand and kissed it. “I love you. And I understand if it’s difficult for you to believe that fully today. But it’s just as well. It’s a short little phrase. I can repeat it as many times as it takes. You can practice taking it the way you take jabs.” She raised her fists the way he’d taught her and boxed his shoulder. “I love you. I love you. I—­”