They ended up sitting on the couch, with her leaning her head on his shoulder. Something in her felt very tired, and he supposed he couldn’t blame her for that. Wrestling with yourself had to be hard work. The box in his pocket was grinding into his hip, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t have moved from where he now sat for all the world.
At length, though, Margot straightened up and reached for her mug of tea, which had to be mostly cold by now. Lucas had the feeling she’d done so out of reflex, or to give herself a reason to move away from him.
“I still don’t know exactly what you expect me to do,” she said.
There was the opening he’d hoped for. “Well, I suppose we’ll need to talk to the other elders, let them know that they might want to start looking for a replacement.”
That comment made her turn her head toward him and give him a sharp look. “Oh, really? We’re going to talk to them?”
“I think that would be best. A united front, and everything.” He paused and dug the box out of his pocket, opening it as he went on, “They might take the whole situation more seriously when they know how serious we are.” Taking a breath, he said, “Margot Emory, will you marry me?”
Her response wasn’t quite what he’d hoped for. Her eyes widened, and she said, “Are you out of your mind?”
No turning back now. He pulled the ring out of the box and held it up, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “I could be out of my mind over you, Margot, but otherwise, I’m deadly serious. I’ve waited too long not to know what I want now. I want you to marry me and come live with me.”
Silence. Her gaze flickered from the ring he held to his face and then back again. “Drop everything and come to Flagstaff with you.”
“I don’t expect you to drop everything. I don’t expect you to get rid of this cottage, or never come back to Jerome. But I realized after you were gone how right it felt for you to be with me in my home, and I don’t want it to be my home anymore…I want it to be our home.”
She moistened her lips. When she opened her mouth to speak, he found himself not daring to breathe, not wanting to do anything that might upset the delicate connection between them.
“I — all right. That is, yes, Lucas Wilcox, I will marry you, even though I have no idea how we’re ever going to make any of this work.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, his blood seeming to flow normally again, even as he reached out and drew her toward him, kissed her, felt her mouth open to his, her exquisite taste stirring the heat within him once again.
“Wait,” she protested, pushing him away slightly.
“What?” Oh, God, please don’t tell me she’s changed her mind….
She lifted her left hand, spread her fingers in front of him. “Does it look like it’s missing something?”
Missing…oh. He took the ring, which had gotten mashed in his palm, and slipped it onto the third finger of her left hand. It glittered there like a promise of better days. “Better?”
“Much,” she said, cupping his face in her hands and bringing him close so she could prove just how much better it was.
14
Lucas insisted on going out to celebrate, despite the rain. So they climbed into his Porsche, and he took her to the top of the hill to the Asylum restaurant at the Grand Hotel, a place she’d been to maybe twice in her life, merely because it seemed like such a special occasion sort of venue. Then again, if this wasn’t a special occasion, she didn’t know what was.
The ring was a new and unexpected weight on her left hand. She couldn’t help staring at it as Lucas ordered a bottle of what had to be an extravagantly expensive wine. When would he have even had time to buy an engagement ring? And how had he managed to choose one that was so perfect? It was large, but not so big anyone would think it was vulgar. But still, that had to be at least three carats of flawless emerald-cut diamond sitting on her finger, flanked on either side by a single baguette-cut stone. The metal was white, and could have been white gold, but she had a feeling it was platinum.
“How did you know?” she asked, after the waiter had gone to fetch the wine.
“Know what?”
“Exactly the right ring to get me.”
He shrugged. “I saw it, and I thought it looked like you. I didn’t think you’d want anything fussy.”
No, she wouldn’t. Fussy had never been her style. “And how did you know I’d say yes?”
“I didn’t.” He rested his hands on the tabletop and leaned forward slightly. “But I figured I’d better have the perfect ring if I was going to ask.”