She nodded. “Yes.”
Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms and spun her around as though she weighed no more than a rag doll. She giggled in delight, pure joy radiating from her heart as if it were the sun itself. When he set her down again, his mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her laughter, sharing it just as they would soon share everything.
The kiss was something different from before. It was possessive, and fierce, and fiery in a way she would like to think she could be but could never achieve without him. His hands came to either side of her face, cupping her jaw as if she were made of the most delicate of porcelains. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Can I say something without you thinking me a complete loon?”
She closed her eyes and nodded once. He could say anything if he would continue to hold her just like this.
“I’ve fallen in love with you, Beatrice Moore.”
Her heart skipped two full beats at the pronouncement, and she pulled away to look him in the eye. His gaze held a wealth of emotion, silvery and steely and still somehow soft.
“Thank goodness I’m not the only one,” she breathed.
Colin had never heard sweeter words in his whole life. She loved him! All the worries about the dowry, Raleigh’s condition, and his own misgivings seemed to melt away in an instant. Nothing in the world mattered except this: He loved Beatrice, and she loved him.
With a soft, low growl, his lips found hers again, more insistent than ever. He could feel her hammering pulse beneath his fingers, matching his own racing heartbeat. They were so close as to almost seem as one. Feeling reckless, he lifted her in his arms. She squeaked in surprise, but didn’t break the kiss, instead pressing against him that much more.
He closed the distance to the sofa in three sure steps, then lowered them both to the cushions until she was square in his lap. The weight of her against his chest and thighs was intoxicating, and he had the sudden image of her naked, her honey hair cascading down her shoulders and across his bare skin.
Everything about her—her smell, her taste, her size, and even her voice—seemed custom-made to drive him mad. He wrapped both his arms fully around her, pressing her more snugly against him. She gave a breathy little moan, and he smiled against her lips.
He could make her happy. He knew it without doubt. She could have her painting and do with her money whatever she desired. They could have as many children as would suit her, and they would always, always have this perfect passion between them. Raleigh was right—there was no reason to ruin what they had for something that wouldn’t even be an issue after the wedding. What mattered was that he loved her, and damned if she didn’t love him as well.
An odd tapping noise broke through his muddled senses, and he paused, his lips pressed still against hers as he listened. Footsteps! Beatrice must have realized it at the exact moment he did, because she sprang from his lap as if shot from a cannon.
She shook out her skirts and tugged at the wrinkles, desperately trying to put herself to rights. She looked charming as hell, all rumpled and red-lipped, and he couldn’t help but smile. “How do I look? And good heavens, why are you looking at me like that?”
The footsteps, inordinately loud and slow, had almost reached the door. “It’s all right, my love. They know that I was here to ask for your hand. I think a little kissing is to be expected.”
The emotions on her face scrolled from worry, to shock, to surprise, to impish delight. He came to his feet, straightening his jacket and planting a kiss on her nose. “Clearly they are giving us ample warning as to their presence.”
She grinned, shaking her head as the person outside the door jiggled the knob as if they had never worked such a contraption before. By the time the door swung open—slowly—they were standing side by side, her hand cradled in the crook of his arm.
Lady Granville looked between them, her whole face glowing with pleasure. “Well, I assume a question has been asked and answered?”
“What question?” Beatrice asked, tilting her head in wonderment.
The marchioness drew back in surprise, her gray eyes rounding. “Er, well, I—”
“I’m only teasing, Mama. Yes, a question has been asked and answered.”
“And?”
Beatrice squeezed his arm, pulling them more tightly together. “The answer was a most emphatic yes.”
Three feminine shouts of joy rang from the corridor, and the twins and Lady Raleigh poured into the room. There was laughter and hugs and plenty of congratulations to go around. The earl came to join in the celebrations, ringing for a celebratory round of sherry for the ladies and port for the two men.
Once everything had calmed a bit, Lady Granville settled onto the sofa and took a small sip of her drink. “Of course, we mustn’t make any announcements until your father and sister have been notified.”
“I can only imagine how surprised they will be,” Beatrice said, her eyes dancing with happiness.
“Not so very surprised, perhaps.” The marchioness grinned, her impish expression making her look years younger. “At least not your father.”
“Mama,” Beatrice exclaimed, her hand going to her mouth as she laughed. “What did you write him?”
“I may have mentioned that there was a certain young gentleman who had caught your interest . . . and that the gentleman in question appeared to reciprocate.”
A very encouraging sign, indeed. If her mother had taken enough note to write to Granville about him, she must have seen something between them. Just as Raleigh had. The lingering uneasiness about his deception eased that much more, and he settled back into the cushions of the cream-colored sofa, silently observing as the women discussed things like flowers and gowns.
“When would you like to have the wedding, Sir Colin?”
Immediately. The sooner they were wed, the sooner he could dispatch with the circling creditors and be done with the worry of Beatrice asking about the use of the dowry. “Sooner rather than later, I would think. Perhaps in the New Year, after the celebrations of Christmas are behind us.”
Chapter Twenty-one
The air was cold but not biting, the wind gentle enough to stir the multihued fallen leaves along the path, but not so much as to sting the exposed skin of Colin’s face. The sun slipped out intermittently as the low clouds rolled overhead.
In other words, it was perfect. Since it wasn’t raining, he could escape to Hyde Park with Beatrice without raising any eyebrows, yet it was cold enough to keep most from the grounds. Colin adjusted his hand, pressing Beatrice’s fingers more firmly against his arm as they strolled along the nearly deserted banks of the Serpentine. With all the excitement surrounding the betrothal, they had had almost no time for just the two of them, and it was driving him mad.
He felt relaxed, at peace in a way he hadn’t been since the moment he knew of his father’s downfall. He had not only accomplished what he had set out to do, but he hadn’t compromised his own heart to do so. He glanced down at Beatrice, smiling at her red-tipped nose and rosy cheeks. She was a thousand times better than he had hoped for, a million times better than he deserved. And yet she was his.
Already this morning they had talked of the future—of having their families meet for the first time, of traveling to Italy for their honeymoon in order to tour the works of the old masters, and of renting a small town house here in London as he completed his last year at Lincoln’s Inn.
But there was one last thing he wanted to do just for her. “I daresay we’ll have trouble finding a place with as nice a studio as you have now.”