Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

Slowly, she drew back, determined to follow through as she’d intended. Nothing had changed, other than the wonderful new awareness that she might be carrying Dustin’s child. And that awareness should only serve to strengthen her resolve. She belonged with Dustin—on whatever terms he would have her.

Her fingers clenched tightly in her lap. “Before I tell you my dreams, before you enumerate all the dragons you’re willing to slay for me, there’s something you should know, something that might make your sacrifices a little less drastic, your decisions a bit easier.”

One dark brow rose. “Go on.”

“Do you remember my saying I’d never be your mistress? That I’d never accept such a role, cherished or otherwise?”

“I remember.”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind.” She gazed up at him, her emotions bared for him to see. “Pride, ideals, even wishes vanish in the wake of feelings such as these. The simple truth is, I love you. I don’t want to live without you. So I’ll take my chances, be anything you want me to be, and pray that your love for me will endure.”

Something profound flashed in Dustin’s eyes. “Thank you, Derby. That’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever been given. Unfortunately, it’s not enough.”

She blinked.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he continued, his voice hoarse with emotion. “But I won’t settle for some. I want it all—marriage, children, grandchildren—and I want it with you. I want to put my ring on your finger and shout to the heavens that you’re mine. I want to take you to bed and pour my soul into yours, hoping each time that our child is being conceived, a child born of the miraculous love his parents have for each other. I want to live with you, laugh with you, grow old with you. I want to awaken each morning with you beside me and go to sleep each night with you in my arms. No, Nicole—” Dustin shook his head definitively. “I won’t settle for having you as my mistress. I want you for my wife. Marry me.”

Nicole drew a shuddering breath. “Marriage is forever, Dustin.”

“So are we.”

“Forever is a long time.”

“Not nearly as long as waiting for it.”

A choked sound escaped Nicole’s lips. “I won’t share you,” she whispered shakily.

“I don’t want to be shared. I don’t want other women. I want only you. It’s been that way from the moment we met. It will be that way for the duration of time.”

“What if I’m unable to make the transition from stables to manor? I know you insist titles mean nothing to you, and I believe that they don’t. But, dear God, Dustin—a marchioness. I’m totally unprepared …”

“Fine. I’ll renounce my title.”

“You’ll what?”

“Renounce my title. Relinquish it. Give it up. Although, in my opinion, you’d make the most spectacular of marchionesses. Still, if it causes you distress, consider it done.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Her Majesty, of all people, will understand. She loved the prince consort with all her heart.” Dustin gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “So much for my title and my way of life. What other supposedly insurmountable obstacles are troubling you? Ah, the parties. I’ll decline them all. The ton? I’ll snub them. I’ll even burn all my money if it will make you feel better. We can buy a farm, raise horses, live without servants or visitors. You can wear breeches every day, sleep naked in my arms each night …”

“Stop.” Nicole pressed her fingers to his lips, too shaken to speak. She’d known he loved her, but never in her wildest imaginings had she fathomed the depth of that love, the enormity of what he’d be willing to sacrifice. God, she had to be the luckiest woman alive.

Abruptly, all her apprehension vanished.

“I don’t want any of those things,” she whispered, willing him to see beyond the words, to feel the wealth of emotion that spawned them. “I just want you—as you are.”

Perception ignited Dustin’s eyes, eased the rigidness from his shoulders. “Would you reconsider the part about sleeping naked in my arms each night?”

She gave him a watery smile. “Well, perhaps that.”

“Nicole.” He kissed her fingertips. “Say yes. Say it and by month’s end you’ll be Mrs. Dustin Kingsley.”

“By month’s end?” That made her start. “Dustin, that’s five days after the Derby.”

“All right,” he conceded reluctantly. “I’m not unreasonable. I’ll give you a fortnight to recover from the Derby or from the day we resolve the crimes plaguing the turf—whichever is sooner.”

Joyous laughter bubbled up inside her, spilled out. “That’s not unreasonable?”