A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin 2)

He drew her inexorably nearer. “Of course I love you. The question is—do you love me?”

“I told you I did, didn’t I?” she said gruffly, placing her hands on the lapels of his spectacular coat. She still thought she ought to wash before she touched him, but she had an idea that the suggestion might annoy him. Right now, she didn’t want him annoyed. Not when the glint in his eyes said that he was about to kiss her. At last.

“In between a lot of other twaddle.” He paused. “Do I need to go on my knees again?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Does that mean you’ll marry me? Because you know I don’t have a hope of happiness away from you, don’t you?”

Her heart slowed to a steady rhythm. She’d been nervous and afraid and unsure and, yes, piqued that he’d stayed away for two weeks when she’d been so lonely. The unimportant clamor receded. This was the man she wanted. This was the man she would have.

“For God’s sake, sweetheart, stop torturing me and say yes.”

He looked desperate and unsure. Which she rather liked. It reminded her that he was as vulnerable to her as she was to him. Hard to believe when he looked like he did. Then she recalled that he’d spent a lifetime cultivating this elegance as a defense. His handsome exterior—much as she appreciated it—wasn’t the real Richard. The real Richard was brave and good and had a loyal and loving heart. Which it seemed he placed at her feet. Lucky her.

“Will you kiss me?” she asked huskily.

“Now?”

She nodded, her lips curving. She didn’t feel inadequate anymore. She felt beautiful and adored and capable of holding onto this fascinating, wonderful man. “Now.”

“Your aunt could come in,” he drawled without shifting.

“Let her.” Although her aunt’s absence proved suspiciously lengthy. Aunt Lucy must be waiting until things were settled before she reappeared to offer congratulations. She’d long ago guessed that her niece was head over heels in love with their former lodger.

“Will you say yes if I kiss you?”

“I certainly won’t if you don’t kiss me.”

He sighed. “You’re impossible.”

With his free hand, he tipped her chin up. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Immediate heat bloomed and she melted against him, kissing him back with all the love in her heart. By the time he paused for breath, she felt off-kilter and misty-eyed and ready to waltz around the room singing.

Slowly she opened her eyes and stared up at Richard. He looked as if that kiss had flung him into infinity too. Good.

Another smile curled her lips and she stroked his cheek. “Richard, I love you with all my heart. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Epilogue

London, April 1828

I shouldn’t be here.”

Genevieve stopped studying the magnificent Turner over the alabaster mantelpiece and eyed her husband with loving impatience. “Of course you should.”

Richard swung into another turn, pacing toward the end of the gracious drawing room decorated in the modish rococo revival style. It said something for the changes Genevieve had undergone since becoming Lady Harmsworth six months ago that she knew what was fashionable and what wasn’t. One result of marrying an arbiter of elegance.

“This can serve no purpose.”

“Then we’ll pay our respects and leave,” she said calmly.

He usually wasn’t skittish, but she’d long ago realized that belying his casual manner, when he cared, he cared to the depths of his being. He cared about his friends. He cared about his wife, thank goodness. And much as he loathed admitting it, he cared about his mother.

The woman who had invited them to her Mayfair house this afternoon.

Genevieve had been surprised when Richard wrote to Augusta, the Dowager Lady Harmsworth, to inform her of his marriage. A week after he’d proposed, she and Richard had wed at Little Derrick by special license. Dr. Barrett had returned from Oxford to perform the ceremony.

The church had been packed with well-wishers. Sedgemoor and his sister Lydia with her husband. The Hillbrooks. The villagers, including George. Her aunt, who told everyone that she’d promoted the match from the first. Aunt Lucy now lived at Polliton Place in Norfolk, Richard’s family seat, where she flirted like a giddy girl with a handsome local squire.