To Distraction (Bastion Club 5)

“No!” She folded her arms, held his gaze. “I’m determined to say this—you have to listen.”

Her chin had set in that determinedly stubborn way Deverell now knew very well. He was too relieved, too overjoyed to deny her anything—even an unnecessary delay at a moment like this. Although it was difficult to remain three feet from her and not close the distance, inclining his head, he acquiesced, inviting her to continue.

With something very like a warning frown, she went on, “I didn’t know before, when I decided against marriage, what a marriage between people like us, you and me, might be like. I didn’t even know men like you existed—there aren’t that many of you around, you know. My views had been formed from what I knew then, what I knew of gentlemen then, and as you know that wasn’t favorable.”

She paused, her eyes on his, then simply said, “You changed my perceptions. You opened my eyes.”

He nearly moved, but her eyes—violet blue and intense, colored by her emotions—held him.

“Not because of who you are, but because of what you are—the sort of man you are.” Frowning, she tilted her head. “You’re different, unconventional—you don’t react as others would, as they do. Working with you, alongside you on the agency’s business, I saw that every day. More than anything else it was what you did, your actions, that simply wouldn’t let my preconceived notions stand. You forced me to rethink, to reform my views—so that you would fit, so that I could understand you.” Her lips quirked as she straightened her head. “There aren’t many who could have accomplished that.”

She glanced past him, around, then brought her gaze, direct, open and serious, back to his face. “We’re well matched here, in the bedchamber, but that alone would never have induced me to change my mind. But you and I, we’re well matched in all spheres—in our interest in the agency, in going about in the ton, in the way we deal with society in general. It’s as if our lives were created to be complementary—as if they were meant to interlock into one.

“But”—she drew in a long breath and raised her head—“there’s one truth that has to be stated, that’s at the heart of this, of me and you and what might be. What changed my mind about marriage—with you and only you—was that you always, in whatever sphere, allowed me to be me. Allowed me the freedom to be me. When I think of you, I don’t think ‘husband’—I think ‘partner.’ Our relationship isn’t, and could never be, that of a conventional husband and wife of our class—it’s been, from inception to now, something more akin to the notion of helpmates, a working partnership.”

Her eyes locked on his. “And that’s what I want—a partnership with you. For life. I believe it would be in both our best interests to marry, but I could never be a conventional wife—I know myself well enough to know that as truth and accept it. In the normal way of things, that would bar me from marriage—the usual sort of marriage among our class. However, with you…you’re strong enough, unconventional and different enough to accept a different role, a different relationship, to live it, make it work so that I can be your wife.”

She paused, then simply said, “The question is: Will you? Will you take my hand and be my partner in life?”

He held her gaze, saw the tension that held her, the emotion glinting in her eyes. Understood, now, why she’d insisted on speaking.

He stepped closer. “Give me your hand.”

She did. He closed his fingers around hers and drew in a deep breath.

In that instant knew that all he wanted and needed in life would be his.

When he hesitated, she shifted, with a hint of waspishness combined with uncertainty prodded, “Well?”

He smiled. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers. And spoke equally honestly. “I love you.”

She hadn’t said those words, but he didn’t care. She could dress her feelings in whatever guise she chose, whatever logical arguments, but he could see the truth shining in her eyes. Holding her gaze, he kissed her fingers again. “Beyond all recall, beyond distraction.”

He drew her nearer, bent his head, found her lips and covered them—drew her slowly, savoring every long-drawn second, into his arms, into a kiss that deepened and broadened and drew them both under.

She followed freely as always, without reservation. It would be so easy to accept all she offered and in return give her the simple “yes” she’d asked for…he drew her deeper into his arms, deeper into the kiss, for long moments let desire whirl while passion hovered in the wings…then with a sigh he drew back.

Breaking the kiss, he lifted his head. Looked down at her face as she blinked and struggled to refocus her eyes and her wits. Unwilling to release her, to forgo the feeling of her body supple and giving in his arms, the warmth of her against him, he waited patiently until she did, until he could hold her gaze and her attention.

“You have no idea,” he said, “how much I would prefer to simply say, ‘Yes, I’ll be your partner, in anything and everything ’til death us do part,’ to leave it at that and sweep you into my arms, into your bed and make love to you for the rest of the night—and thereafter for the rest of my life. I’d expected to have to convince you—it would be so easy to say yes and have done. But…” Holding her gaze, he drew in a breath. “That wouldn’t be fair—not to you, not to me, and most especially not to what’s come to be, to what’s grown between us.”

He paused, then went on, “You’re correct in saying that that isn’t the norm, the customary mild affection between husband and wife. That it’s something deeper and stronger, infinitely more demanding, commensurately more rewarding. That it’s something more, not less, and that we should embrace it, shield and honor it. In that vein…you spoke of the reasons why I need to wed, and you were right. But there’s another reason—the reason I have to marry you, and only you.”

Her eyes shone as if stars swam in them as she searched his face. “What?”

“I didn’t even realize, not until I met you—not until you focused my attention and drew me into your life—that what I was missing, had been missing since I resigned my commission, was a purpose in life, put simply, a reason for living.”

She frowned, trying to see. “What of your position, your estates?”

Smiling a touch ruefully, he shook his head. “My fortune and estates I manage with ease—too easily. They’re no challenge. The social obligations that I struggle to meet I see as an imposition—they’ll never engage me, never excite me.” He paused, then admitted, “Before I met you, I was restless, disengaged. In the way that matters most to a man like me, I had nothing to do. Nothing to engage my wits, nothing to challenge me. Nothing to build my life around, no commitment to set at its center.”

Raising a hand, he brushed a heavy lock back from her cheek, let his fingers lightly caress. “You’ve just offered me everything I need for a fulfilling life—a partnership with you. Yes, it’ll be different—novel, challenging, never dull. Just the agency itself holds boundless possibilities—combining our forces, we’ll be able to do much more while still keeping to your original, necessary, and wise charter. And that’s not even the half of what you’ve offered me. A family, a partnership, a marriage with a difference, an intriguing future. A new, challenging, unconventional commission I can accept and commit the rest of my life to.”

He looked into her eyes, violet-blue, shimmering. And quietly said, “If I understand anything, I understand that now—I need a purpose, and for that I need you.

“I need to be your husband, I need you as my wife—I need to have you at the center of my life. So yes, I accept your offer—I’ll be your partner in life. We’ll marry and make of our lives what we choose—husband and wife, partners and lovers.”

The words had come readily, although they felt like a surrender, not to her but to what held them, to what had grown and twined about them and now linked them beyond parting. What would always be there, in every glance, every touch.