“I’m finished, miss. What do you think?” Alice smiled at her, and Lydia looked into the mirror. Her maid had fixed her hair in a twisted arrangement with tiny yellow and green flowers woven throughout.
“It looks lovely, Alice. Thank you so much.” She stood and pulled on her white gloves and took one more look in the mirror. Yes, she looked fine enough to meet with her fiancé. She almost giggled like a young girl and immediately stopped herself.
She had no intention of being anything but the Lydia she’d always been. The Lydia Dante had known. Strong, intelligent, decisive, and most of all, not one to have her head turned by a handsome man.
Dante and marriage would not change that. Holding her head up, she left the room and made her way to the floor below to the drawing room. Once there, and realizing she hadn’t yet broken her fast, she rang for tea to be sent up.
She had nibbled on toast and was on her second cup of tea when the drawing room door was opened by one of the footmen and Dante entered.
Her heart immediately began to pound. He looked wonderful. His handsome face held a slight smile, and the look in his eyes as he studied her added a swarm of butterflies to her stomach.
“Miss Sanford.” He bowed, then pushed back the hair that was perpetually falling forward.
She held her hand out. “Mr. Rose.”
He took the steps to her slowly and deliberately. Her mouth went dry, and she ordered her heart to slow down, lest she swoon. She now faced a different Dante. Not the rake, not her partner in spying, not the man who turned her insides to mush. This man looked serious and in a small way, determined. “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you, as well.” She cleared her throat, hoping the words would come out without embarrassing herself. “Have you met with my father?”
He remained standing. “I have.”
Before she could say anything else, he dropped to one knee and took her hand in his. “Last night was a debacle, sweetheart. Now I want to do this properly. I had never expected to be in this position, so I might do this all wrong.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Miss Sanford, will you grant me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She never expected this. She assumed with him making the announcement to all and sundry the night before and then pretty much ordering her to marry him, that this part was over. One more surprise from Mr. Dante Rose.
She reached out and cupped his cheek. “Yes, Mr. Rose. I will marry you.”
With one quick tug, he pulled her down to the floor next to him and whipped out a beautiful diamond and sapphire ring from his pocket. She couldn’t help but laugh at his antics as he placed it on her finger. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her in such a way that all she could think about was their upcoming wedding night.
“I thought a special license was supposed to grant you the right to marry early,” Dante groused as he sat in Hunt’s library sipping on a brandy.
“Stop complaining. Only one more day.”
“And one more night,” Dante said and scowled. “What I don’t understand is why your wife is shielding Lydia like she’s some sort of Buckingham Palace guard. Lydia and I haven’t had a minute alone all week.”
Hunt grinned. “Feeling a bit frustrated, little brother?” He stood and added more brandy to both of the crystal glass snifters they held.
“More than a little.”
It had been two weeks since he and Lydia had been plunged into disgrace by the guardians of virtue of the Beau Monde. He’d spoken with her father the next morning, received the special license the day after, and then Diana and Amelia, Driscoll’s wife, had descended upon him, swept Lydia away and began wedding preparations.
He’d only seen his fiancée in passing since then. Hunt and Diana had insisted on hosting the wedding breakfast and declared Dante was to give up his bachelor flat and move in with them while he looked for a decent place to bring his bride.
He was certain they were afraid he would sneak Lydia into his place and anticipate the vows as so many young couples did.
If only.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, brother, but if memory serves, weren’t you and your wife caught in a compromising situation that required a hasty wedding on your part?”
Looking both lofty and guilty at the same time—no easy feat—Hunt said, “That was a different matter.”
Dante grinned at the pompous arse’s discomfort. “And how is that?”
“It doesn’t factor since we are speaking of your wedding.” Hunt took a swallow of his brandy. “Do you love the girl, Dante?”
That brought him up short.
Did he love her? He desired her, most definitely. Did he like her? Yes. Did he enjoy her company? Few other people kept him as interested as Lydia did. But love? That meant an entirely different sort of commitment. One could marry and enjoy the pleasures of the marital bed, raise children and grow old, but love to him was something frightening. That would mean he’d have to admit to himself that there was one person in his life he could not get on without.