Chapter Twenty-Seven A Proposal Comes with a Condition

Meanwhile, upstairs in Weston Hall

"I really wish I could remain in bed with you for the rest of my life."

Having drunk her chocolate and eaten a toast point, Helena regarded Michael with a grin. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you cannot," she said, giving him a nudge. "Eat some breakfast."

Michael groaned and sat up, accepting the plate she offered him. "I think we play well together."

"That's because we do," she agreed.

"Well, I like to think I'm playing for keeps. Have you given my proposal any thought?" he asked.

"I have," she replied, brushing a crumb from the corner of her lips. "And I have decided I will marry you—"

"Thank the gods!"

"—but not until after Amelia and Alfred are both settled."

Staring at her as if she had shot him with a dueling pistol, he looked as if he might fall backward in a dead faint. At least he was still on the bed.

"You needn't look so stricken," she gently scolded. "If it's any consolation, I expect we're going to be sharing a bed frequently between now and then. In fact, we'll have to, because I have every intention of having you do to me what you did to me earlier this morning as often as you're able."

The comment seemed to placate him somewhat. "I shall endeavor to do my best, my duchess," he replied. He ate some of his eggs, his attention on the bed linens covering the lower half of his body.

"Have I vexed you terribly?" she asked meekly.

"I was thinking of going to the archbishop's office today," he replied.

She inhaled softly. "So you were looking forward to a quick wedding."

"Tomorrow would not have been soon enough," he replied, his lip quirked. "But I shall be patient and in search of a bride for Weston," he went on. "Perhaps there is a young lady who can be bribed with a good deal of blunt—"

"Michael!" she scolded, threatening him with a pillow.

He chuckled softly before returning his attention to his meal. "I expect my son will try again today to ask Weston for his permission to marry Lady Amelia."

"Then let us hope Alfred's in a good mood after last night's ball," Helena replied. "I hardly saw him."

Michael gave her a pointed glance. "He was in the gardens with someone," he reminded her.

"Probably just to get some air," she countered. She sighed as she leaned back into the pillows. "Constance is going to be so thrilled to learn there was a marriage proposal in her gardens last night," she said, referring to the Marchioness of Reading and hostess of the prior night's ball. "I'm trying to decide when I'm going to tell her."

"You want to right now, don't you?" he accused.

She tittered. "For someone who hasn't spent a day in my company in so long a time, you know me too well," she admitted. "I won't go until later, of course. Besides, it's far too soon to be paying morning calls."

"Ring for your maid, my love. I'm going to dress and pay another call at Ewen and Ewen. That is, if you're amenable to a parure made with amethysts and emeralds?"

"You were supposed to surprise me," she countered, although her words suggested she was happy with the idea. "But this gives me an opportunity to have my modiste make me a violet gown, so there's that."

"You'll look amazing in violet," he murmured, his eyes darkening. "But not as beautiful as in what you're wearing right now."

"But I'm not wearing anything. Other than the bed linens," she argued.

"Exactly." He once again moved to get out of bed, but she stopped him with a touch to his shoulder. "What is it?"

Helena glanced over at him, her eyes rounding. "I have a better idea."

He paused and turned to regard her with a questioning glance. "Oh?"

She huffed. "You can stay for the rest of the morning," she offered.

Settling back onto the bed, he stared at her a time before he said, "Invitation accepted, my love."

A moment later, Helena gave a shriek as he suddenly pulled her onto his body. A second after that, he was kissing her senseless.

It was another hour before she allowed him out of the bed to dress.