Chapter Seven

T hat voice was painfully familiar. Caroline looked up to see the duke looming over her, handsome and dashing as ever. And so painfully beyond her reach that she wanted nothing more than to give in to her tears. But then the strangest thing happened. He stepped into the alcove with her and settled himself on the floor against the opposite wall, apparently quite content to simply remain in her company.

"You're a very talented artist, Miss Davies. But I fear you have not had the time to devote to your craft that you should have. Having seen your work, I must say your skills are impressive."

He'd seen her work. The blasted sketch that had caused her such stress had been in his possession all along. For a while, that particular worry had been pushed from her mind by the ugly exchange with her aunt. That the woman would push her to accept a dishonorable offer had stung. She certainly hadn't assumed that her aunt had any fondness for her, but had some degree of family loyalty really been too much to hope for?

"If your desire was to humiliate me, then you have succeeded, Your Grace. There is no need for you to continue suffering my company," she replied softly.

"I do not suffer your company, Miss Davies. I seek it. I sought it this afternoon... and you ran from me. Am I really so frightening?"

Yes. Yes, he was. The idea that she might humiliate herself in front of him when her regard for him was so very high was intolerable. "Why do you seek my company?"

"Because you are lovely. Because you are not silly and obsessed with society and dresses and all the nonsense that the ton seems to focus on. Because when you look at me, Miss Davies, I cannot tell if you love me or hate me. But I know that you are not indifferent to me, regardless of how you may try to appear so. Most importantly, Miss Davies, I think your reactions and your feelings toward me are for me and me alone... independent of my title."

"I cannot withstand the disgrace of another improper offer in the span of a day, Your Grace. I beg you not to," she whispered.

"And if I mean to make you a proper offer, Miss Davies?"

Caroline's head came up and she stared at him in shock. "A proper offer?"

"Yes. I'd like very much, Miss Caroline Davies, to ask you to be my duchess."

*

Antony watched her closely. Even in the dimly lit alcove, her expression of incredulity was impossible to mistake. It pained him to think that her life had been such that a man offering for her seemed so shocking. "Do not leave me in suspense, Miss Davies. Will you marry me?"

"Why?"

Antony considered his answer carefully. "I can offer you security. You will never again be treated as a poor relation, relegated to the position of little better than a servant. You will never again have to tolerate the absurd arrogance of Sir Percival."

"You mistake me, Your Grace. I wasn't asking why I should marry you, but rather why you would ever wish to marry me."

He laughed softly, his lips remaining curved in a smile as he answered her. "For the only reason a man ever ought to ask a woman to marry him—because I love you, Miss Caroline Davies. And if you'll have me, I will spend a lifetime proving that to you."

"It's my birthday," she said. "And I have nothing left to wish for because you have just given me everything I have ever wanted."

He leaned forward, pushing himself up with the palms of his hands flat against the floor until his face was only inches from hers. Then he hesitated for just a second, long enough for her to protest if she wished to. But that was the very last thing Caroline wanted. So she pressed her own hands against the floor and pushed herself forward until their lips brushed—softly at first, and then the contact became more insistent. It was infused with so many things: longing, desire, tenderness and also hope... hope for a long and happy future together.