Everyone who wanted to be seen was in Hyde Park. Generally Mick preferred to do his business in the shadows, but he recognized there were times when a man needed to step into the sunlight in order to be effective and gain what he wanted. This afternoon was one of those times.

Sitting astride his gelding gave him a clearer view, and it didn’t take him long to spy Lady Aslyn. He’d expected to find her amid a gaggle of females. Instead she appeared to be alone, except for the entourage of servants who had been accompanying her the day before. Not wanting to appear overly eager, he hadn’t joined her at the park yesterday. Seduction required subtlety and patience. Especially when the lady was supposedly enamored of another.

He didn’t cut a direct path to her, but instead meandered about, tipping his hat whenever any lord with whom he might have done business acknowledged him. The occurrences were few, but that would change once his place within high Society was recognized. Once his place was established, Fancy’s would be, as well. Ever since he’d learned at the age of fourteen that his mum was with child, he’d put all his efforts into protecting her and the babe. It was only then he’d fully understood the price Ettie Trewlove was paying to the landlord every Black Monday when she didn’t have enough coins for her weekly rent. If he’d been older or bigger or stronger, perhaps he could have protected her from the lecherous proprietor sooner, with his fists.

He damned well protected her now—­and the daughter to whom she’d given birth out of wedlock, in shame and in sin. When it came to children, the law required nothing of the man and everything of the woman. Ettie Trewlove had little to give except for her heart, but it was enough, enough for own daughter and the five unwanted children she’d taken under her wing. He owed his mum a price he could never repay, so he would make a proper place in the world for her daughter, her blood, even if it cost him his soul to do it.

He knew the moment Lady Aslyn spotted him. She stopped walking, tipped up her parasol slightly along with her chin and smiled softly as though she’d been kept indoors all day because of the rain—­and the sun had suddenly made an appearance.

Drawing his horse to a halt, he dismounted with ease, removed his hat and waited for a more public acknowledgment from her.

“Mr. Trewlove.”

“Lady Aslyn, what a pleasure it is to find you in the park this afternoon.”

“And you, sir. I thought I might have seen you yesterday.”

What a bold chit she was. He’d not expected the subtle reprimand. “I had business that kept me away.” He cast a furtive glance at the servants hovering nearby, all appearing to be ready to pounce if he made an untoward movement. He resettled his gaze on the lady. “But you occupied my thoughts.”

A lovely blush rose up her neck to encompass her face and make her cheeks more pronounced. He had the fleeting thought that he was looking forward to discovering if the flush began at her toes. And he would discover it. Before the month was done, he intended to have her in his bed. She would be to him whatever the woman who had given birth to him had been to his father—­and he’d throw the similarities into the duke’s face. Looking at her youth and innocence now, he refused to feel remorseful about the role she would play in his gaining satisfaction. He’d given the duke the opportunity to publicly recognize him, and the damned man had ignored each missive.

“Might we stroll together for a while?” he asked.

Her blush deepened, but she looked slightly uncomfortable as though uncertain where to go from here. She gave a barely perceptible nod. “I suppose there’s no harm in walking together for a few minutes.”

Guilt nagged at him. Was he a blackguard for using a girl who seemed far too innocent to be out alone among the wolves? He didn’t bother to offer his arm, because he wasn’t certain she’d take it, and he never took any action unless he was certain of the outcome. In a distant corner of his mind, an irritating thought nagged at him that he also hadn’t offered his arm because he’d be distracted by her touch. She had small hands, no doubt fragile and delicate. There’d never been anything gentle in his life. Everything he’d experienced had been hard, harsh and challenging. Even his bedding rituals had a rough, wild element to them. The women he took were strong, fierce, gave as good as they got. He couldn’t imagine Lady Aslyn on all fours acting the mare to his stallion.

Damnation. She wasn’t touching him, but simply gazing on her distracted him from his purpose. He walked with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, the reins held firmly as the gelding followed, providing an effectual barrier between the lady and her footmen who traipsed along behind. While he walked to her left, the two maids had taken up positions to her right, but they were keeping a respectful distance, allowing them a bit of privacy as long as they spoke quietly.

“Did you find a parasol for your sister?” Lady Aslyn asked, as she glanced askance at him.

“I did. A white lacy thing. She seemed to fancy it.”

“White goes with anything.”

Only then did he notice her pink parasol, resting against her right shoulder, was the same shade as her frock. She no doubt possessed a hundred of the blasted things, one for every outfit. She lived in a world where coins were taken for granted. While he was now in a position to be generous with his, he never forgot the price paid for each one.

Silence eased in around them. He supposed she was waiting for him to continue their discussion of ladies’ paraphernalia. Flirtation involved speaking of inconsequential things. If he had any hope at all of seducing her, he needed to move quickly before the duke or the earl realized his intentions.

“How many languages do you speak?” she asked, catching him off guard with the change in topic. Was she trying to discern where he’d been educated? The rookeries had been his classroom, poverty and vulnerability his harsh tutors. He’d learned their lessons well. They’d never again threaten to break him.

“The Queen’s English.” He could speak a few words of other languages, enough to communicate with laborers when needed, but mentioning them might put her in the mood to test him, and he wasn’t going to show himself lacking in any regard. Although he’d never seen the advantage to boasting. Better to keep one’s talents close to the vest. “You?”

“Five,” she said blithely. “English, of course. French. Handkerchief, fan and parasol.”

He stared at the impish smile she gave him. It transformed her face into rare beauty, something that went beyond the surface. He had no desire to be intrigued or mesmerized by her teasing—­no one dared tease him—­yet she seemed completely unaware of the danger he presented. “I beg your pardon? Handkerchief, fan, parasol?”

“Any lady of good breeding knows them. Did you not teach them to your sister when you gifted her with the parasol?”

“I am not a lady of good breeding.”

Her smile deepened, causing a strange sensation in his chest, something he’d experienced once when a large wooden crate had toppled onto him. It had been terribly unpleasant, then. It wasn’t so much so now, and yet he still found it difficult to breathe. “No, I suppose you’re not. Do you see that couple walking over there, the lady in the purple gown, the gent with the gray cravat? Her parasol rests against her left shoulder. She is displeased with him. He’s said something that upset her.”

“Perhaps it keeps the sun out of her eyes better on that side.”

She laughed lightly. “My dear sir, carrying a parasol has little to do with the sun.”

Dear sir? He was not her dear anything. He knew that, knew she didn’t understand the consequences of words spoken. Still the endearment left a strange longing that he did not wish to examine. He was thirty-­one, reaching the time in his life when it would be natural to take a wife, to have someone who called him dear. He’d never really contemplated that before, didn’t know why he was doing so now. She was not to be a permanent part of his life. She served a purpose, and when that purpose waned, he would release her. He wondered why he suddenly feared he might do so with regrets.

“Do you see the woman in blue who has folded up her parasol and is touching the handle to her lips?”

“The one who has wasted her coins by purchasing something designed to protect from the sun and is using it most ineffectually?”

“Depends on your definition of effectual, I suppose. She is signaling to the gent walking beside her that she would like to kiss him.”

“You’re bloody well putting me on, aren’t you?”

Her eyes widened at his sharp tone, or perhaps his profanity, but he hated little more than he hated being made a fool of. She shook her head. “No. Women aren’t allowed to speak their minds, to declare what they want so they have to do it through bits of frippery.”

Her voice was edged with a hardness he’d have not expected of her. He didn’t know why it pleased him to realize she had a bit of a temper, one that she no doubt controlled because of societal expectations. “And what is it you want to declare?”

She blinked slowly, stared at him. Suddenly laughed. “At this precise moment, I don’t know.”

“You never have to watch your words with me.” Which wasn’t fair, as he’d always be watchful of what he revealed to her. “My sisters always speak their mind.”

“And do what they want, I suppose. The sister who accompanied you the other night no doubt was allowed to stay at Cremorne Gardens after the riffraff arrived.”

“No, I strive to protect her from the less savory elements of London.”

“My apologies.” She sighed. “Sometimes I yearn to rebel against proper behavior.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Scandal would serve me no good. Lord Kipwick would be dismayed and disappointed in me.”

He found it difficult to believe anyone would ever be disappointed in her, that she had it within her to bring about censure—­on her own at least. With his assistance, she was going to find herself engulfed in improper behavior. She would disappoint. She would bring about censure. She would despise him. Regret began to well, and he shoved it aside. It could overwhelm him later, but not now, not while his plans were still in their infancy, before they’d come to fruition.

“Why is he not here?” he asked, working to keep his voice neutral, when in truth there was a small corner of his soul that was angry on her behalf, because unlike the myriad of other ladies, she was not being escorted by her swain.

“The park bores him no end.”

“But surely you do not. I would suffer through any dull activity to be at the side of a woman who interests me.” And she interested him, far more than she should have, far more than he wanted her to.

That blush again, accompanied by a fluttering of her eyelashes that he suspected had nothing at all to do with flirtation, but rather his words had taken her unawares, as she’d not considered the message a man’s absence might be communicating. While he’d given it a great deal of thought. If she didn’t mean as much to Kipwick as the gossip sheets hinted, then she was no longer a crucial part of his plan. For some unfathomable reason, he was more disappointed on her behalf than on his.

“It seems a lady would be most fortunate to have your attentions, then.” She averted her gaze, released a taut laugh. “It seems our couple with the closed parasol has secreted away.”

“Have you ever been secreted away?”

She snapped her gaze back to him. “Of course not. A lady in my position does not engage in such inappropriate behavior, but must act in a manner that ensures she stay above rumormongering.”

“Is there not some part of you, some deep dark part of you, that longs for scandal?”

He watched in fascination as the delicate muscles at her ivory throat worked while she swallowed. “Absolutely not.” There was little force behind the words. “I have delayed your enjoyment of the park long enough, I think.”

She was dismissing him. He should have taken offense. Instead he viewed it as a victory. He was getting to her, making her doubt Kipwick’s devotion. He wondered why he took no satisfaction in the knowledge.

“Indeed.” He bowed his head slightly. “I have a meeting with my solicitor regarding some new property I wish to obtain. He charges me double when I’m tardy.”

“Then I shan’t keep you.”

“One question before I go—­what does it signal when a lady rests her parasol on her right shoulder?” As she had done throughout their entire stroll.

“That she welcomes the gentleman speaking to her.”

“Quite innocent, then.”

“I suppose it depends upon what she welcomes him speaking to her about.”

He chuckled low. “I suppose it does at that.” He gave an elegant bow. “It has been my pleasure to spend a few minutes with you, Lady Aslyn. I do hope our paths will cross again.”

“I’m not certain that would be wise.”

“Sometimes a man gains more by being unwise.” Before she could respond, he mounted his horse, tipped his hat to her and took off at a gentle canter.

She was not as he’d expected. He did want to cross paths with her again, and it had little do with reprisal. The thought making him uncomfortable, he shifted in the saddle and spurred his horse on. If he were a smart man, he’d cast aside this part of his plan. But then he’d already admitted to finding profit in not always being wise.

“I heard you were seen strolling through Hyde Park with Trewlove yesterday afternoon.”

Aslyn stared up at her waltzing partner’s somber face. She’d never known Kip to look so serious. She’d arrived at the Collinsworth ball, maid in tow, respectfully late, expecting him to arrive even later. Instead he’d already been there. As soon as she’d greeted the host and hostess, he swept her onto the dance floor.

The inquisition began without his even asking how she’d fared since he’d last seen her. “It wasn’t arranged.” Exactly. “Our paths simply crossed, and he was gentlemanly enough to spare me a few moments.”

“He’s a bastard, Aslyn.”

Her mouth dropped open at the harsh word, delivered cuttingly, in a manner she knew he’d never say it to Mick Trewlove’s face. His voice held disapproval, disappointment, but also a measure of something she thought might be jealousy. “You indicated the other night during dinner his illegitimacy was only rumor.”

“Now I know it to be fact.”

With the knowledge, she should have thought less of Mick Trewlove, been horrified at the way she’d stared at his hands as he assisted her with her bracelet, been mortified by the gladness she’d felt as he escorted her in the park. Yet she seemed incapable of viewing him any differently. “Have you ceased your associations with him?”

Kip appeared decidedly uncomfortable, glancing around quickly as though fearful someone might overhear their conversation, while all along his terse expression was going to be cause for much gossip and speculation. “It will do your reputation no good to be seen speaking with him.”

“So if he approaches, what am I to do? Give him a cut?”

“Simply don’t acknowledge him. If you do not speak to him first, he cannot speak to you.”

“Did he strike you as someone who follows Society’s rules?”

“You cannot encourage him or give any indication that you overlook the circumstances of his birth.”

“That’s hardly fair. He’s done nothing to deserve my censure.”

“He was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

“How is that his fault?”

He released an exasperated sigh. “My parents would not be at all pleased to know you’d spoken with him. They made that perfectly clear the other night.”

“You were the one who brought him up during dinner after we both agreed we wouldn’t mention the encounter.”

His cheeks flamed red. “I didn’t mention the encounter, only the man. You are the one who is going to cause problems if you continue to associate with him.”

“I’m not associating with him. We merely spoke when our paths crossed in the park.” And near the shops. Not that she was going to mention that. It would only heighten his upset, which she was finding distressing enough, as he’d never been cross with her before.

“How did he know you’d be in the park?”

Having never seen him so blistering mad, she was feeling rather put upon. “How do you think? I sent him a missive and told him to meet me there.”

The anger that flashed in his eyes gave her pause, made her realize it might be best not to taunt him. But communicating with her fan left a great deal to be desired, and at the moment, she had a need to speak what was on her mind. She had the fleeting thought that Mick Trewlove would applaud her, and inappropriately, she took a measure of pleasure in that. “Honestly, Kip, you can’t think I encouraged him in any way.” Although she had, just a tad, when she’d mentioned the hour she usually strolled through the park. She did hope the heat rushing into her cheeks was not giving her away. She’d longed to do something she shouldn’t, to take a chance, a risk, and then Mick Trewlove had come along, dark, dangerous and tempting. Even though she’d never go beyond a stroll with him, she’d been flattered to know she appealed to someone other than Kip.

“It’s frightfully warm in here,” he said curtly. “Shall we take a turn about the gardens, allow the fresh air to cool our tempers?”

“This heated discussion seems to warrant it.”

With her hand on his arm, he escorted her out through the open doors onto the terrace and down the steps into the gardens. Lighted torches lining the paths revealed other couples walking about. She wondered how many ladies were holding folded fans to their lips, signaling they wanted a kiss. Would Kip accommodate her should she make use of her fan? She wished she possessed more courage, wasn’t hesitant to find out. Not that she was particularly in the mood for a kiss at the moment. They’d never before been out of sorts with each other, had never had a row. She didn’t much like it now, although in a strange way it made her feel very much alive, as though she’d gone through life in a trance, simply existing from one moment to the next.

“My meeting him was merely coincidence,” she admitted, wondering why she felt she had to be the first to offer an olive branch. “If you must know, he even asked after you, wondered why you weren’t in the park.”

“I was told you strolled with him for a considerable distance.”

“Nothing untoward happened.” She hated apologizing for something not her fault. “Have you people spying on me?”

“That’s the thing, Aslyn. Among our set everything is noticed and commented on. A couple of fellows mentioned it at the club, and not in a kind way. He’s not the sort with whom you should be seen consorting.”

“I wasn’t consorting. How many times must I say it? Besides, you seem to like him well enough.”

“A man is allowed to associate with whomever he wants. A woman cannot.”

“It was an innocent walk.”

“I simply find it odd that within the space of a few days, you’ve twice crossed paths with the man.”

He wouldn’t be at all pleased to discover there was a third time—­or a gift. “He was probably always about before. We just never noticed him because we’d never been introduced to him.”

“He doesn’t strike me as a man not noticed.”

“Are you jealous?” The hope-­filled words popped out before she could stop them.

“I simply don’t want him to take advantage of you.”

“We were in a park where an abundance of people were strolling about, and my servants were in attendance. I don’t see how that could happen.”

“If it were his intent, he would find a way.”

“You speak so poorly of him, and yet I thought you wanted to go into business with him.”

“I don’t trust him. At least where you’re concerned.” He laughed harshly. “Good God, perhaps I am jealous. Have I reason to be?”

“No.” At least she didn’t think so. A man like Mick Trewlove would never be accepted by the Duke and Duchess of Hedley. She wasn’t even certain he would have been welcomed by her parents. Kip was the sort a woman of her station married. It helped that he’d been her friend for so long. The fact that he didn’t create the strange stirrings within her that Mick Trewlove did was no doubt a good thing. A lady should at all times be calm, collected and in control of all her thoughts, putting errant ones to rest quickly. “I care for you deeply, Kip.”

“And I you.”

“Then why have you never kissed me?” She despised the surfacing doubts regarding his desire for her, hers for him. She was beginning to wish they’d never gone to Cremorne. Everything seemed to have changed that night: the way she viewed him, herself, their future.

“Out of respect. A man doesn’t dally with a woman he intends to marry.”

Her heart gave a little kick as she stopped walking and faced him. “That’s the first time you’ve made your intentions regarding me clear.”

“It’s always been implied. I thought you knew that.”

“Yes, but a lady likes to have the clarity. I’ve been extremely loyal, welcomed no other advances or interest. And I’m not getting any younger.”

“Neither am I, actually. My father pointed that out to me recently.” His deep sigh filled the night. “Shall we make it official, then?”

Stunned, she watched as he went down on one knee and took her hand. “I adore you, Lady Aslyn Hastings. Will you honor me by becoming my wife?”

The words ebbed and flowed around her, at once ghost-­like, yet solid. She wasn’t quite certain what she’d expected of a proposal. A declaration of undying love perhaps. Her heart pounding with an erratic rhythm. Birds taking flight. The sun replacing the moon. Stars shooting across the sky. She’d waited eons for this moment. It seemed it should be more profound, causing her knees to tremble and her lungs to cease functioning. Instead her body gave no reaction at all, as though his proposal had yet to penetrate.

“Aslyn?” he prompted. “I’d welcome a quick response as there’s a pebble digging into my knee most painfully.”

His words brought her back to the reality of the moment. Wasn’t a simple proposal more profound? Didn’t it speak to a more honest relationship that didn’t require fancy words or decorative phrases?

“Oh, yes! I’m sorry.” Covering her mouth with her hands, she laughed, striving to not become hysterical at what should have been an incredibly romantic moment. “Yes, yes, of course, I’ll marry you.”

“Marvelous.” He rose, dipped his head. She closed her eyes, waited—­

“Oh, my word! Kipwick, did we just see you down on bended knee?” a lady called out.

Her eyes flew open as Lady Lavinia and her escort, the Duke of Thornley, neared. Blast it all! She didn’t mind that they’d seen the proposal, but couldn’t the lady have held her tongue until after she’d been kissed?

“You did say yes, didn’t you, Lady Aslyn?” Lady Lavinia asked.

“Naturally.”

“I daresay it’s about time you two got on with things and at my family’s ball, no less. You will allow me to make the announcement once we return to the salon, won’t you? I won’t take no for an answer.”

Raising a brow, Kip looked at her. “I see no harm in that. We’re moving forward, after all.”

She felt her face grow warm. This was truly happening. The fanfare was about to begin, and once the announcement was made, there would be no turning back, no changing of minds for either of them. “Shouldn’t we wait until we’ve told your parents?”

Grinning, he tweaked her nose. “They know, silly girl. My father is your guardian, and I had to get his blessing first.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” When had that happened? Shouldn’t she have been consulted? No, it had always been assumed—­

“Congratulations, old chap,” Thornley said, holding out his hand. “Even if it did cost me five hundred pounds.”

He was no doubt referring to the stupid wager made at White’s regarding when Kip would ask for her hand. She felt distant, separated from herself as she watched her betrothed shake the duke’s hand. Now that the moment was actually here, it didn’t feel real.

“My luck is much better than yours,” Kip said. “I shall soon have the lovely Lady Aslyn as my wife.”

“Let’s go announce it, then,” Lady Lavinia said, “as I can hardly wait to make a splash.”

As she wound her arm around Aslyn’s and began leading her back to the house, Aslyn couldn’t help but think that this moment wasn’t about Lady Lavinia at all—­and yet the girl was going to make it so.

“I’m so excited for you,” Lady Lavinia said. “Kipwick is quite the catch. I know a few ladies who are going to be disappointed. Even though we all expected him to marry you, some were foolish enough to hold out hope.”

She wondered if any gentlemen had held out hope for her, if Mick Trewlove’s recent attentiveness had been more than kindness. What did it matter? She’d been traveling this path for most of her life. It was reassuring to see the destination on the horizon—­at long last. Still, it seemed she should have been experiencing a measure of excitement rather than simple relief.

“Oh my dear, we could not be happier,” the duchess said, as she enveloped Aslyn in a warm hug.

The duke and duchess had been waiting for them when they returned from the ball. She’d barely handed her wrap over to a footman before Kip announced that he’d proposed and she’d accepted. It was an announcement she’d been expecting for a long time, and yet it seemed odd having it associated with her.

“This calls for a drink,” the duke said, and she found herself whisked into the parlor where a decanter of brandy and four snifters were waiting on a low table.

They’d known the proposal was coming tonight. She shouldn’t have been surprised, as Kip had told her he’d spoken with the duke, and yet she couldn’t help but feel as though everything was moving far too quickly.

“Your parents would be delighted,” the duchess said while the duke poured the brandy.

“I’m sure they would.” Although she wasn’t sure at all. Her memories of them were faint and distant, and recently she’d found herself mourning their absence as much as she’d mourned the loss of her parents. She took the snifter the duke offered her.

He lifted his. “If you love each other half as much as Bella and I love each other, then you’ll be richer than most. To a long, happy and fruitful marriage.”

She felt her cheeks warming with the reference to fruitful. Children. They would have lots of children.

“Hear, hear!” Kip said, before tossing back a good portion of his drink, while she rather wished he’d claimed to love her more than his parents loved each other. She was horrid to want some reassurance regarding the strength of his feelings for her.

She took a sip, not understanding all these doubts suddenly plaguing her.

The duchess sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit, tell me everything. Where did it happen?”

Aslyn eased herself down. “In the gardens.”

“How romantic.”

It should have been, yes, but in retrospect it hadn’t, not really. “I was quite taken by surprise.”

“Surely you knew my intentions,” Kip said.

“Yes, but I wasn’t certain when you might ask.”

“Now we have a wedding to plan,” the duchess said. “I suppose we should have an engagement ball. Here. At Hedley Hall.”

She could see the anxiety in her guardian’s face. “Perhaps a dinner. A small one. Intimate.”

“I like that idea,” Kip said, smiling warmly at her as though he recognized she was striving to spare his mother worry.

“Yes,” the duchess said. “We’ll discuss the particulars tomorrow. When would you like the wedding to take place?”

“We haven’t really discussed it,” Aslyn said.

“I’ll leave it to you ladies to work out the details,” Kip said. “I must away.”

In disbelief, disappointment and ire, Aslyn stared at him. “You’re leaving?”

“I must make the most of the bachelor days that remain to me.”

“You can stay longer,” the duke said.

“No,” Aslyn said, suddenly in want of time alone, to ponder her feelings, to what she had agreed, to wonder why there was not a livelier air of celebration. Because it had all been expected? Because there had been no anticipation? “It’s quite all right. I’m actually rather exhausted from all the excitement and merrymaking that took place at the ball once Lady Lavinia announced my good fortune. However, I shall walk you out.” And have a word in private. Setting aside her snifter, she rose and took the arm he offered.

Once they were outside on the steps, with the door closed behind them, she took a deep breath, released it slowly. “Do you really wish to marry me?”

“I’d have not proposed otherwise.”

She studied the face she’d loved for years, searching for the truth, for something more. “You haven’t even kissed me.”

“I suppose I’ve spent so many years keeping my desire for you tamped down and on a short leash that it’s become a habit.”

She hated that his words gave her such hope, that words were needed to give her any hope at all. Shouldn’t love communicate in other ways? “You desire me?”

“Without a doubt.” He cradled her cheek with one bare hand. When they’d arrived home, he’d removed his gloves, had yet to put them on. His skin was smooth, his palm without calluses. Warmth radiated from his fingertips, but no heat. “Aslyn, I intend to do right by you.”

“Would a kiss be wrong, then?”

He grinned, glanced back over his shoulder to the windows. “I don’t think anyone is watching.”

But if they were, what would it matter now? They were betrothed. He could compromise her all he wanted, and the outcome for their futures would not change.

He lowered his lips to hers. Her eyes slid closed at the warmth, the gentleness, the way his mouth moved softly over hers. Slowly he drew back. “I shan’t sleep tonight, thinking of you.”

“You shan’t sleep because you’ll be up to no good.”

He flashed a grin. “I have an appointment with cards. Not another lady. Know this, Aslyn, for me there is no other lady.”

Her heart tightened, tears pricked her eyes. “You’ve always been the one for me, Kip.”

“Don’t set a date that’s too far off.” With that he tweaked her nose, before dashing down the steps.

The man certainly knew how to ruin a romantic moment, but then he’d tweaked her nose ever since she was a girl. There was a familiarity and a lovingness to it. But she feared the gesture was more appropriately directed toward a younger sister, not a wife, not a lady a man wished to bed.

They were to marry, and yet she felt like a child playing at pretend, not a woman anticipating the days—­and nights—­to come with relish. She’d been brought up to always feel calm and steady, but at that moment she desired only to feel more.