“That’s it then.”

Burke reached across his desk for the statement Spencer had just completed. He glanced it over as if it were nothing but a tailor’s bill and set it to the side of his desk. “That’ll do.”

Spencer grimaced. “I only hope White never sees the outside of a prison.”

Burke’s smile was more rueful than genuine. “I’m counting on the old earl turning his back. Murder and extortion won’t be easy to sweep aside.”

“We can hope.” Spencer rose from his seat, eager to put the station and everything else associated with the past few weeks behind him as quickly as possible.

“Crane, wait. So that’s it then?” Burke’s question stopped him before he reached the door.

The detective pushed himself away from his desk and flung his arms wide. “With Miss Sweet, that’s it? You’re going to take no for an answer?”

Spencer opened his mouth, but found he had nothing to say. He shook his head miserably.

The inspector looked disgusted. “I hope I never let a woman that brilliant slip through my fingers. Not without a fight.”

“The lady made her thoughts clear.” Spencer closed his eyes against the memory. “She agrees we don’t suit.”

Burke tapped a finger on the desktop. “That doesn’t sound like a proposal. Did you ask her? Did you come straight out with it and ask for her hand?”

Spencer studied the tips of his shoes. “I can’t be sure.”

“You can’t be…? What the hell does that mean, man?”

“It was all a bit fuzzy, what with the gas and the headache.” Spencer touched the welt above his ear and winced. “It’s possible I didn’t ask… as such.”

Burke slammed his hands down on the desk and jumped up, startling him. “Christ in a cart, man, let’s get to it then.”

“Get to?”

“Proposing.”

The detective grabbed his coat off the rack behind him and shrugged into it. “Lord, you’re thicker than I expected. Seems to me the lady should at least have the pleasure of turning down a proper proposal.”

His mind blank, Spencer watched Burke gather his badge and his wallet. Perhaps she did. And perhaps, in the light of day, if she realized he was serious, she might, possibly, maybe, accept his offer. The idea energized him, dissolving the sluggish fog he’d been trapped in since his sleepless night.

Giving it one more chance didn’t seem so futile.

Still, Burke’s sudden burst of activity had him puzzled. “Where are you off to?”

Burke rolled his eyes. “I’m taking you to the Sweets. I can’t very well loan you a police carriage.”

Before Spencer could form an intelligent response, the inspector had him out of the station, and bundled into a coach, a uniformed constable driving them through mid-morning traffic toward Pimlico.

They arrived more quickly than Spencer had been prepared for. Several slow miles through the congested streets, and he had yet to decide what to say. Not that it mattered. She’d made her thoughts quite clear last night, hadn’t she? But then Burke put a different spin on things, made him wonder if he’d gotten it all wrong.

Could it be that blasted simple? Could he still convince her he was utterly, completely, inescapably in love with her?

Maybe. Possibly.

But not without broaching the subject that lay at their feet like a stinking pile of garbage. If he didn’t kick it over, she’d never accept him. He realized that now.

By the time the carriage stopped, he’d resolved to do his best. Burke was right. She was worth it. She was worth any amount of work it might take to convince her.

“Here you go.” Burke practically shoved him out door. “Best of luck.”

The coach rolled off.

He stared up at the house front, marveling at how such a staid, nondescript home could hide such a raucous group of individuals. Raucous and riotous as they might be, Meena was the glue. The steadying force for the lot of them. Himself included.

He wiggled his shoulders and circled his head, trying to calm the butterflies flapping about in his stomach. Once he realized he couldn’t stand about on the pavement all day, he tucked his shirt into his trousers, straightened his collar and tie, and plucked at his jacket so it hung neatly from his shoulders.

None of which made him any less afraid.

His heart pounding wildly in his chest, he strode to the door and knocked, perhaps more forcefully than was strictly necessary.

Hapgood swung open the door. When he saw Spencer, his gray eyebrows rose to his hairline. His mouth turned down in a deep frown that made Spencer’s stomach plummet toward his feet.

Gaze firmly over the houseman’s shoulder, he shuffled from foot to foot, unsure whether to enter.

A low growl rumbled in the older man’s chest. He waved Spencer inside. “Was hoping one of you ninnies would get it right.”

Spencer tugged at the hem of his jacket. “Yes, well. I thought I might—”

The older man sighed, cutting off his fumbling explanation. “You are going to ask her, aren’t you? If not, I’m slamming this door straight in your face.” He squared his shoulders and pinned Spencer in place with a piercing glare. “But not before I knock you down those stairs, boy.”

“I am going to ask her. Most definitely. Yes.”

Hapgood grinned and stood aside. “Well get on up there and do it, then.” He gestured up towards Meena’s room. “The two of you’ve wasted enough time. Silly gits.”

Spencer swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as dust. Having her trusted factotum urge him on had to be a good sign, didn’t it? The thought injected new strength into his legs, and he strode quickly toward the stairway.

As his hand hit the banister, Mrs. Hapgood rushed out of the parlor. She covered his hand with her own and squeezed. “Don’t you take no for an answer. She doesn’t always know what’s good for her, that one. Stubborn as hammered brass. There’s no doubt she fancies you. You remember that.”

A different sort of fog began to settle over him. Not exhaustion, or despair, but a strange spell crafted by so much enthusiasm. How was it everyone but he and Meena thought this all so simple?

Still cogitating, Spencer nodded his thanks and started up the stairs.

“Crane, a moment.”

Spencer cringed. Sweet’s deep voice slashed through the hopeful fog. He stiffened, waiting for her cousin to carve out his pound of flesh.

Covered in plaster dust, with his hair sticking out in all directions, Sweet glared up at him. “Good luck.” He nodded solemnly and turned on his heel.

Spencer swayed on the step. Sweet’s approval all but knocked him off his feet. Wasn’t it just a few days past the man had threatened to knock his head off? Obviously, his read on the entire extended family had been gravely wrong.

Still, Sweet’s tacit permission did nothing to dampen the anxiety making his heart pound harder with every step upward. This was it. Really and truly it.

He climbed the last few steps to the landing and stopped in front of her door, hands balled into fists at his sides. Raising his arm to knock required an act of super human strength.

He clenched his fists and prepared for battle. He’d leave this house riding on the clouds, or swimming in despair.

Either way, he’d leave a different man.

* * *

Sunlight, clear, clean, placid sunlight streaming in from a crack between the drapes woke her. She yawned and stretched beneath the crisp sheets. A night of dreamless sleep had refreshed her body. Not so her mind. Grief, still hot and sharp and heavy weighed her spirit down.

It would for a long, long time.

She sank back into the pillows, wondering if she could skip today. Maybe tomorrow, and the next day as well. Couldn’t she stay in bed—ignore the world—until the sharpest of the pain passed?

A soft wrap at the door delivered the answer. Obviously, the universe disapproved.

“Are you decent?”

Meena shot straight up. That voice. That deep, devilish voice that made her body pulse in the most wicked of ways. It couldn’t be.

She thrust her fingers into her tangled hair. If that didn’t tear it. Now she was going insane, like the worst of Caldwell Nance’s heroines. Her mind was breaking apart along with her heart.

Another soft rap. “Meena? May I come in?”

She clenched her jaw and pulled the covers up to her chin. Much as she wished it to be so, Spencer Crane was not standing outside her bedroom door. Hoping to put paid to the illusion, she flew out of bed, stalked across the room, and yanked the door open.

He was not—

Meena let go of the door handle and rocked back on her heels. He was. Spencer was standing in her doorway. Her mouth agape, she stared up at him.

Simply stared.

Oh, she’d pay for the sight later, but now she intended to feast her eyes on his wide chest, his slim hips, his ever-so-kissable lips. Only his expression was new. She’d never seen him look so guarded. So unconfident.

“May I come in?”

His request snapped her back to reality. She stepped aside, arms moving to cover her body as she realized she was in nothing but a thin summer nightgown. “This is highly inappropriate.”

A devilish smile replaced guarded diffidence. “We’re long past inappropriate, aren’t we?”

That grin sparked memories of just exactly how inappropriate they’d been. Meena’s cheeks flamed.

His eyes were hooded, giving nothing away. “I need to talk to you. Just talk. I swear.”

Meena crossed her arms over her chest. “No charming.”

He hung his head, like a schoolboy being chastised. “No charming.”

“No grinning. No laughing.” She ticked the requirements off on her fingers. “No touching. Absolutely no touching.”

Spencer lifted his head. A spark of humor shown in his eyes, bringing the greener tones to bear, but his expression remained solemn. He pressed a hand to his heart. “Agreed.”

Leaving the door ajar, she turned back to her bed. “Come in then.” She sank down on the mattress, curling up her legs and crossing her arms over them, as if she could fold herself into a comforting ball.

For his part, Spencer remained standing. He strode across to the window and stared out.

She waited, trying to tamp down the small spark of hope flickering deep in her heart. What else could they possibly have to discuss? Certainly nothing so important he needed to invade her bedroom.

He ran a finger along the window frame as if fascinated with the enameled wood. “I’ve never apologized to you. Never told you how sorry I am that I—” He stopped, his head bowing. “That I bedded that actress.”

His shoulders rose, then slumped as he sighed. “I won’t insult you by saying it meant nothing.”

Meena froze. Every muscle tensed until she felt like her limbs were made of stone. She wondered if she were going to fly straight out of her body.

This was not what she’d expected. So he’d been in love with that woman all this time? Why in God’s name was he torturing her with it now?

He swung toward her. The anguish on his face warned her how hard his next words would be to hear.

She braced herself—as much as she was able—for the coming pain.

“I bedded that woman because I was frightened. Terrified. Out of my mind with fear.”

“Of?” Meena could barely get the word past her frozen lips.

“Of you. Of us.” He screwed his eyes shut, obviously trying to capture the words that were escaping him.

When he looked up, captured her gaze, it made her heart do an odd little lift, as if hope were poking at her, prodding her to listen. “I was terrified I wasn’t good enough for you, so I made damned sure I wasn’t.”

Mouth wide, he shrugged. “I know it makes no sense. I just thought you deserved an explanation. An apology.” He lifted his hand, then let it slap down against his thigh. “It wasn’t you. It was never about you. My lapse—my… dishonorable choices—were about my own inadequacies.”

Once his words penetrated her numb brain, once she realized he wasn’t trying to tear apart her soul, Meena relaxed. She wrapped her arms more tightly around her legs and dug her chin into her knee, rocking gently back and forth. His logic made a strange kind of sense, the kind of sense that came from the heart, not the head.

A kind of sense she’d never considered in her quest to keep the world firmly black and white.

He’d turned back to the window, allowing her time to let his words sink in. Time to fashion the words to thrash him with.

But she didn’t wish to attack.

When she searched her soul, she realized she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t hurt or resentful or bitter. She, too, was sorry.

She plucked at the coverlet. “I played my part as well.”

At her words, his head lifted. He waited, his body still.

“I was sure you were going to stray.” She shrugged. “I believed that’s what men did. What men do. I convinced myself you were going to stray the minute we became engaged.” She laughed bitterly. “It’s poorly done of me, but whether you strayed or not, I would have believed you guilty.”

It seemed forever before Spencer turned back toward her. The hope, written so clearly on his face, fanned that dying spark straight into an open flame.

Meena caught her breath, trying to tamp down the hope, trying to hold onto reason. Perhaps all he’d wanted was absolution.

No sense flinging herself off a cliff before she was certain what lay below.

Spencer balled his fingers into fists and strode toward her. He knelt at her feet and took her hands in his. His fingers were stiff and cold. And trembling.

That, more than anything, made her heart soar.

He looked her in the eye. “It’s been pointed out that I did this rather poorly last night.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I’d like to have another go.” He cleared his throat.

Meena watched his chest rise and fall as he took a long, deep breath. “I know we don’t…”

He shook his head and squeezed her fingers tight. Then he nodded, as if to himself. “I know you don’t believe we suit, but I say, being suitable has nothing whatsoever—”

“Yes,” she cut in, and pulled his hands to her chest, wanting him to feel the love, the hope, pounding in her heart.

“Yes?”

“You are asking me to marry you, aren’t you, Mr. Crane?”

“Yes. Most assuredly, yes.”

He rose over her, pressing her back into the mattress until his hips were cradled between her thighs. And then he kissed her. A soft, sweet, tender kiss that promised his heart.

His whole, unguarded heart.

“Blazing hell,” he whispered between kisses. “Yes.”