“But Lady Eleanor sent you. How can I trust that you will be true to your word?”
The words twisted in his gut as though he’d been stabbed. Even after everything they had been through, she still didn’t trust him. How could he prove himself? What proof could he offer?
“Have I ever given you cause to doubt me? Have I ever deceived you in any way? I have kept every single promise I have ever made to you, Isabella. My heart is true. I swear on my home, on my family, on all that I hold dear that I will do right by you, no matter what it costs me with the duchess. You must trust me on this. My word is my bond.”
For a long moment, Isabella stared at him in silence. His future hung on a knife’s edge as he waited for her to pronounce his doom.
Then she whispered. “Then I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“What mistake?” Dare he hope?
“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone to Lord James. And it wouldn’t be too late for…” She trailed off.
“For what, Isabella?”
The seconds passed with agonizing slowness. Everything in his world sharpened to a point. The next words that passed her lips could either be his salvation or his eternal damnation.
“For happiness. For us. I could have spent the rest of my life with a man who truly cared—a man who was brave and kind and giving. And instead, I chose a man who sees me as nothing but a tool for his own ambition. How could I have been so blind?”
“Isabella, does this mean you care for me? That you want to be my wife in truth?” He needed to hear her state it plainly. Everything in him longed to go to her and hold her in his arms, but he held back, waiting for proof.
“Yes, Martin. I want to be your wife. You’ve won your wager. There is no one else I would rather spend the rest of my life with. I don’t know what we’ll do about Lord James, but I choose you.”
For a long moment, he couldn’t move, thunderstruck by this final confirmation of her affection. He’d pretended confidence from the very start, but he’d hardly dared believe this day wouldcome. But she’d spoken the words. He’d won his wager. Elation flooded him as he reached out.
She took a step toward him, arms outstretched, tentative hope written in every feature.
It was real. She was truly his, now and forever. He reached for her, desperate to fold her in his arms.
Grasping her hand, he pulled her up and kissed her deep and hard. Isabella was his, whatever might wait for them outside the door. He’d won her heart, and the rest of the world could burn to the ground for all he cared. This was what he’d been dreaming of ever since meeting her—this meeting of equals, igniting of passions.
The sweet taste of her drove him mad, as she crushed her body against his, hands clutching at his back, and kissed him back with every bit as much fervor as he gave. With every lick of her tongue, he fell harder for her. His heart was hers, utterly hers. He didn’t think he could fall more deeply in love than he already had, but each touch tethered him more tightly to her. They were inseparable now. He hardly knew where he ended, and she began. They were so lost in each other that there would be no untangling them.
The kiss began to spiral out of control. The desperate frenzy with which they consumed each other became too much. She was so soft and warm beneath his touch. The herbal scent of her hair drove him made as his fingers caressed her tresses. She tasted of sweetness and spice and boundless possibility. With her by his side, he was so much more. He’d never thought his life was incomplete, but her love filled a hole he never knew he had.
Her luscious body pressed against his and drove him to greater heights. He needed to be closer. Holding her in his arms wasn’t nearly enough. He needed her, all of her. Now.
But as he began kissing down her neck, there was a ragged cough from the bed, and they both froze. They had an audience. How could he have forgotten?
Both panting, they stepped away from each other. He thought about diving into the dark and icy sea after Pascal to calm his body and jolt his mind back into working order.
“My apologies, Lady Adelaide,” he said as soon as he was capable of speech.
From the bed, Adelaide laughed weakly and coughed again. “I’m happy for the two of you, though I was starting to wonder if I was going to need to dump that water on you both to bring you to your senses,” she said, pointing to the pitcher and basin on a small table across the room. “Right now, you two need to figure out how you’re going to handle Lord James. He won’t be so entertained by your newfound adoration.”
All too true, but Martin savored the challenge. He’d won his bride. And no one was ever going to take her away. If Lord James wanted to challenge him, he would fight to the very death for her favor.
“It’s too late. I’ve won. I won’t let him take you away from me. Not ever.”
But Isabella quailed. Worry creased her forehead, and her hands balled into fists. “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.”
Perhaps not, but Martin would not countenance any impediment to their union, now that her affection was certain. Let Lord James do his worst. Martin would never surrender his bride.
Chapter Twenty-One
“The earl isgoing to be furious.” Isabella closed her eyes and bit her lip. Lord James was not a forgiving man, and he was going to make her pay one way or another for reneging on their deal. Now that she had given in to her feelings for Martin, the perils to them both came crashing in, pushing away the initial elation of her surrender.
