“Isabella, youshapemy life.” He rested his forehead against hers.
“Well then… I think, Mr. Rowan Trent, that we should marry.”
He caught her up and spun her around, his face defined by a wild grin and glowing green eyes. Her laugh echoed off the roof, and when her feet hit the floor, the room still spun.
Until his lips met hers. Then the world steadied, clarified, shrank to two. Isabella. Rowan. A man and woman draped in stained light and kissing as if lips and fingers and teeth could tether souls like needle and thread.
He broke the kiss with a parted mouth, his tongue roving over his top teeth. Then, shaking himself a bit, he linked his arm through hers and drew her out onto the street. “Shall we return here in a month’s time?”
He would give her what she wanted, what she’d thought she’d wanted. A fairytale match with the golden prince celebrated by the entireton. Odd how living life fully could change what the heartdesired. The desires of others, whispered low and in secret, no longer held sway.
“No.” She leaned her head on his arm as they set their steps toward her brother’s house. “I think, perhaps, something more private. An elopement sounds interesting, don’t you think? We could stop by each inn and decide which you wish to procure. On our way to Gretna Green.”
“Enticing, certainly, but what about your family? We could have a small wedding here,thenenjoy a tour of the inns of the Great North Road.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles.
It sounded perfect. “But if we are married before we travel, then I cannot pretend to be Mrs. Trent. I play that role terribly well, after all.”
“Which is why I want that title to be yours in truth.” He stopped and took her shoulders, looked at her with such sincerity that her legs almost buckled. “It matters not where we marry or how many people witness it. I do not care if I particularly like those people. I want you to be happy. I will dance at Almack’s if they let me in. I will walk in Hyde Park every day. I will suffer any number of family events… if you keep me. If you love me.”
She broke the hold he had on her shoulders slowly, finding the perfect words and the perfect order to put them in. She’d hooked her arm back through his, and they’d walked together several more paces before everything finally clicked into place.
She threaded their fingers together. “I love you, Rowan. In my heart, I am already Mrs. Trent. And I have been for quite some time.”
He kissed her on the street, in the full bright light of day until her legs gave out again. He’d always had a way of making her float. And when he walked with her into the sitting room where her family and closest friends gathered—Imogen radiant at the center of it all—he seemed to fit there, too.
Thurston popped up and pointed at them from across the room. “Im, they’re beaming!”
With a grin, Imogen pulled her new husband back down beside her. “Do you think they have happy news to share?”
Isabella peeked at Rowan. Would he run and hide?
No. The corner of his mouth popped up with the corresponding eyebrow, and he held himself tall and proud. “You’ll be happy to know that I have courted this lady with the utmost of care.”
“And?” Samuel demanded.
“And I have agreed to marry him.” Isabella barely finished the words before a swarming crowd of arms and cheers cut her off from Rowan. The men smacked his back and shook his hand, and the women hugged Isabella, kissed her cheeks.
When all the rest had fallen away to enjoy cake and champagne and boisterous conversation, Samuel remained, Admiral and Mrs. Garrison beside him.
“I am happy for you,” Samuel said. He took Isabella’s hands. “Can you see it? Your future stretching out before you clearly?”
“Not entirely. There’s no way of knowing what will come. But what I do see clearly is the man who’s by my side.”
Samuel hugged her, squeezed her, whispered in her ear, “Be happy, Sister.”
“You, too, Brother.”
He released her, something bittersweet in the lines of his face as he slipped away. But she had no time to consider it because the admiral and Mrs. Garrison were standing before them. Time to stand up straighter, to smooth skirts, and pay attention. Because that’s what one did with—
“Oh!” Isabella cried. “What is wrong?”
“Are you crying?” Rowan asked.
The admiral sniffled, wiped his eyes. “Naturally I am, boy. What else is a man supposed to do when he sees the son of his heart happy?”
Mrs. Garrison patted his arm. “You can cry all you like later at home. For now, remember your courage, dear.”
The admiral sniffled again, stood up straighter. “Just so, love, just so.” He crushed Rowan in a hug, then embraced Isabella so gingerly she almost could not feel it.
