“Speaking as the older brother you’ve just challenged to seize and secure his most-desired future, what of you?” When she looked up, Phillip caught her eyes and arched his brows again. “Are you set on seizing and securing your most-desired future, too?”
Addie allowed her answering smile to fill her face and eyes. “I am. Rest assured, brother mine, I intend to do just that.”
* * *
Emboldened by her exchange with Phillip, after dinner, Addie inveigled Nicholas into walking in the gardens with her.
“I’ve yet to investigate the rose garden.” With her arm twined with his, she nodded toward the walled garden on the far side of the lawn across which they were strolling.
They reached the archway in the gray-stone wall and walked on along a flagstone path that ran down the middle of the garden to end in a small alcove. Built into the rear wall, the alcove hosted a stone bench with a seat cushioned by a thick layer of creeping thyme.
The sun had just set, and the light had softened into a rose-gold twilight. The evening air was balmy and heavily perfumed, scented by the profusion of roses bobbing on long canes. The beds were thick with bushes and blooms, the denseness creating the ambiance of a secret place cut off from the rest of the world.
As they approached the alcove, Addie reviewed what she wanted to say. There weren’t any more questions she felt compelled to ask. No pertinent facts she didn’t know or couldn’t, with confidence, guess.
They’d achieved what might be referred to as a complete understanding.
Buoyed by that thought, on reaching the space before the alcove, she halted, drew her arm from Nicholas’s, and swung to face him. Eagerly, she took his hands in hers and, smiling delightedly up at him, asked, “Nicholas Cynster, will you marry me?”
He stared at her for a second, then laughed. As his laughter faded, still smiling hugely, he looked into her eyes. “Is this Miss Flibbertigibbet?”
“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “This is just me.”
His features softened, and his eyes held all the love she could desire. “In that case…” He turned his hands in hers, wrapping his fingers about hers, and went down on one knee before her. Looking into her eyes, his unwavering gaze locked with hers, he said, “I had assumed that I ought to wait and speak to your father first, but of course, I should have known that the usual path wouldn’t be the one you would choose to follow. So here we are.” He paused, then, his voice deeper, went on, “Adriana Sommerville, you are the lady I want as my wife. I’ll gladly marry you if you will consent to marry me.”
She laughed, then tugged him to his feet and went into his arms.
Their lips, curved with laughter, met, and joyful and eager, their mouths merged, and passion, that familiar sweet rush, rose, sank in, and took hold.
She raised her hands and framed his face and held him to the soul-searing kiss. Between them, some barrier had fallen. Was it because they’d finally declared themselves out aloud, in words? She didn’t know, yet the connection that had always been between them, that had grown and swelled with every kiss, every caress, with every shared interaction, had solidified into a force so powerful, she knew it would link them, now and forever.
Determined to seize all she offered, Nicholas tightened his arms about her. “To have and to hold” was the Cynster motto, and with her in his arms, he felt the full meaning of that maxim resonate inside him.
The kiss, full of passion and laden with desire, spun out and on. The promise inherent within the exchange welled and drove them. Lured them to seize the moment and make that promise real.
The compulsion mounted, but…
He raised his head and, on a gasp, said, “Let’s get back to the house.”
To a room, his or hers. To a bed.
Her lids rose, revealing brilliant blue eyes overflowing with giddy delight. Then she smiled exuberantly, stepped free of his arms, and seized his hand. “Yes. Let’s.”
Laughing anew, he joined her in hurrying—almost running—to the house. They slipped through the open French doors into the thankfully deserted library, paused to share another scorching kiss in the middle of the room, then she broke away and tore for the door, dragging him with her.
Feeling giddy—as giddy as she seemed to be, as effervescent with happiness—he was by her side as, holding their breaths, they crept into the hall. Avoiding the drawing room with its open door and the sounds of conversation emanating from within, they rounded the newel post and quickly, silently, hurried up the stairs.
“Your room,” Addie whispered and headed in that direction.
He wasn’t about to argue. When they reached the end of the corridor, he set the door swinging wide and swept her inside.
Following on her heels, he barely had time to shut the door before he had to catch her. She’d flung herself at him, reckless, impulsive, and so very determined.
He staggered back and fetched up with his shoulders against the door. Apparently delighted, she framed his face between her hands, drew his head down, and pressed a fiery—incendiary—kiss on his lips.
She called, and he answered. She incited, and he responded.
He returned the kiss in kind, and they both went up in flames.
