Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,116

interrupt them. He moved so quickly that she was laughing and breathless by the time he reached their favorite destination—the butler’s pantry. Nash could hear a few pots and pans being moved about in the kitchen below, but there was no need for anyone to come up this way as any food being prepared would be taken outside.

Which meant he had Pru all to himself for the moment. He didn’t hesitate to pull her into his arms, and then he was shocked when she began to sob. “He hurt you,” Nash said, his arms tightening around her. “I’ll kill him.”

“He pulled my hair,” she said. “Nothing more. I’m fine, just...oh, I don’t know why I’m weeping. Just hold me.”

Nash obliged, holding her tightly and patting her back. He had never heard her cry before, and he did not ever want to hear it again. The sound tore at his heart, and he felt helpless to stop her pain. Gradually, she sniffed, and he handed her a handkerchief. She blew her nose loudly and tried to hand it back to him.

“Keep it,” he said. “In case you start watering again.”

“I won’t,” she said. “I feel better now. I needed to get all of that out.”

“And I have something I need to get out.” He stepped back and went down on one knee. He heard Pru gasp.

“What are you doing?”

“Asking you to marry me,” he said.

“But I wanted to ask you to marry me. I had a speech planned and everything. I wanted to convince you it would be safe to marry me. I know you’d never hurt me.”

“Pru,” Nash said, “we can ask each other. Come here.” He pulled her to her knees before him. “But I don’t need convincing. When I’m with you, my world quiets. I feel—more myself. I still don’t trust myself completely. There are times when I might sink back into melancholy.”

“And I will be there to pull you right back out.”

“It might not be so easy.”

“I’m not one to shrink from a challenge.”

He laughed. “That’s true enough. I should speak to the vicar then. I’ve already secured my father’s blessing.”

She grasped his hands tightly. “Your father agreed?”

“Yes. You thought we would have to run away together?”

“It would have been more romantic.”

“There’s nothing romantic about a long journey on a rough road, and Scotland is cold and miserable this time of year. I’d rather marry here than like a fugitive in Gretna Green.” He tugged her close and kissed her. “I’d marry you today if I could. I don’t want to wait another minute to have the privilege of doing this whenever you’ll allow it.” He kissed her, marveling that her lips were so sweet. Though he had kissed her many times now, the press of her mouth against his was still something of a surprise.

“Nash,” she said, pulling away.

He sighed. “Can we not discuss details later?” He tried to kiss her again, but she put a hand on his chest. “What is it?”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

Nash froze. That was true. She hadn’t said yes yet. He’d assumed she wanted to marry him, but what if he was wrong? What if she objected to marriage?

He’d convince her. Or he’d live in sin with her like one of those debauched poets all of Society loved to whisper about. But—no. She had said she wanted to ask him to marry her. So perhaps the problem was that he was a complete idiot. “I forgot to ask you,” he said. “I never said the question.”

“That’s—” She broke off. “No, go ahead and ask.”

Nash cleared his throat. “Prudence Howard, will you consent to be my wife?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Nash roared. “Explain.”

“I will.” She was laughing. He could hear it, and it took the edge off his temper. He stood, running a hand through his hair, knowing to do so would reveal his damaged eye, but he was alone with Pru. He trusted her—as frustrating as she was some days.

“Nash, I don’t need you to ask me to marry me. I need you to tell me you love me.”

Nash froze, hand on top of his head. He hadn’t considered he’d need to say anything like that. He did love her, of course, but to say the words seemed...well, he wasn’t certain how to even begin. He’d never said anything like that before. “I don’t know how to begin,” he said, thinking voicing his problem might fill the silence.

“Start by telling me when you first fell in love with me. Was it the first