The Duke Effect (The Rogue Files #7) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,80

going to miss our train.” Almost on cue, the final call for their train bellowed across the air. Bea didn’t budge. “Fine,” Nora snapped, a fiery ball of desperation spreading through her chest. “Stay here or join me. I’m going.”

She turned stiffly. With a nod for the porter, she continued on her way.

Of course, she did not make it very far.

A hand clamped on her arm and spun her around. “Nora!”

“What are you doing?” she hissed, glancing around them. It’s not as though they had any privacy for this encounter. This was a very public place.

“Why did you leave?”

“We’ve said all there is to say.”

“I haven’t said all there is to say.” He beat his chest with his palm for emphasis. “I have a great deal more to say to you.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Oh, no. You have said more than enough. Please, say nothing more and let me go with as little spectacle as possible. I know you don’t want that.”

She snorted. Indeed not. The Duke of Birchwood would not appreciate that. It could generate rumors about his precious heir.

“I could give a bloody damn about spectacles,” he growled.

She jerked at his voice, loud enough for the people around them to hear. She glanced around them. Several people stopped to gape at them.

“You don’t want to do this,” she warned. “Lady Elise could—”

“I don’t care about Lady Elise. I care about you!”

“I knew it!” Bea declared nearby from gawking distance, grinning madly. She nudged the porter as though he were privy to the situation.

“Are you . . .” Nora glanced around and then added in hushed tones, “Inebriated?”

He blinked. “What? No! I am completely of sound mind. I am perhaps the most clear-headed I’ve ever been!”

Nora frowned, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “What’s come over you?” She shook her head. “This is not like you. You’re not . . .” An exhibitionist. Emotional.

“What’s come over me?” He laughed and the sound was almost giddy. “You!” He spread his arms wide. “You have come over me.”

People were definitely staring now.

“Hush.” Nora waved at her lips as if that were indication enough he should silence and put a stop to his very public display.

“I’m sorry I offended you before . . . I won’t do so again.” A determined glint entered his eyes.

“What are—”

She did not get the rest of her words out. He dropped before her on his knees and seized her hand.

Bea squealed from nearby. People surrounding them gasped. A crowd seemed to grow. She even heard the hiss of his name. Sinclair. Soon followed by Birchwood.

Of course he was recognized.

“Nora . . .” He took a breath and lowered his voice. Suddenly, in this moment, it was just the two of them. “Will you marry me?” His third proposal . . . but this time done the right way.

She shook her head. “Constantine, you don’t want to—”

“I want to marry you.”

She looked down at him, fighting hard not to enjoy the warm clasp of his hand around hers too much. “Why?” she demanded. “You want to marry me? Why?”

A pregnant pause followed her question.

Everyone around them seemed to be waiting, too. Holding their breaths in collective silence.

He smiled slowly and she felt the warmth of that grin spreading like sunlight through her. “Because I love you.”

That warmth exploded into fire in her chest. “You don’t.”

“I do.”

He pushed to his feet and seized her face in both of his hands. “I love you. I love you and I don’t want a future with anyone but you.”

“But . . . you’re going to be a duke—”

“I am foremost a man. A man that can be whatever kind of duke he wants to be . . . as long as I have you with me. As long as I have you at my side. I want to be happy, Nora, and I can’t be that without you. Please. Make me happy. Let me make you happy.”

“Constantine,” she whispered.

“Nora,” he returned. “Say, yes. Say you love me—”

“I do love you—”

“Then that’s all that matters. Say you’ll marry me and together we will build a life. One that we both want. You and me.” His pressed his mouth to hers, right there in the middle of the station, in front of everyone.

She heard a garbled shout of encouragement from Bea, but she could not process the words . . . and she did not care.

All her attention was fixed on Constantine. “Yes. I’ll marry you.” He kissed her then, again, to shouts and