The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,71
to his waist. His chest was exposed, and she could see that her uncle had placed an unguent across the length of the rope burn, no doubt applying the foul-smelling substance to his flesh to prevent infection.
She sat beside Ronan on the bed and took his hand onto her lap.
His eyes flickered open, and he cast her a gentle smile. “Queen Pea, I missed you.”
She laughed. “I was only gone a few minutes.” Perhaps it was longer. She could not tell for certain how long she’d been unconscious. Her sisters would have been frantic if she had been out for more than a minute or two, so she doubted it was any longer than that.
“I still owe you a marriage proposal. Let me get this right before something else happens.” His voice was little more than a raw whisper. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes, my love. I will marry you.”
His smile broadened. “I’ll try to obtain the special license as soon as possible. My brothers will help me since I’m not allowed out of bed for another three days on pain of death...my death, or so your uncle warned if I don’t lie still.”
“I’m sure Tynan and Finn will be able to accomplish this on your behalf. They have connections to everyone important in London.” She cast him an impish smirk. “Just remind them my name is Dahlia, not Queen Pea.”
“I think they’ll figure it out for themselves. I love you, sweetheart. Will you marry me tomorrow if I obtain it?”
She inhaled lightly. How was this possible? He couldn’t get out of bed. “You don’t waste time once your mind is made up, do you?”
“Is that a yes?”
“Uncle John is my guardian while I am here in London. My parents have given him authority over all decisions, so I assume it includes giving his consent and signing the betrothal contract.”
“Bollocks, I’ll sign a blank piece of paper. He can fill in any terms he likes.”
“You will put Finn’s heart in spasms if he ever hears you speaking so foolishly. It doesn’t have to be a formal agreement. But you have to think this through, Ronan. You can agree on the general terms and seal it with a handshake.”
“I want you. That is my only term. I still don’t have your answer. Will you marry me tomorrow?”
If she agreed, then she would deprive herself of the elegant wedding she’d always dreamed of having. Nor would there be time to put together an informal affair hosted by her aunt and uncle at their home on Chipping Way. The ceremony would have to be quick, held right here, with Ronan lying in bed while she stood beside him.
She glanced around, taking in the proportions of the bedchamber.
Oh, dear. They wouldn’t be able to squeeze more than fifteen people in here. Her sisters. His brothers. Maybe their wives. Miranda and Robbie had to be here, too. Aunt Sophie and Uncle John if they could spare the time between their own family obligations.
It would have to be a bare-bones service since Ronan could not kneel in prayer. She doubted he would be allowed out of bed. Would he even be able to toss on clothes for the occasion? She did not think so.
He sighed. “I’ll understand if you don’t wish to give up your wedding dreams. I had just hoped...”
Her mind began to spin. “Yes, Ronan. I will agree to it.”
Because what really mattered was sharing the rest of her life with him. When the less essential concerns were stripped away, it really was a simple choice. She did not want to spend any more nights without him.
Once their house was decorated, they could hold their own belated wedding breakfast. “I’m going to kiss you now, you brainless but incredibly handsome clot. Don’t you dare move.”
He emitted a pained laugh. “You’ll get no complaint from me. Why am I brainless? For riding back here to be with you? Don’t berate me for that, Queen Pea. But I’m truly sorry for depriving you of your wedding dreams. I wish I could make the day special for you. I realize how much you are giving up for my sake.”
“I am giving up nothing important.” She kissed him on the lips, teetering over him so that she did not touch his unguent-riddled body. Not that she cared for herself, but he was in a bad way, and the slightest pressure to his chest could be dangerous.