to be either of those.” He could not resist pressing a kiss to her silken cheek now. Just one, for he could not trust himself to maintain his restraint, and this proposal called for patience, not seduction. “I asked you to be my wife.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Why not?” he countered. “You are carrying my child. We are both of us unencumbered. Our marriage will secure legitimacy for the baby and keep my Grandmère from having a fit of the vapors over the prospect of the Duke of Arrington’s heir being born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
He was teasing her now, trying to keep the moment light. There was such heaviness in the air between them, shadows in Hyacinth’s eyes, in her heart. He knew her well enough to understand that she was a woman of reason and strength. That she would make the decision she felt best, but that she must not be pressured or rushed. Her last marriage had left her untrusting of the institution, and he could not blame her for that.
“You cannot truly wish to marry me,” she said, still so serious. “You have told me yourself that marriage is not for you, that your heart was broken. And the duchess was quite clear on her disapproval of me. I have no desire to cause your family further unrest or to bring you scandal.”
“I do want to marry you.” The vow left him, bringing with it a renewed sense of freedom. A lightness. A rightness. “I was wrong before. Marriage with Lady Needham was not for me, because her heart still belonged to her husband. As for Grandmère, I shall deal with the dragon myself. She will have no choice but to accept that I have found a woman who is perfect for me in every way.”
“Tom,” she protested, wriggling in his lap.
His legs were falling asleep, sending pricks of pins and needles through him, his feet like twin numb blocks. And he did not give a damn. He was not moving, not going anywhere until he had said everything he wanted to say.
“She has eyes the color of a summer sky on a glorious day with nary a cloud in sight,” he continued, refusing to let her go so easily. “She is more beautiful than Aphrodite. Once, she dressed as a shepherdess and brought me to my knees. She has an impish pug who is already in love with me.”
“Tom, stop.” But she had gone still, and the glimmer of tears had once more returned to her vibrant eyes.
He hoped they were not tears of sadness.
“She is intelligent,” he continued, “and witty. Funny and kindhearted and giving and resilient. Stubborn as well, but I shall not fault her for it.”
“You are being too effusive in your flattery,” she objected. “I will not be won by a silver tongue. This is a serious matter. A marriage must not be entered into with haste. Indeed, I do not know if I can bear to ever be a wife again.”
Again, he could not blame her for the way she felt about the institution of marriage. It was an opinion which had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her past. He could not right the wrongs which had been done her. All he could do was promise a future in which he did his damnedest to make her happy.
To love her.
The words were there, on his tongue.
Heavy as a stone.
Too much, too soon. He could not find them yet.
“She is also the mother of my child,” he said softly. Tenderly. “Hyacinth, marry me, please.”
“I…” she faltered, her lower lip trembling again. “I need some time to think on it, Tom.”
Well.
That was hardly the yes he had been hoping for.
This time, when she squirmed, he allowed her to break free of his hold. She rose, shaking out her skirts, looking everywhere but at him. Tom rose as well, fighting off a rush of pain in his lower limbs after having been on his knees for so long.
“I will give you time,” he forced himself to say. “Whatever you need, Hyacinth, it is yours. But promise me you will not disappear on me again. That is all I ask.”
“I will not go without telling you,” she said, her words so soft he could scarcely hear them.
Also hardly the words he longed to hear.
But he would not pressure her. Instead, he would further his cause in other fashions. He was going to woo the hell out of this