A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(12)

She gave him a cautious smile that set his world spinning. “Surely you’re not seriously suggesting I marry you?”

“No,” he said, forcing a self-deprecating laugh. “I would never suggest such a thing.”

She couldn’t know how these blithe dismissals kept wounding him. She couldn’t know that bruised male pride was a dangerous beast.

Toby lowered his voice to a seductive murmur. “If I paid court to you, Isabel, I would make more than suggestions. I would make promises. I would pledge to value your ideals, never stifle or belittle them. I would vow to display your talents to their best advantage, and to guard you from those who wish you ill.”

The music stopped, and Toby whirled her to a halt.

“If I proposed marriage to you,” he said, “I would kneel at your feet. Pledge to you my undying devotion, a share in my worldly possessions, and the protection of my body. I would promise to cherish you all the days of your life, and make your happiness my own. Because that is what you deserve from a husband. No less.”

“Oh,” she sighed. Her lips fell slightly apart. Shallow breaths lifted her chest. At last. He had her well and truly enchanted now. Toby supposed he ought to release her. He’d proven his point, hadn’t he? He still knew how to dazzle a girl. But something compelled him to go on.

“And if I did offer for you,” he asked, “would it be so very horrible?”

He hardly knew what murky pit of his soul that question had crawled out from, but he knew it wasn’t aimed at this girl. It was meant for Sophia, and Lucy, and every other young lady who’d grown out of loving him and married some other man.

But it was Isabel who must answer for them all. She was here, and she was breathless in his arms, and she had the power to crush or redeem him with a single syllable. Yes, he still knew how to dazzle a girl—he’d practically emerged from the womb with that gift. But deep down, at his core—could he ever find what it took to secure a woman’s love?

Give me a word. One word.

“Would it be so unthinkable?” he asked softly, earnestly.

Before she could speak, someone stepped between them and the nearby candelabra, throwing a shadow over them both.

“Excuse the interruption.” The voice was a smooth baritone. “But I’d thank you to let the lady go.”

Without releasing Isabel, Toby cast a glance toward the speaker. Of course, it was her brother. Sir Benedict Grayson, paragon of valor, miserable dancer, and great hulking brute with murder in his eyes. Worse, behind him stood Jeremy, Lucy, and the woman who’d left him at the altar and fled halfway around the world—Sophia.

Now he needed to hear Isabel’s answer more than ever.

Toby said, “I beg your pardon. This is a private conversation.”

“Not any longer, it isn’t.” Grayson folded massive arms over his chest. “The conversation is over.” Lowering his voice, he growled, “Get your hands off my sister.”

The musicians struck up a new melody, but no one in the room was dancing. All eyes were on their little tableau.

“In a moment,” Toby said smoothly, enjoying the upper hand. He refused to let Grayson cow him. The man might be a dockside laborer in gentleman’s clothing, but Toby was taller. “I’m still waiting on a word from Miss Grayson. I’ve asked her a question, and she hasn’t yet answered.”

He turned back to Isabel, tripping straight into her solemn, remarkable eyes. A strange sense of destiny overcame him. In his gut, Toby knew that the events of the next minute could very well mean the rearrangement of his life, his face, or both. He had a choice. He could release her, from his embrace and his question, surrender a second lady to this thieving bastard, and continue the miserable pastime of searching for his misplaced self-worth at the bottom of brandy decanters.

Or he could hold on to this beautiful, intelligent, passionate woman. Perhaps forever.

Grayson scowled. “Bel, what the devil is he talking about? You don’t have to answer this man anything.” He lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “Do you want me to hit him?”

“No!” she gasped, her gaze flitting around the assembled crowd. “No, nothing of the sort. Sir Toby just asked me—”

“To marry him,” Toby interrupted. Loudly and clearly, with a certainty that surprised even him. An excited murmur swept the crowd.

Leveling a cool gaze at Grayson, he continued, “I’ve asked your sister to marry me. And now I’m waiting …” He glanced over his shoulder. “It would seem we’re all waiting … to hear her reply.”

The excited murmur dissolved into silence. Grayson’s face turned a satisfying shade of ash. And suddenly, Toby was having the time of his life. He’d stolen Isabel straight from the scoundrel’s arms, and he was not going to give her back. Not without a fight. He released Isabel’s waist and took her soft, delicate hand in both of his. “Was it public notice you wanted? All eyes are on you now, my dear,” he said, grinning. “And I must confess, I’ve always wanted to do this.”

She stared at him, mute with shock, as he sank to one knee.

“Miss Isabel Grayson.” His voice echoed off the marble tile. “Would you do me the inestimable honor of becoming my wife?”

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’m engaged.” Bel joined her brother and sister-in-law at the breakfast table the next morning.