A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(94)

“All right.”

And he did. He kissed her gently, sweetly—and then Hetta kissed him back, with every ounce of passion she possessed. She felt uncertain and vulnerable and suspected she was doing everything wrong—but since she’d reached the age of three-and-twenty before receiving her first kiss, and since her first kiss stood an excellent chance of also being her last, she wasn’t about to hold anything back.

When his hand fisted in the back of her gown and a little growl rumbled through his chest, she hoped it meant she’d done something right.

And then it was over, and he held her in his arms again.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

“Yes. I’m afraid.”

He squeezed her tight. “Don’t be. I mean to marry you, Hetta.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Why? Don’t tell me you’re worried what people will say. I know it wouldn’t be easy, but we’re both of us accustomed to—”

“No. No, of course it’s not that.” Pulling away, she met his questioning gaze. “You’re very kind, Joss, but you don’t have to offer. I’m not expecting—”

“I’m not kind in the least. I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

“But…” Tears pricked at her eyes again. “But you can’t possibly want to marry me. I’ve no money, for one thing. I’m prickly and preoccupied, for another. I won’t give up medicine. I’d make a terrible wife. And you have a child …” She shook her head. “I’ve no idea what to do with a child, once the cord is cut. I’d make a horrid mother.”

He laughed.

“Why is it you only laugh when you’re laughing at me?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “but you’d better marry me, Hetta. Or I may never laugh again.” He planted a quick kiss on her lips. “First, I couldn’t give two straws whether you have a dowry. I’d never ask you to give up medicine, or anything that meant so much to you. And I’m certain you would make a terrible housekeeper, and a perfectly horrid nursemaid. But I don’t need either of those. My son needs a mother who believes he can do anything, who won’t accept the restrictions society will place on him. And as for me … I hardly know how to put words to what I need, but I know I’m holding it here in my arms. I need not just a wife, but a partner. A strong, intelligent woman who expects no less of me than I expect of myself. I need to laugh, and often. And you need all those things, too.”

Hetta stared numbly at his cravat.

“I need to love,” he said quietly, gathering her to his chest. His heartbeat pounded against her cheek. “And be loved. Do you think you could love me, Hetta?”

“I think I already do.”

“Very good, then.” His chin settled on her head. “And now for the trickier part. Can you allow me to love you?”

She closed her eyes. “I think so. Yes.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and she felt his wide smile. “There now,” he teased. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes. It was terrifying.”

He held her tight. “I know, my dear. I know.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

It was nearly dark by the time Toby left Yorke’s townhouse. After seeing his mother into the keeping of Augusta and Reginald, playing impromptu host to a parade of mourners, and speaking with Yorke’s valet—about the waistcoat, among other arrangements—he finally made his way to the carriage.

“We’re for Wynterhall,” he told the driver before climbing in. It didn’t matter that it was late, or that he hadn’t any of his belongings packed. He’d send for them tomorrow. Perhaps he was a coward, but he just hadn’t the heart to go home and face Isabel again. Toby settled onto the seat of the gloomy carriage and immediately turned his gaze to the small window. He couldn’t abide the darkness right now, and he certainly couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her tear-streaked face, her pale expression of betrayal. That image would haunt him forever—as would the knowledge that he’d caused it. Staring out the carriage window thus, with his mind so filled with sorrow and regrets, it took him some moments to realize he was not alone. Not until the shadows across from him shifted in a stealthy, sinister way, drawing his eye. Toby’s heart began to pound in his chest. He held his breath.

And then … the shadows spoke.

“Bel sent me a note.”

Toby jumped in his seat. “Jesus,” he said, pressing a hand over his racing heart. He leaned forward, blinking to make out his companion’s form. “Sophia? Is that you?”

“Of course it is,” she said.

“Good Lord.” He exhaled loudly. “For a moment there, I thought you were Gray, come to kill me.”

She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Why would Gray want to kill you?”

Well, if that answer wasn’t obvious to her …

Toby cleared his throat. “Just what did Bel’s note say?”

“That Mr. Yorke had died, of course. And that you’d be leaving for Surrey. Gray’s away on business today, but I wanted to come pay my respects.” She leaned forward and placed a hand on his arm. “I know he meant a great deal to you, Toby. I’m so sorry he’s gone.”