Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(65)

A bright flutter caught her attention.

“I’m sorry, Tartuffe. I didn’t mean to discount you.” She crossed to his cage and put one finger through the bars. The parrot nipped it playfully. “You’re right. I suppose I can’t say he didn’t leave me anything.”

But the bird would not be soothed. He bounced about his cage, flapping with agitation. Something must be happening downstairs.

Lily left her suite and padded down the corridor. She descended the front stairs and stopped three risers from the bottom. There was Julian, standing in the entrance hall, dressed in morning attire and clutching a rolled paper in his hand. His face was unnaturally pale. She thought he looked like he might swoon again.

“Good morning,” he said.

“No,” she replied. “No, it’s not. It’s a wretched morning, as you well know. I thought I told you if you deserted me last night, I didn’t want to see you again.”

“You did.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m hoping you’ll reconsider. Obviously.”

She gripped the banister, trying to steel herself. Yes, she was relieved beyond measure to see him alive, if not completely well. But she couldn’t go through this same torment, over and over again. The books had already been packed away. “Julian, I don’t—”

“Wait.” He approached, coming to stand at the bottom of the staircase. “Let me have my say. Please.”

Lily held her ground. If she was going to make it through this conversation without losing her nerve, she needed some space between them. Not to mention, the advantage of an extra eighteen inches’ height.

“I’m sorry for leaving you last night,” he said. “But I just couldn’t do it. All threats and mysteries aside … You’re a woman of remarkable character, Lily. Your brother was my very good friend. I couldn’t soil your reputation and disrespect Leo’s memory by taking your virtue that way.”

This? This was the reason he’d come here? Just to reject her to her face, all over again? Lily couldn’t believe it.

“However …” He made a beckoning motion to the side. A man emerged from the drawing room. He was youngish, with thin brown hair and an earnest mien. Tucked beneath his arm, he carried a formidable tome. Swift and Holling followed close behind.

“However what?” Surely Julian didn’t mean to present this poor fellow as a substitute? There was matchmaking, and then there was … well, she didn’t even know the word, that’s how unthinkable it was.

“I mean to do this properly. The way you deserve.” Julian gestured toward the man and said, “Curate.” With a nod in Swift and Holling’s direction, he added, “Witnesses.” He unrolled the paper he’d been holding and raised it for her inspection. “Special license.”

“Julian, what are you on about?”

He went down on one knee.

The room made a sudden twirl. She clutched the banister. “Julian, do get up.”

“Marry me.”

She stared at him. “What did you say?” She couldn’t rush to conclusions. She had to be sure. Although, there weren’t many other phrases that resembled “marry me.” Except “bury me,” perhaps. But given his sickly pallor—and the fact that the presence of a curate might be required for that activity, too—she thought it best to make absolutely certain.

“Lily Elizabeth Chatwick,” he said, slowly and solemnly, “I am asking you to become my wife.”

Oh. There was no mistaking that word, wife.

“Here?” she finally managed to ask. “Now? This very morning?”

“Yes.”

That extra eighteen inches of altitude was suddenly a dizzying height. She sank to the stairs, landing on her bottom with a jarring thud. Now she understood why he looked so pale.

“I’m no marquess, but I have the means to support you. I swear to be faithful, all my days. You may rely upon it.” He leaned forward and took her hand. His fingers were so chilled.

“What about Leo’s murderers?”

“They’re still out there, somewhere. I wish to God they weren’t. But if I have to choose between finding the killers and holding on to you, there is no contest. I choose you. I choose us.”

The words sent hope spiraling through her. “You’re done with it then? The searching?”

“Yes.”

“Truly? You’ll leave off all the late-night walks, the blood sport, the suspicion?”

“Yes.” He gripped her fingers tight. “I see the skepticism in your eyes, and I know I’ve earned it. But believe me, Lily. Leaving you last night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I doubt I have it in me to ever do it again.”

His assurances should have been enough, but he just looked so miserable about the whole thing. “Tell me this isn’t because you think I’m ruined now, and no one else will ever have me. I can’t bear to think you’re here just because you feel obligated.”

“You don’t want me to feel obligated? Well, I’m sorry, Lily. I am here because I feel obligated.” He brought her hand to his chest, pressing her palm flat against his rapidly thumping pulse. “I’m obligated by my heart. It’s decided you’re essential to my existence, you see. And it’s threatening to go out on labor strike if I don’t make you mine this very day. So yes. I am here on bended knee, acting from a deep, undeniable sense of obligation. I am, quite simply, yours.” He swallowed hard. “If you’ll have me.”