Jacquie D’Alessandro - Touch Me

She blinked. “You hope I’ve been unhappy?”

“It’s been said that misery loves company, although unhappy is a lukewarm word for the way I hope you’ve felt.” He moved a step closer. “I hope you’ve been utterly forlorn. Desolate. Despairing. Crushed. Joyless. Lonely. And excessively heartbroken.” Another step closer. “Just as I have been.”

Now less than two feet separated them, and she could see he looked drawn. As if he hadn’t been eating or sleeping well. Her gaze flicked to his temple, but little evidence of his injury remained. “You’ve been all those things?”

A humorless sound huffed from between his lips. “Every single one. Since the moment I left your sitting room. And I don’t want to feel them any longer. So-dare I hope you’ve been in the same pitiable state?”

“I cannot deny I’ve been sad, or that I’ve missed you.”

“Excellent.”

“Simon…about becoming your mistress-”

“I don’t want you to be my mistress.”

Confusion flooded her, which quickly turned to a hot wave of embarrassment at the realization he wasn’t suggesting a liaison after all. “I’m sorry. I thought-”

“I want you to be my wife.”

Genevieve could only stare. “Pardon?”

He cleared his throat, then said very slowly and distinctly, as if he were speaking to a small child, “I said, I want you to be my wife.”

Dear God, his head injury had rattled his brain. “Simon, men in your position do not marry their mistresses.” God knows she knew that well enough.

“The scandal could ruin you, ruin your family.”

“Perhaps. But I can live with that. It’s you I cannot live without. And you aren’t my mistress.”

“We slept together.”

“Yes. And it is an event I want to repeat. Every night. For the rest of our lives.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Genevieve. I haven’t been the same since the first moment I saw you, when I hid behind the statue in your bedchamber. It was as if lightning stuck me. God knows I haven’t been able to think of anything other than you. I knew I cared about you when I left Little Longstone, but I convinced myself I’d get over you. Forget my feelings.” He gave a short laugh. “What a bloody nincompoop I was. I quickly learned the folly of that idiotic notion. I don’t merely care for you. I am madly, insanely, arse-over-heels in love with you. I would have come sooner, but I wanted to settle my affairs so I wouldn’t have to rush back to London.”

Genevieve’s heart was beating so wildly, he surely had to hear it. “You love me?”

“So much it hurts.” He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. “So much I couldn’t stand another day away from you. Not another hour. Not another minute.”

“But your life is in London.”

“That doesn’t seem to matter-my heart is in Little Longstone.”

Dear God, he sounded perfectly serious. “But what of your work for the Crown?”

He lifted his head and looked at her through green eyes that reflected the seriousness of his tone. “I am officially retired. As for my life in London, I’ll keep my townhouse, but I’ve decided I’d rather spend the bulk of my time here. There is a fifty-acre tract of land for sale just west of the village. Beautiful trees, a lake, a pond and, best of all, four hot springs. It would be the perfect place to build a home.”

She swallowed, trying to find her voice. “You’re serious.”

“Never more so. Before I came to Little Longstone, I’d been discontented. Something was missing from my life, but I didn’t know what. Then I met you. One touch from you and I knew. You are what was missing. So now, the only questions are-Do you feel the same way I do? Do you want the same things I do? And do you want to share your life with me?”

She actually felt the blood drain from her face. He meant it. Really, truly meant it. He loved her. Wanted to marry her. It was unbelievable. “My God,” she whispered.

Alarm flickered in his eyes. “Bloody hell, you’ve gone pale. I don’t think that’s good.”

A laugh escaped her, one that turned into a sob. His alarm grew. “Oh, God, you’re crying. I know that’s not good.”

Another laugh and sob. “I’m not crying. I’m…stunned. And deliriously happy.” She set down her flowers and paper then framed his face between her hands. “I feel exactly the same way you do-I love you so much I can barely breathe. And I want the same things you do-to build a beautiful home together in Little Longstone. And I want, more than anything, to share my life with you.”

Anything else she might have said was lost when he snatched her against him and covered her mouth in a deep kiss filled with love and hope and passion. When he finally raised his head, he said, “I thought you were going to be stubborn and say no.”

“And what would you have done if I had?”

“There are six dozen more roses in my carriage. Along with the finest art supplies I could find-in the hopes that they’d encourage you to paint something for me.”

Emotion clogged her throat at the extravagant, romantic gesture. “That’s…lovely. And so thoughtful. I’d like to do that. Very much.”

“Excellent. But in case you still proved stubborn, there is also something else in the carriage-the Kilburn sapphire.”

“The Kilburn sapphire?” she repeated weakly.

He nodded. “Ridiculously large at five carats, but in spite of its gaudiness, impressive just the same. The Kilburn diamond is a more manageable three carats, but as I recall you saying you found diamonds cold and lifeless, I thought the sapphire a better choice for an engagement ring.”

A breathless laugh escaped her. “Really, all you needed to do was kiss me and tell me you loved me.”

“Now you tell me,” he teased. “I can see you’re going to be easy to please.”

“On the contrary, I’m going to be very demanding. Especially in the bedchamber, as all Today’s Modern Women are.”

“I don’t know when I’ve heard better news.” He peeled off her gloves and pressed a dozen kisses to her bare hands. “Please tell me you don’t want a long engagement.”

Heat and love and desire and pure, utter happiness whirled through her. “There are still two weeks left in November. How do you feel about a November wedding?”

His smile dazzled her. “My darling Genevieve, it just so happens that as with everything pertaining to you, I harbor a profound weakness for them.”

Jacquie D’Alessandro is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than thirty books. She grew up on Long Island, New York, where she fell in love with romance at an early age. She dreamed of being swept away by a dashing rogue riding a spirited stallion. When her hero finally showed up, he was dressed in jeans and drove a Volkswagen, but she recognized him anyway. They now live out their happily-ever-after in Atlanta, Georgia, along with their son, who is a dashing rogue in the making. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted through her Web site at www.JacquieD.com.