Page 84 of Seven Nights with the Wicked Duke

"And I love you," she said. "Even when you're a coward. Even when you try to protect me from things I don't want to be protected from."

He smiled—wry and raw. "You're terrifying when you're like this."

"I get that from Magnus," she said with a sniff, the tears dropping down by now.

Theo chuckled, the sound low and warm in his chest. "I pity your husband," he voiced before placing a palm on her face, wanting to absorb every drop of her pretty tears.

"You shouldn't," she said, stepping close. "He's going to be you."

Before he could properly register her words and respond, she stood on her toes and pressed a kiss on his lips.

It wasn't a polite kiss. It wasn't a chaste one. It was furious and sweet, breathless and bold, everything she had imagined and more.

It took him a moment to take charge of the rhythm of his heart, and when he realized the mission was a total failure at that moment, he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

However, she broke them apart with her voice that filled the silence. "Ask me," she whispered, her forehead pressed to his chest.

"What's that?"

"Ask me to marry you," she answered without a second thought.

Theo blinked before grabbing her shoulders, wanting her to look him in the eyes. "Cecilia?—"

"Ask me." Her resolve didn't change.

"But you are just using me for your list."

"That was before I knew you loved me. Before I knew I loved you." Her voice shook. "You keep saying I need to be protected. But I don't want protection. I want you."

He stared at her like she had just undone him, piece by piece. And when he felt he had stared for too long, he pressed a kiss on her forehead.

"Well then," he murmured, a grin tugging at his lips, "either you're learning far too quickly, or I'm a very, very bad influence."

She laughed softly but her smile faltered when she realized the look on his face. Something new, unfiltered, and disarmed. She had never seen him look that way. He was looking at her like she was more special than she could ever think of herself.

"Cecilia," he muttered breathlessly before dropping to one knee—not dramatic, not rehearsed, but with that same quiet reverence that filled the painting.

"Lady Cecilia, would you do me the very reckless honor of becoming my wife?"

The question left her in a stupor for some seconds, even though she had been the one to propose the topic. Yet, having to hear it from him still had the same effect a classic proposal usually did.

"Yes," she said, almost so faintly he could have missed it.

Then before she could blink, she was in his arms again, and this time when he kissed her, it was with the knowledge that she would stay.

She returned his kiss, matching with the same sweet tenderness and heated urgency.

But then she paused when her hands slipped under his shirt. "Wait," she murmured.

He stilled instantly. "Are you all right?"

"I just—" She brushed her fingers along his collarbone, then slid them to his shoulder, noticing the long scar from a duel that marred his otherwise smooth skin. "I should be asking you that…"

"I am fine." He tried to brush it off with his signature smug face.

"You are simply not, Your Grace." Her green eyes moved to his. "What happened?" she whispered, their bodies still pressed wrapped in a tight hug.

“It has been some time. I can hardly remember the particulars but I earned it in a violent duel."