Page 44 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

“You told Sally,” she corrected.

He nodded, holding her face between his hands, revelling in the sensation of warm, satiny skin beneath his fingertips.

“I did, and you are Sally. How is this possible? Is fate really giving me the chance to be happy? For you are my love, and now there is nothing to stop me making you my wife… is there?” he added hesitantly, not wanting to tempt fate into changing its mind.

“No, Lawrence. Not a thing,” she replied, turning her face into his palm and pressing a soft kiss there. “Save for the fact you’ve not asked me yet.”

“Well, give a fellow a chance,” he grumbled.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Stop smiling in that inane fashion. I’m still very cross with you,” he told her, hearing the expression in the way she spoke, and too unnerved to be anything other than seem annoyed.

If he stopped acting like a belligerent arsehole, he might just tell her what was in his heart, all of it, and he wasn’t quite ready.

“Yes, Lawrence.”

He huffed but gave her a little shove. “Get up, then. Sit on the bed. Got to do the thing properly, don’t I?”

Obligingly, and rather to his regret, she moved from his lap, sitting beside him.

Taking care not to do himself an injury, Stonehaven slid to the floor, arranging himself on one knee.

He held his hand out to her, his heart skipping about as she placed her slender fingers in his.

Closing them gently within his grasp, he cleared his throat.

As he opened his mouth to speak, emotion swelled in his chest. He laughed softly.

This must be what Beaumarsh had been talking about.

This was why he’d given his friend a headache when Stonehaven had tried to explain that he’d been jealous and wanted something like Beau had with Clementine and had promptly proposed to a woman he did not love.

Beau was right; it had not made the least bit of sense.

This, however, made sense. This was utterly perfect, and he would not mess it up.

“Miss Honeywell,” he began.

“That’s rather formal,” she objected.

Stonehaven frowned. “Beatrice—”

“Bea,” she corrected.

“Devil take you, stop interrupting!”

“Sorry.”

“Now I’ve forgotten what I was going to say,” he muttered.

Bea giggled.

His lips quirked into a smile, which he ruthlessly suppressed, making himself scowl again. “If you keep this up, I won’t propose at all.”

“I beg your pardon. I’ll be quiet, I promise,” she said gravely.

Stonehaven cleared his throat, taking his time, feeling joy bubbling inside him at the rightness of the moment, at the way she teased him and bantered with him.

She was not at all the sweet little fool he’d thought her, though she was sweet, so damnably sweet his heart ached with everything he felt for her.

A swell of protectiveness rose inside him, making him want to hold her and squeeze her tighter and tighter, as if such foolishness could express what his words were failing to tell her.

“Excuse me for interrupting, but are you proposing?”

“Yes, yes, if you’d give me a minute to think. Grave moment, serious stuff, marriage and… and… can’t rush these things.”

“No. Oh, no, indeed, not,” she agreed. “I’ll wait then.”

“Oh, damn it, come here,” he said, pulling her from the bed and into his arms. “I can’t live without you, Bea, you wicked girl. Love me forever, please,” he said, finding there was too much raw emotion behind the words, but unable to hide it.

“I will,” she said simply. “Forever and ever.”

And then she pressed her mouth to his and kissed him and the world went away.

Stonehaven closed his eyes, pushing her gently down, kissing her with more tenderness than he’d known he possessed, making answering promises for tonight, tomorrow, and all the days and forevers she had promised him.

He forgot he was blind, forgot he regretted he was not the man he was, for how could he regret it?

Fate had taken his sight, but it had given him Beatrice Honeywell.

That was a price well worth paying in his view, and one he would not hesitate to pay again if such a chance was given him.

“Bea,” he murmured, his hands coasting over clothing that suddenly seemed unfamiliar and rather odd.

Men’s clothes, he realised, pushing the thought away, hardly caring as he tugged her shirt free of her waistband.

He groaned as his hand discovered her slender body, unencumbered by stays and the usual feminine accoutrements.

“So beautiful,” he told her as his hand slid higher, his breath snagging in his throat as it cupped her breast, achingly soft, topped with a darling little nipple that he longed to kiss and worship for hours before he lavished the same attention on every other part of her.

Oh, it would take hours and hours and days and endless nights before he even came close to having discovered her in the detail he needed to.

Desire surged through him, his body rigid and throbbing and—

Wait.

He sat up so suddenly, Bea gasped.

“Marwick,” he said.

“W-What?” Bea sounded bewildered and breathless and rather as if she didn’t know what day it was, never mind what he was on about. Stonehaven allowed himself a moment to enjoy the pride that elicited before he came fully to his senses.

“Who else knows you are here?” he demanded.

“No one. Well, I left a note for Izzy. I couldn’t just run off and—”

“Christ!” he said, crawling towards the bed, reaching out and discovering the fireplace instead. “Damnation!”

“The bed is to your left,” she said helpfully. “Nine o'clock.”

Stonehaven quietened, pleased she had realised how useful the clock face was in orientating him.

He had been so wrong in underestimating Bea, in judging her by her beauty and imagining that was all there was to her when she had never done that to him.

Even before he had lost his sight, she had never treated him with deference to his title, only becoming flustered when he teased her.

Just as she had always done when he had believed her to be Sally, she had told him how to help himself, instead of trying to do it for him.

“Thank you. But you do realise we are likely to have your irate father descend upon us at any moment?”

“Papa? Irate? Oh, I shouldn’t think so,” Beatrice replied thoughtfully. “He might be cross with me for going alone, I suppose.”

“Oh, you think so?” Stonehaven replied, dry as dust and believing her to be just a little hen-witted after all. “You’ve run away from home in pursuit of a man, my love. A man you are now alone with and who very nearly ravished you. Most fathers take exception to that sort of behaviour.”

“Papa isn’t most fathers,” Bea replied, apparently unperturbed by this observation. “Once he knows we love each other and are to be married, he’ll be in alt.”

“Hmph.”

This, at least, seemed accurate. Still, Stonehaven had behaved very badly, in a manner unbecoming to a gentleman.

Beatrice was a gently bred young lady and deserved to be treated with respect.

Though he deeply regretted the fact he’d now have to wait an interminable amount of time before he could have her in such an intimate position again, he’d behave himself. Or die trying.

“Are you decent?” he demanded, wondering just how much he’d disarranged her peculiar outfit.

Though he certainly approved of the lack of undergarments.

Actually, he felt exceedingly sorry that he’d not had more time to explore the odd ensemble.

Perhaps he’d ask her to keep it, then they could re-enact the scene at a later date.

“Er—” He heard the rustle of fabric as she put herself to rights. “Yes.”

“Good. George!” he bellowed.

“Good heavens, Stonehaven, couldn’t I just—”

“George! Where the devil are you? Geor—”

“Here, my lord!” came a breathless voice as the door burst open. “What is it? Is sommat on fire?”

Only my loins, devil take it , Stonehaven thought with regret. “Yes! If you knew this was Miss Honeywell, what the hell were you thinking leaving her alone with me?”

“Well, sir, I did try—” George began, sounding rather indignant.

“Really, George, it isn’t good enough. Anything might have happened,” Stonehaven said primly.

“Oh, Lawrence, do stop teasing the poor man,” Bea scolded him.

Stonehaven’s lips twitched. “Spoilsport. George, you may be the first to wish us happiness. Miss Honeywell has agreed to be my marchioness. You did agree?” he added suddenly, remembering that he hadn’t actually asked her that precise question.

“Oh, Stonehaven! Of course I did,” she said, a tone of fond exasperation in her voice that he knew he would never tire of hearing.

“Of course she did,” he said triumphantly. “ There. You heard her with your own ears. She’s marrying me. No getting out of it now, my girl. Your fate is sealed,” he said, knowing he was grinning like a fool and not caring.

“It was sealed a lot longer ago than that,” she said softly, making his foolish heart clatter about happily behind his ribs.

“Well, you could knock me down with a feather,” George said, clearly baffled and having no idea of what on earth was going on. “But I’m right pleased, that I am. Reckon you’ll suit nicely, too. Well done, my lord.”

“Thank you,” Stonehaven said, inclining his head regally. “Now. If you would be so good as to fetch my coat and then arrange a private parlour, I believe we ought to adjourn downstairs. I expect the reverend, and possibly a gang of armed men, will be upon us shortly.”

“There won’t be any armed men,” Bea said, laughing at the notion.

“We’ll see,” Stonehaven replied darkly. “Oh, and George, there’s a Mr Marwick somewhere about. Find him and bring him to me.”

“Right you are, my lord.”