Page 93 of The Trouble with True Love

“Oh, I know she would have,” Clara agreed, laughing.

“So,” he murmured, his free hand sliding up her back to caress the nape of her neck and interrupting her laughter, “are you going to take pity on me at last, and allow me to court you in a true and honorable fashion?”

“That depends,” she murmured, smiling. “Do you know any discreet hotels where we can retreat during this courtship and go back across the Rubicon?”

“Why, Clara Deverill, you naughty girl,” he murmured and kissed her. “But no,” he said, pulling back, “that won’t be possible, because if your sister found out, she really would shoot me.”

“No, she wouldn’t. Not now that we’re engaged. My sister has very modern views.”

“Still, I don’t think I’ll risk it. But I would ask that we make the engagement somewhat short. When it comes to you, I’m not sure how long I can be honorable.”

“Would three weeks be short enough?” she asked. “Just long enough for the banns to be read?”

“Three weeks, then,” he agreed, then bent his head and kissed her, a kiss that was so deep and ardent, so passionate, that when he pulled back, Clara was breathless.

“Goodness,” she gasped. “Perhaps we ought to get a special license and marry straightaway?”

“Banns, Clara.” His voice was resolute. “This is true love,” he added severely, overriding her protest. “And that’s the trouble with true love. It has to be done the proper way.”

“Oh, very well,” she agreed. “But,” she added, rising on her toes for another kiss, “I’m finding us a discreet hotel just the same.”

His agonized groan just before their lips met told Clara a discreet hotel was definitely going to be needed.