This man.
She wanted him as her husband.
“So you agree?”
Her attention snapped back to Wickham who, apparently, had been talking.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You agree we put all this nonsense behind us and begin again?”
“Begin again?”
To her disbelief, Wickham dropped to one knee. Right there in the ballroom in the middle of a dance. In front of God and everyone. “Lady Paddington. Would you do me the great honor of becoming my bride?”
Dev stared in horror at the scene before him. Was that Wickham proposing?
Something slammed through him. Something that felt like rage and tasted of bile.
Tildy was his woman. No man would have her.
He fisted his hands and, without thinking, strode across the ballroom and whipped her into his arms. To hell with acting like a civilized man. To hell with his reputation and his honor and his stupid, stupid title.
Wickham could not have her.
“Tildy,” he said with a nod of his head. “Shall we go for a turn on the terrace?”
He did not give her a chance to say no, but wove his way through the crowd toward the French doors, the hem of her voluminous gown trailing behind.
In his wake, he heard the rising whispers, twined with Wickham’s outraged, “I say,” but he ignored them all. He did not care.
The night was cool, despite it being the height of summer. It caressed his brow but did nothing to calm the raging fire within. He glared at the men standing around smoking cheroots, and they all quickly stubbed them out and hied indoors.
He set her down by the balustrade and glared at her.
“You cannot marry him,” he said.
He didn’t know from where the words came, except from the well of his soul. He was lucky the command did not emerge as a wail. Because it felt like a wail. A desperate, feral wail.
To his dismay, she did not immediately agree. She set her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You told me you were a soldier.”
“I am.”
“You are also an earl. Somehow you neglected to share that fact.”
“I just assumed the title.”
“A likely story!”
His eyes boggled. A vein throbbed in his temple. “One that is easily confirmed.” He waved a manic hand at the ballroom where there was, no doubt, a coterie of avid eavesdroppers. “Ask anyone.”
“That is hardly the point.”
“What is the point?”
Her lips flapped. Her furor deflated. “You didn’t tell me the truth.”
“I most certainly did.” He leaned closer, so he could hiss, so none of the listening ears could hear. “Everything I told you was the truth.”
“Including the fact that you have no use for a wife?”
The question hit him hard. Of all the things that had changed in the past week, that was the most earth-shattering. It had nothing to do with his inheritance and everything to do with her. Her smile. Her laugh. The feel of her breath on his chest as she slept. Her scent…
“Well? Why do you care whom I marry?”
“You are not marrying him.” A snarl.
“He is perfectly acceptable.”
“Why, thank you.” Wickham’s dry response floated on the air.
Dev turned to find both Wickham and Paddington on the terrace, their arms crossed, observing this tawdry scene. He turned his back on them and faced Tildy, preparing to say the most difficult words he’d ever uttered. “I have no use for a wife…” he began but then faltered when her beautiful face crumpled. “Not unless she is you.”
She stilled. Glanced up at him. The tears on her lashes gored him in the heart. “What?”
“I think you heard me. I would like you to be my wife, Tildy.”
“I say. Are you proposing to my fiancée right in front of me?” Wickham said in a petulant tone, though he hardly seemed devastated. “That’s rather rude, you know.”
“Then leave,” Dev tossed over his shoulder.
“Oh, I think not.” His friend huffed a laugh. “This is far too intriguing.”
Dev ignored him. “Will you, Tildy? Will you marry me?”
He was relieved to see her truculent expression soften. She tapped her lip. “I don’t know. Wickham’s proposal was far more romantic. Granted, he did not profess his undying devotion, but he did go down on one knee.”
“Do you want me to go down on one knee?” He would. In a heartbeat.
“I’d rather have the other thing.” Finally. Finally a smile. Never before had such a simple gift made him so happy.
Her smile.
It was all it took.
“Matilda Paddington. I do adore you. I love your smile. Your laugh. Your sharp wit.”
“And my kisses?”
“I especially love those.”
A disgruntled grunt rose behind him. “You know,” Paddington said, “I am beginning to suspect this is not the first time they’ve met.”
“Oh, do leave off,” Dev snarled.
Tildy waved her hand at them. “Yes, do. I’d like some time alone with my fiancé.”
“I thought I was your fiancé,” Wickham said, with an undeniable humor.
“Sorry, old bean,” Paddington said. “It looks like she’s chosen another.”