“A fright,” Prudence said.

“Good.”

She swept out of the room, marching down the corridor, then pausing at the top of the stairs. He was standing there, his legs braced apart, his arms folded over his chest. He had the growth of a beard on a clenched jaw. Her heart leaped, somersaulting in her chest. “Easton!” she shouted down at him.

His head came up. Augustine was standing to one side, looking as if he might faint. “Honor!” Augustine cried, “I tried to turn him away, but he’d not go!”

“He’ll go,” she said confidently, and ran down the stairs, her feet landing silently on the marble floor as she marched up to him, Prudence right behind her.

“What do you want?” she demanded. “Haven’t you done enough? As Augustine has said, I do not wish to see you. I’ve said all that I have to say to you, so, go!”

“Good God, someone should have taken you in hand many years ago,” he said flatly, his gaze traveling the length of her. “What did you think, Cabot, that you would dance into Southwark and force me to your will? That you would cheat to get your way?”

“You cheated?” Prudence exclaimed.

Honor ignored her. “What would you have had me do? You are so convinced of your own inferiority, it makes you blind and deaf to all reason!”

He took a menacing step forward. “Allow me to instruct you for a change, madam. Generally, it is the gentleman who makes the offer for the hand in marriage.”

She folded her arms. “Unless the gentleman is as stubborn as an old pig.”

A light sparked deep in his eyes. “And the gentleman generally makes the offer with an idea of how he might support the woman when she becomes his wife. Am I right, Sommerfield?” he demanded without looking at Augustine.

“Me?” Augustine squeaked.

“Yes, you!” Easton bellowed, his gaze locked on Honor’s.

“It is, yes, most certainly it is,” Augustine quickly agreed.

Honor’s eyes narrowed with her ire. “Is there a point to your call, sir? You have rejected my declarations not once, but twice. Am I to be rebuffed a third time? If that is your intent, it is not necessary, for I heard you quite plainly the first two times!”

“The first two times you assumed the role of the gentleman in this affair between us. I was not in a position to make that offer, Honor, but did that give you the slightest pause? No—you insisted on shaming me in front of all of London.”

Honor gasped with outrage. “Shame? You will talk to me of shame?” she cried, her hands curling into fists as she rose up on her toes.

“No one invited you to Southwark. In fact, my recollection is that several told you to leave!”

“Sometimes one must take matters into her own hands!”

“Oh,” he said, almost jovially. “And we’ve all seen how well taking matters into your hands has done for you, have we not?”

She gaped at him. “At least I’m not afraid.”

“I never feared you!” he cried to the ceiling. “But I was not prepared for you. I don’t know that I shall ever be prepared for the likes of you, Honor Cabot, but nevertheless, I have done my best by seeking employment—”

“You see? You insist on making things impossible!” Honor cried, poking him hard in the chest.

“Employment!” Augustine said, confused.

“And I have obtained it.”

Honor had no idea what he was talking about. “Obtained what?”

“Employment, I think,” Prudence said, sounding as confused as Augustine looked.

“That’s right,” Easton said, nodding. “I have sought employment. I am the new agent at Mr. Sweeney’s offices. I lost my fortune, and I could not provide for you, Honor. Now, at the very least, I can provide you a modest home. I can feed you. I might even feed one or two more of the virtues,” he said, gesturing at Prudence. “I can clothe you...somewhat. But I cannot allow you to buy bonnets for eight bloody pounds.”

“Pardon...what?” Honor said, as her heart began to flutter in her chest.

“And I must warn you, this loss of fortune may happen again and again. I live my life by taking risks. Sometimes my pockets are full. Sometimes they are not.”

Honor’s fluttering heart changed tempo. It began to race, feeling as if it might lift her off the ground.

“Do you understand?” he demanded, taking her by the elbow.

“Yes,” she said, her voice full of wonder. “I understand that this is a very bad offer for my hand.”

Easton smiled. “Do you still feel the same?” he asked softly. “Can you accept what I am telling you?”

She nodded. Tears began to fill her eyes again, only these were tears of utter happiness. “Yes,” she said. “I can accept it all as long as you are there.”

George stepped back and went down on one knee. “Honor Cabot,” he said, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Honor wasn’t certain what happened after that. She believed she shouted yes. She remembered George sweeping her up, and there was much more shouting, which she believed came mostly from Augustine, something about how he could not possibly allow it. She remembered George kissing her so completely that she was light-headed with relief, with love, with lust.

And with much happiness. Euphoric, ethereal happiness. And a wild belief that with George, anything was possible.

George kissed her neck. “You’re a bloody fool,” he whispered. “I’m near to penniless.”

“I don’t care,” she said dreamily.

“You might have very well done the most heartwarming thing anyone has ever done for me, do you know that?”

“I did?”

“You cheated to try to win me, Honor. I’ve never been so flattered. But good God, lass, learn how to cheat,” he said, and smothered her with his kisses again.



CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

AUGUSTINE WAS COMPLETELY flummoxed by what had happened in the foyer of Beckington House. “It was a theatrical event!” he exclaimed to his fiancée.

“He may not be the man you had in mind for her,” Monica said soothingly, “but Honor seems very happy.”

Augustine squinted a little as he pondered that. “She does seem happy, doesn’t she?”

“And I rather think, after all that’s gone on, no one else would have her.”

“Oh, no,” Augustine said, nodding in furious agreement. “No one would have Honor now.”

“Then I think perhaps you should ask that they marry sooner rather than later, given all the speculation that is flying about Mayfair just now.”

“Yes, of course, you are absolutely right,” Augustine said. “I shall demand they marry straightaway!” He suddenly brightened. “I know just the thing! We’ll all go to Longmeadow. It’s out of London, isn’t it? And Mr. Cleburne might do the honor.”

“Oh, dear, that might be a bit much,” Monica said with a slight wince.

“Well. We’ll devise some sort of ceremony.”

Augustine used his new title of earl to obtain a special license. Honor and George were wed at the end of that week in a private ceremony. There was no time to prepare properly, much to Prudence and Mercy’s horror, as they both would have liked to have commissioned the latest fashions for the ceremony.

Honor, however, scarcely cared what she wore, and arrived in a plain gray gown with no adornment. Clothing had slipped her mind—all she could think was that she was to marry a man she loved above every worldly thing, and that was all that mattered.

Augustine insisted, given the events leading up to their so-called engagement, that they perhaps not go out into society for a time, which Honor and George were happy to oblige. After the ceremony, they retreated to the house on Audley Street; they spent most of the first few days in his bed, occasionally allowing Finnegan to bring them food.

George taught Honor things about her body and his that both astonished and pleased her. She loved the way his mouth moved on her skin, the way his tongue slipped into her body. She loved the way he caressed her when he was making love to her, as if reassuring himself that she was there, all of her, still in his bed, still beneath him or on top of him, still part of him. She adored the things he taught her—how to take him in her mouth and please him, how to ride his cock when she was on top of him while he helped her find fulfillment with his hands.

But mostly what she loved after they’d both found their fulfillment in one another—or, in Honor’s case, more than once—was the tenderness between them. His body spent, he would still cover her with kisses by the light of the fire, slowly making his way down one leg to her toes, and up the other to her breasts, and to her mouth again, whispering his love for her, the realization that his life had been so empty before she’d intercepted him on Rotten Row that fateful afternoon.

Honor felt the same way—her life had consisted of gowns and gatherings, but until George, there had been nothing substantial to anchor her to this earth, to this life. Now she had him, and, God willing, they would have a large family. Nothing could make her happier than living in a cottage or mansion with him, presiding over a table that was filled with laughing children, and seeing this man across from her.

One evening, as they lounged naked in his bed with a tray of roasted chicken, cheese and fruit, they talked about their future. “I should think five children in all,” she said casually.

“Good Lord, darling, that number is a small village.”

“Don’t you want them, too?” she asked, kissing his nose.

“I want six.”

She laughed.

He wrapped her hair around his bandaged hand. “How shall I feed an entire village?” he mused. “Well, I shan’t fret over it. I’ve always managed to land on my feet. Mr. Sweeney is searching for a new ship—”