His lips curved; he looked down at her hand, tightened his about it. “You more than me, I think, but then came the confusion of why I’d offered for you, and that was my error. I knew why all along, but fate’s intervention and a moment’s hesitation meant you weren’t sure. I’ve since told you something of my reasons, but I haven’t told you all. I’ve told you what I feel for you-that you’re the woman who makes me feel whole and complete, the natural other half of me-but I haven’t told you why you…are so precious to me.”

Her eyes on his profile, Pris gripped his fingers, from her heart softly said, “Isn’t that implicit?”

She saw his lips curve, then he shook his head.

“No more prevarications. The truth is, if I hadn’t met you that day on the steps of the Jockey Club-if you hadn’t been there, searching for Rus-then I seriously doubt I would ever have come to this point. I don’t think I could ever have married, not because I don’t wish to, but because marriage to a woman who couldn’t see me, who could never truly know me, would be…”

“Something very like prison.”

He nodded. “Yes-you see that. But few others ever would.” He glanced at her, lips still curved, yet with seriousness and honesty in his dark eyes. “The truth is, you’re my savior. If you’ll accept me as your husband, if you’ll take my hand and be my wife, you’ll be freeing me, replacing the specter of that prison with a chance to live the life I would, if I could, choose.”

His eyes locked with hers, he shifted to face her. “And my chosen life would be to live with you, to renew Hillgate End as a home with you, to have children with you, and grow old with you.”

He paused, then, his eyes still on hers, he raised her hand to his lips, and kissed. “Will you marry me, Pris? Will you be my savior and take my hand, and be my goddess forever?”

It took effort not to let her tears well to the point where they would fall. She had to take a moment to find her voice, conscious, even through that fleeting instant, that he was watching her, that the tension in him rose a notch even though he had to know how she would reply.

He embodied everything she wanted, all she needed. Drowning in his dark eyes, in the steady light that shone there, she had no doubt of her answer, yet he deserved more than a bare acceptance. She drew in a not quite steady breath, held it for an instant, then said, “Yes, but-” She held up her other hand, staying him as he drew her nearer. “If we’re to speak truth here, then my truth is that you’re my savior, too. Perhaps I would have married, but what are the chances I would have found another gentleman who not only recognizes but appreciates my ‘wild and reckless ways’?”

She looked into his eyes. “The truth is, if I hadn’t found you, I would have suppressed that side of myself, and it would have been like a slow death. But if I marry you-if you marry me-I won’t have to. I can simply be me, become the best me I can be, for the rest of my life.”

Her heart leapt, then soared at the prospect. Her lips curved irrepressibly as joy filled her, steady and sure.

He studied her eyes, her dawning smile; to her surprise, he remained sober. Then he drew in a breath, tightened his hand about hers. “I have a caveat to make.”

It was her turn to study his face. “A caveat?”

“Your ‘wild and reckless ways’…do you think you could promise to indulge in them only when I’m with you?” He was serious and uncomfortable, uneasy in making the request.

She blinked. “Why?”

Jaw setting, he looked down at her hand, trapped in his, then looked up and met her eyes. “Because”-his expression had changed to one she knew well, all arrogant, domineering male-“losing you is the one risk I will never take.”

You are my life. You mean too much to me.

That message was blazoned in his eyes, etched in the hard planes of his face, carried in the defined lines of muscles that had tensed. She felt that reality, unequivocal and unyielding, reach out to her; she hesitated, breath caught, but then she closed her eyes and let it wrap about her.

Accepted it. Accepted him.

As he was. As she needed him to be.

Wild and reckless, passionate-and possessive.

That was the real truth of him. Of them. Of us.

She opened her eyes, looked into his, still burning with possessive heat. “Yes. All right.”

He wasn’t sure whether to believe her, to put his trust in the bright joy in her eyes. He hesitated, then asked, “All right? Just like that-all right?”

She considered, then nodded. Decisively. “Yes. Yes to everything.” Rescuing her glove from her lap, she stood. Happiness was welling, flooding through her, threatening to spill over; better they left before it did.

Dillon rose with her, retaining his hold on her hand. “So you agree not to take any risks-any risks at all-unless I’m with you?” Feeling a trifle off-balance, he tried to see her face as they walked back to the chapel door.

“Yes! Well, as far as I can.” Reaching the door, she halted and faced him, met his eyes directly. “And no, I am not pleased to have to make such a promise, but…” Tilting her head, she searched his eyes. “You won’t rest unless I do, will you?”

He’d forgotten she saw straight into his soul. He looked into her eyes, saw all the joy he could wish for, along with too much understanding to deny, and surrendered. “No.”

She nodded. “Precisely.” She turned to the door. “So I’ll try my best-”

“Please tell me you’ll do more than try.”

“-to accommodate you.” She glanced sideways at him, caught his eye. “Isn’t that what wives are supposed to do?”

There was a subtle smile on her lips, a light in her emerald eyes-more than teasing, an outright challenge-another element of her understanding.

His gaze fastened on those distracting lips.

She stiffened. “No. Not in a cathedral. This was your plan. You have to live with it.”

He closed his eyes, groaned, and opened the door for her. He followed her into the church, now as eager as she to leave, and mildly amazed that the deed was done, that despite all, their path was set and agreed.

She glanced at the altar as they went past, then looked at him as he took her arm. “Have you given any thought as to when we should wed?”

The point didn’t require thought. “How about as soon as humanly possible? Most of your family’s here-we could send for your younger brothers and sisters.” He hesitated. “Unless you want to marry in Ireland?”

“No.” Pris shook her head. That would make it too hard for many of her new friends to attend, and besides, there was nothing for her there; her future lay…she glanced at Dillon. “Let’s marry in Newmarket.”

He met her gaze as they emerged through the main doors, into brilliant sunshine lancing through the broken clouds. “If you’re happy with that?”

“Yes.” Smiling delightedly, she felt her heart soar; all their decisions felt unequivocally right.

They stopped on the porch. Dillon signaled to the tiger to bring the curricle and pair to them, then swept her into his arms and kissed her-thoroughly. When he released her, the smile on his lips set the seal on her joy. She looked about; the sun warmed her; everything seemed sharper, cleaner, more crystal clear. More finite and settled, outside and within, as if from that first meeting in Newmarket she’d been living in a kaleidoscope of ever-shifting possibilities, but now the kaleidoscope had stopped, revealing the fabulous, exciting pattern that her future-their future-would be.

Eagerness gripped her. Impatience welled. The instant they were in the curricle and Dillon had set his horses pacing, she asked, “Where should we go first?”

“First?”

“Where should we go to start the arrangements? Our wedding isn’t simply going to happen, not without a great deal of discussion and organizing.”

Dillon grimaced, but didn’t take his eyes from his blacks. “I’ll make a deal with you-you make the arrangements, tell me where to be when, and I’ll be there. Just don’t ask me for an opinion on anything.”

She laughed; the sound curled around his heart and warmed it.

“Done.” She leaned lightly against his shoulder, then straightened. “So where should we call first, to tell them our news?”

“Flick’s, or she’ll never forgive me, and Eugenia and Adelaide will be there, too. I suspect they won’t have gone out yet.” They’d be waiting to see what had transpired, he had not a doubt. “And no doubt Flick will then rush us around to Horatia’s.”

Pris happily agreed.

Dillon tooled the curricle through the city streets, reassured that he could safely leave her in the Cynster ladies’ company, especially in the throes of planning a wedding. All attention would be focused on her; she would be the center of the gathering.

With her safety assured, he could turn his mind to his latest risk-one last throw of the dice to flush out Mr. X, and ensure that Pris and he did not remain at the mercy of a vengeful villain, possibly for the rest of their lives.

That shared life had now taken shape in his mind; with Pris, he would make it a reality. And there was very little he wouldn’t risk to make it safe, to protect it, and her.

22

Rus was the first person Pris set eyes on as they entered Flick’s front hall. Her smile exuberant, she flung herself into his arms. “You’re going to have a brother-in-law. I’m going to marry Dillon.”

Rus’s face creased in a smile to match her own. “Excellent!” He swung her around and around; Pris laughed, eyes alight.

Adelaide and Eugenia appeared in the drawing room doorway, followed by Flick, all eager to learn what was going on.

With his habitual charm, his eyes on Pris, Dillon told them.