She shook her head. “The only one of those who really is me is Isobel. Henry created Lady Kingsley, and as for Bella–”
“She’s you, too. Just as Lady Kingsley is you. Yes, your husband set out the road for Isobel to follow, but it was Isobel who took it, Isobel who did the work, Isobel who transformed herself into Lady Kingsley. There would be no Lady Kingsley without Isobel working behind the scenes. And even Bella, that naughty minx, is Isobel when she’s at home and relaxed. . . or in the throes of lovemaking. They are all you, my darling, and I’m in love with every single one of them.”
“Oh, Justin,” she said, hardly able to speak for the joy filling her throat, “that is quite possibly the most wonderful thing any man has ever said to me.”
“So that means you’ll marry me? Even if you don’t love me, perhaps in time–”
“Now who’s blind?” she said, stretching up to silence his ridiculous uncertainties with a kiss. “Of course I love you.” She mimicked his authoritarian voice. “Good God, man, do you think I accept a proposal of marriage every day?”
He raised an eyebrow. “This had better be the last. Because I don’t intend to share you with anyone. I plan to be Galatea’s only husband from now until eternity.”
Then he swept her into his arms and gave her the most delicious kiss yet. Or perhaps it was the most delicious because they were in love. And being in love seemed to make everything more wonderful–the air, the room, the kiss. . . She couldn’t wait to try this out in every room of her town house. And his. And theirs.
When he drew back, he wore a decidedly mischievous look. “Now that you’ve agreed to marry me, my lovely Isobel, I’ll have to establish some rules.”
She eyed him warily. “Oh? And what might those be?”
“Rule number one–no more masks.”
With a laugh, she relaxed in his arms. “I think I can agree to that.”
But he wasn’t finished. “Rule number two–no more sponges.”
“More? We didn’t even use them the first time,” she pointed out.
“Good. And we won’t use them in the future either. At least not until we’ve had a few children.”
She swallowed. “And if I can’t have children?”
“Then we won’t need them anyway, will we?” When she continued to stare at him uncertainly, he added, “Children or no children, I want you, Bella. But I should like to attempt to have some.”
“So would I,” she admitted shyly.
“And finally, rule number three–no more widows’ auctions. I’ll soon have pockets to let if I spend a thousand pounds every time I need to get your attention.”
She laughed and tightened her arms about his neck. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ve had enough of auctions to last me a lifetime. Unless you’d be interested in a private auction. I know this widow named Bella who for a certain price would be willing to commit the most naughty, outrageous acts imaginable.”
As desire flared in his face, he growled. “Oh? And what precisely would that cost me?”
“Your heart,” she whispered back. “Nothing but your heart.”
He grinned as he lowered his head to hers. “Then thank God that’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.”
Sabrina Jeffries (aka Deborah Martin and Deborah Nicholas) is the award-winning author of thirty-nine novels, six novellas, and three short stories, including the last book in her Duke’s Men series, If the Viscount Falls, and the launch book in her new Sinful Suitors series, The Art of Sinning.
After earning her Ph.D. in English Literature from Tulane University, she chose writing over academics, and now her sexy and humorous historical romances routinely land on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists.
With more than 8 million books in print, she never regrets that decision to leave academia to pursue the fantastic world of fiction writing. Sabrina lives in North Carolina with her husband and adult son, who has inspired her to actively champion the cause of autistic children.
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