Their gazes locked. For one moment, all was still. Then a slow smile twisted Dominic’s lips.
“Georgiana, my love, will you marry me?”
Her face alight, Georgiana squealed as his arms tightened about her. “Yes!” she said, laughing. Then, as his head bent to hers, “Oh, yes.”
Much later, curled on his lap, warm and secure and pleasantly intoxicated, Georgiana recalled the paintings. She looked into his face. His eyes were closed, but as she watched they opened. One brow rose in query.
Suddenly shy, she dropped her gaze to where her fingers played in the folds of his cravat. “Will you take me to see the Fragonards?”
As a deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, she blushed vividly. But when she glanced again into his face, his expression was perfectly serious.
“Maybe you should see them. Just so you know what kind of man you’re marrying.”
His lips twisted into a smile that held a gentle promise. The glow in his eyes thrilled her to the core. Feeling suddenly light-headed, her heart thundering, Georgiana managed to nod her agreement.
A few minutes later they left the drawing-room with some semblance of normality and started up the stairs, Georgiana going ahead. On the landing they met Duckett, on his way down. As he drew abreast of his butler, Dominic paused to murmur, sotto voce, “Just remember, Duckett, this is all your fault.”
Duckett’s rigidly correct demeanour did not alter. He inclined his head. “Very good, m’lord.”
Duckett continued down the stairs, pausing at their foot to listen to the soft murmur of lovers’ voices, cut off by the closing of a door overhead.
Then he smiled. “Very good, m’lord.”