Page 111 of The Masterful Mr. Montague

Promise, and commitment.

Both were there in that kiss—him to her and her to him, and beyond that to what might be, to what they together might create and share.

Their exchange shaped the vision, enshrined it in their minds.

A clear statement—and they both wanted it.

Yearned for it.

Desired it.

Heat of a kind she’d never felt before rose and spread, heavy and lush, beneath her skin, a compulsive surge that for all its unfamiliarity she recognized instinctively. Rich and potent, it lured and beckoned, and she answered—and so did he.

Gently, with a reluctance that resonated within her, he drew back and broke the kiss.

He looked into her eyes, and she looked into his and saw him—the man she loved—clearly.

One large hand cradling the back of her head, his gaze traveled her face, her eyes, her lips, as if in wonder, then he brought his gaze back to her eyes. “I’m a simple man, Violet—I don’t have fancy words. All I know is that I need you to make my life whole. All I know is that I want you as my wife, and that I will move heaven and earth to win you.”

Her answer leapt to her curving lips. She held his gaze as she gave it. “I don’t want heaven. I don’t even want earth. I do want you—and I do, more than anything else in life, want to fill the position of your wife.”

“So you’ll marry me?”

“Yes.” Even she heard the joy in that word. “I’ll marry you, and be your wife, and have you as my husband—nothing, simply nothing, could make me happier.”

He captured one of her hands and raised her fingers to his lips. “I swear you will never regret accepting my suit.”

“I know I won’t”—she held his gaze—“because I love you.”

She felt the ripple of reaction that passed through him, as if those simple words had turned some key and unlocked . . . something within him.

It felt as if shackles fell, as if her words had released some long-ago binding, one he’d placed on himself and had forgotten, or had never truly realized was there. His commitment to his work had been that absolute, that demanding. But now . . . he felt free—free to speak, to say, to admit, “Love”—he searched her eyes and saw that emotion shining—“is too simple a word for what I feel for you. Admiration, adoration, worship—all that, and more.”

Slipping her fingers from his, she laid her palm against his cheek. “You don’t need more—you just need to be you, and to continue to love me as I love you.”

“But . . . I want so much.” He felt his lips wryly curve. “The businessman within me will never die—my heart seems such a paltry thing when placed in the scales.”

She laughed. “Never that. You have the heart of a lion.”

“But I want . . .” He couldn’t, it seemed, stop himself from making a bid to have it all, all he now knew his soul yearned for. Craved. “You, by my side, and a family—if we’re blessed.” At the arrested look in her eyes, he hurried to explain, “I’ve already got the business, the position, the station—the wealth, the acquaintances, even the close friends. I have all the appurtenances of a successful life, but without a wife, and even more a family, all the rest means little.” He held her gaze. “I know we’re neither of us in the first flush of youth, yet . . .” He hesitated, then forced himself to say, to ask, “If you’re willing . . . ?”

The smile that slowly bloomed on her face transcended joy. Her eyes shone with the same all-encompassing emotion. “You said it yourself before—we are our own people, you and I. We can be whatever we wish to be. Lovers, spouses, parents—we can, if we choose, have it all.”

As he drew in a huge breath, she stretched up and, just before her lips touched his, she stated, “And we do so choose.”

Then she kissed him, acceptance, agreement, and commitment reaffirmed—passionately—in the caress.

Without conscious direction, his arms closed around her and he gave her the same in return.

And let the moment lead him—and her—as it would.

When he lifted his head—separated their lips by a heated breath—and glanced at the door to his left, then arched a brow at her, her smile only deepened.

And she whispered against his lips, “Yes.”

Violet didn’t need to say more.

Not to him—the man who looked at her with love and passion in his eyes, solid and true and unwavering.