“I’ve no need of it,” Simon said, resuming their walk in an effort to expend the sexual tension she incited in him. “Eddington kept his word, oddly enough.”

“Lovely.” Her smile told him she was happy for him, but he knew she would have taken him anyway. “My mother and father intend to wed.”

Simon smiled, pleased. It was rare to see a couple so attuned to one another. “I wish them well.”

“It would be an excellent time for us to honeymoon in Ireland,” she murmured. “It would give them the opportunity to enjoy one another and celebrate their reunion without interference.”

“Lynette.” He laughed and picked her up, spinning her. “You will run roughshod over me for the rest of our days, I can see it already.”

Her hands settled on his shoulders and she pressed her lips to the tip of his nose. “Do you fault me for wishing to start those days—and nights—now? If you drag your feet any longer, I will think you are waiting for someone better to come along.”

“There is no one better.”

“Of course not.” Her fingers sifted through his hair, her blues eyes warm and appreciative. “Ask me,” she urged.

With a dramatic sigh, he set her down and dropped to one knee on the gravel path. “Lynette Rousseau, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Tears filled her eyes and her lips quivered. “Oh, Simon . . .”

He reached into his coat pocket and removed a ring box.

Her eyes widened. “You had that with you the whole time?”

Simon smiled.

“Ooh!” She stomped her foot, then turned on her heel and left him.

Laughing, he chased after her, unwilling ever to let her go.