It was a striking thought, living away from her family. They had been her entire world. Especially Amelia, her one great constant. The idea touched a note of anxiety in Beatrix, but also excitement. A new home—new people, new places to explore . . . and Christopher. Most of all, Christopher.

“I believe I could,” Beatrix said. “I would miss them. But most of the time I’m left to my own devices here. My siblings are occupied with their families and their lives, which is as it should be. As long as I could travel to see them when I wished, I think I would be happy.”

Christopher fondled her cheek, his knuckles sliding delicately against the side of her throat. There was understanding in his eyes, and sympathy, and something else that caused her skin to flush.

“Whatever your happiness requires,” he said, “you’ll have it.” Easing her closer, he kissed her forehead, working down to the tip of her nose. “Beatrix. Now I have something to ask you.” His lips found the curve of her smiling mouth. “My love . . . I would choose the small sum of hours I’ve spent with you over a lifetime spent with another woman. You never needed to write that note, asking me to find you. I’ve wanted to find you my entire life. I don’t think there’s a man alive who could be all the things you deserve in a husband . . . but I beg you to let me try. Will you marry me?”

Beatrix pulled his head down to hers, and brought her lips close to his ear. “Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered, and for no reason at all other than she wanted to, she caught the edge of his ear lightly with her teeth.

Startled by the love nip, Christopher looked down at her. Beatrix’s breath quickened as she saw the promises of retribution and pleasure in his eyes. He pressed a hard kiss against her lips.

“What kind of wedding would you like?” he asked, and stole another kiss before she could reply.

“The kind that turns you into my husband.” She touched the firm line of his mouth with her fingers. “What kind would you like?”

He smiled ruefully. “A fast one.”

Chapter Nineteen

Christopher supposed he should take it as a bad sign that within a fortnight he had become entirely comfortable around his future in-laws. Whereas he had once avoided them for their peculiarities, he now sought out their company, spending nearly every evening at Ramsay House.

The Hathaways squabbled, laughed, and genuinely seemed to like each other, which made them different from any other family of Christopher’s experience. They were interested in everything, new ideas, inventions, and discoveries. No doubt the family’s intellectual bent was a result of the influence of their late father, Edward.

Christopher sensed that the happy, often chaotic household was doing him good, whereas the clamor of London had not. Somehow the Hathaways, with all their rough edges, were smoothing the broken places of his soul. He liked all of them, especially Cam, who acted as the leader of the family, or the tribe, as he referred to them. Cam was a soothing presence, calm and tolerant, occasionally herding the Hathaways along when necessary.

Leo wasn’t quite so approachable. Although he was charming and irreverent, the sharp edges of his humor reminded Christopher uncomfortably of his own past, when he had often made quips at other people’s expense. For example, that remark he had once made about Beatrix belonging in the stables. Which he still didn’t remember saying, except that unfortunately it sounded exactly like something he would have said. He hadn’t fully understood the power of words then.

The past two years had taught him differently.

In the case of Leo, however, Beatrix assured Christopher that in spite of his sharp tongue, Leo was a caring and loyal brother. “You’ll come to like him very well,” she said. “But it’s no surprise that you feel more comfortable around Cam—you’re both foxes.”

“Foxes?” Christopher had repeated, amused.

“Yes. I can always tell what kind of animal a person would be. Foxes are hunters, but they don’t rely on brute strength. They’re subtle and clever. Fond of outwitting others. And although they sometimes travel far, they always like to come back to a snug, safe home.”

“I suppose Leo is a lion,” Christopher said dryly.

“Oh, yes. Dramatic, demonstrative, and he hates being ignored. And sometimes he’ll take a swipe at you. But beneath the sharp claws and the growls, he’s still a cat.”

“What animal are you?”

“A ferret. We can’t help collecting things. When we’re awake, we’re very busy, but we also like to be still for long periods.” She grinned at him. “And ferrets are very affectionate.”

Christopher had always imagined that his household would be run with order and precision by a proper wife who would oversee every detail. Instead it seemed there was going to be a wife who strode about in breeches while animals roamed, waddled, crept, or hopped through every room.

He was fascinated by Beatrix’s competence at things women were not usually competent at. She knew how to use a hammer or a plane tool. She rode better than any woman he had ever seen, and possibly better than any man. She had an original mind, an intelligence woven of recall and intuition. But the more Christopher learned about Beatrix, the more he perceived the vein of insecurity that ran deep in her. A sense of otherness that often inclined her toward solitude. He thought that perhaps it had something to do with her parents’ untimely deaths, especially her mother’s, which Beatrix had felt as an abandonment. And perhaps it was partly a result of the Hathaways’ having been pushed into a social position they had never been prepared for. Being in the upper classes wasn’t merely following a set of rules, it was a way of thinking, of carrying oneself and interacting with the world, that had to be instilled since birth. Beatrix would never acquire the sophistication of the young women who had been raised in the aristocracy.