But he felt more than that. Much more. And hoped to find the words to tell her.

He didn’t think she’d believe him, not after their distinctly rocky beginning and tempestuous middle.

It’s not as if he’d had much practice proposing either, not like his old army friend and fellow baronet Sir Harry Chalmers. Harry had been engaged four or five times. He’d been spectacularly unlucky in love, but the man at least had an initial way with women and words. Harry seemed to propose every time he popped out of bed. A little advice might prove useful right about now.

Of course, Bay had proposed once himself, thirteen long years ago. He couldn’t quite recall what he’d said to Anne to convince her to marry him, but in any event wouldn’t want to repeat that experience. He’d been a callow youth with years’ worth of worshipping her from afar, and she’d been a lonely young widow itching to get out of her parents’ house again. Anyone might have done for her back then, he thought sourly, except somehow she had become as fixated on him now as he was once with her. The fact that Anne had not stayed abroad was worrisome, but he shook his head free of those details. Now was not the time to be ruing the past and recent present. Now was the time to sweep Charlie off her feet with romance and enchantment.

Charlie was already off her feet, lounging in innocent seduction on a stack of cushions. Her eyes were half closed, her lashes casting long shadows on her cheeks in the flickering light. Her alabaster skin glowed, and her lips were stained from the berries and the fine port that Frazier had packed. Bay wanted to kiss those lips, taste the berries and the wine and the tart and Charlie, so he did. She snuggled against him with a sigh.

“This has been perfect.”

He caressed her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “The best is yet to come.”

“What? Have you arranged for some entertainment? Dancing girls from your harem, perhaps? This all does remind me of an Oriental dream-the tent, the carpet, dining on pillows.”

“I wouldn’t insult you with any other women, Charlie. You are the only one I need.”

He felt her stiffen beneath him. Just pretty, insincere words, she’d be thinking. It was now or never.

“Charlie, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” He ran a hand through his too-long hair. By God, he was nervous. “I’m not sure where to start.”

She rolled back on the rug, tucking her legs beneath the dark robe. Her face was covered now with a jet curtain of hair. Just when he wished most to see her, she was drenched in shadow.

“Charlie, look at me. I promise it’s not so terrible. You might even like it.”

“Don’t spoil it, Bay.” Her voice was brittle. “Just let me have tonight. We can discuss me leaving tomorrow.”

“Leaving! What the devil are you talking about?”

“This-this holiday or whatever you wish to call it. Our time together is almost up. But I can go home sooner. Lord knows I have plenty of work ahead of me. Why, my garden is probably a jungle! Those village boys won’t know-”

He kissed her again to shut her up. She fought every parry and thrust. Just when he thought he had softened her, she broke away with surprising strength. Tears glistened like diamonds on her cheeks.

“Charlie, sweetheart, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

He should have written the words beforehand and read them. Always was handy with the ladies in a letter, each missive full of flights of fancy and romantic nonsense. But he’d never meant much by them-they were just a way to smooth his way into their beds. Tonight was different, and it was clear Charlie had no idea what was on his mind.

“Marry me,” he blurted.

“What?”

She looked at him with her mouth flapping open, rather like a dazed fish who has realized life as he knew it was over.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Charlotte Fallon?” He smiled. There. That was much better.

“What?”

“Good lord, Charlie, you’re making this difficult. You haven’t got water in your ears, have you?”

“Water?”

Well, that was an improvement over “what,” though they sounded rather alike. He took her hands in his. “Charlie, I am proposing marriage to you. It’s not something I do every day, mind you, and no doubt I’ve gone about it the wrong way. But you wouldn’t like it if I’d had years of practice and a past littered with wives and fiancées, would you? One is bad enough. And now,” he said, catching sight of her black eyebrows knitting together, “I’ve reminded you of Anne, which I’d hoped never to do. Blast.”

Charlie seemed less fishlike, but her hands were cold as ice. “Let’s get closer to the little stove, shall we? You’re chilled.” He dragged her across the carpet and settled her in front of the camp stove. What he wouldn’t have given for one of these on the Peninsula. There were times he thought he’d freeze to death, but here he was, still alive, making a mess of the most important night of his life.

“You want to marry me.”

She sounded as if she were in some sort of trance, but at least she was talking sense. “Yes,” he said firmly. “Yes, I do.”

“W-why?”

“Because.” She’d have to settle for that. He hadn’t quite worked it through his own mind. Oh, he could go on about her delicious sinful body and her wicked sharp tongue, but taken together they didn’t add up. And he wasn’t about to babble on that he loved her. That she bespelled him. She’d think him an imbecile.

“Because why?”

Lord, she was stubborn. Here he’d offered her a life of comparative luxury and she was bedeviling him with questions. He cleared his throat and fixed his eye on the smiling face of the Man in the Moon. That fellow didn’t have to explain, just be and beam down. “We suit, you and I. You must agree we’ve gotten on great guns the weeks we’ve been here. I know you like Bayard Court, and it needs a chatelaine. I’ve decided to retire to the country, and you can keep me company.”

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t it enough? I can settle more money upon you if you like, although I won’t be a cheese-paring ogre. You’ll have whatever you need, and then some. And you love to garden. We can set up the conservatory again with all the plants in the kingdom.”

“I’m not going to marry you because of plants,” she said, her voice rising. “Or housekeeping. Or money, you stupid man! Do you-do you love me?” She was practically screaming now.

Bay reminded himself her tongue was a part of her body that he did in fact love. What harm would it do to tell her? She wasn’t Anne, about to control and subjugate him for his weakness. Charlie was a completely different soul. But he would keep the upper hand at all costs.

“Whatever love is. I hold you in the deepest affection. You are not at all the woman I first thought you to be.”

Bay suddenly found himself sprawled on his arse in the sand. Charlie was above him, shaking a little fist very close to his nose. He knew she was perfectly capable of using it, so he scrambled away. “What have I said? Of course I love you, you little shrew! Why else would I ask you to marry me? You haven’t any money, and you’re old! Mature, I mean, past your first season,” he said hastily, crawling sideways like a crab.

“You utter fiend! How dare you!” Her hair lifted wildly in the breeze, making Bay think of a frenzy of black snakes. Snakes that seemed ready to inject their venom in him with glee.

“Well, let’s be honest. You’re on the shelf,” he tried to reason. “We both have unfortunate pasts, but together we can make a good life.” He ducked too late as she flung sand at his face. “There’s no need of that.” He spat out a mouthful of grit, grateful her aim wasn’t higher. His sight was important to him, and right now Charlie was a vision as the High Priestess of Passion. The belt of her robe trailed in the sand, and she seemed unaware that her body was fully exposed to him in the moonlight. Her nipples were puckered with anger and cold, making him very interested in soothing them. “Sweetheart,” he attempted, “perhaps my choice of words was clumsy, but-”

“Clumsy! What an understatement! Where is the man who wrote ‘I dream of you, despairing when the sun wakes me. For in the darkness you are near, your lips a crimson butterfly dancing from one end of me to another, delighting in my nectar’?”

The words were absurd, yet somehow familiar. “What rubbish! What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh!” She twirled around in pique, swirling up a storm of sand. “I should have known better, truly I should. You’re right-I am ‘mature,’ old enough to know better. If you think I want some marriage of convenience-your convenience-you have another think coming!”

“You silly woman! I just told you I loved you! What more do you want? Fealty? A blood oath? Find me a knife in the basket and it’s done.” He instantly regretted his words. An armed Charlie was not someone to be taken lightly. She could slice out his liver and serve it to him for a midnight snack without a qualm.

So much for sleeping peacefully under the stars. Charlie was stomping off in the direction of the tunnel, tripping on her loose robe. He heard her snort of disgust and watched her tie herself up tight again. Just as well she went into the cool cave to cool down. He’d have to think up something brilliant when she came out to pacify her.

Obviously the elaborate romantic setting had not been enough, and perhaps his statements had been less than heroic. One never reminded a woman of her age if one could help it. But how could Charlie not know how he felt about her? One didn’t do all they did together when one felt indifferent. Dispassionate. He pushed himself off the damp sand, brushing off his backside. He’d like to swat Charlie’s bum for tossing him down, the little baggage. Her temper was uncertain at the best of times. Why on earth did he want to saddle himself with her for eternity?