When I open my mouth, he stops my words with a light kiss. “I am almost done. I promise. To that declaration, I must add a codicil. You may not feel the same. Even if you do, you may understandably not be ready to commit yourself to a man you’ve known for three days. I am not asking for that. I am simply circling back to what I was saying earlier this evening. This is more than a lark for me. More than a passing affair. If we are to continue, then I need to know where I stand. Do you intend it as a brief affair? Or are you willing to try for more?”

The answer should be obvious. My heart swells with it, my mind reeling with the dizzying thought that I might not lose him in a day or two, a week or two. Yet when I open my mouth, nothing comes.

“Is it the complications of our separate worlds?” he says. “I have read tragic stories about lovers who say they are from different worlds, but it is never so true as with us. Your family and your life are here. My family and my life are there. I believe, with the help of this stitch and permission from the Thornes, we could reconcile that. Do you disagree?”

“I love you.”

The words come without thought, and he blinks and then says, with a soft chuckle, “Well, that is good. In fact, I do not think I have ever heard sweeter words. However, they are not quite uttered in the tone I imagined for them, and I believe that suggests the true problem. You are not ready to be in love.”

“I . . . It’s happening very quickly.”

“It is.”

“And I did not think . . . That is, I had reconciled myself—or ‘reconciled’ might not be the correct word . . .”

“You had decided that you would likely not marry, and you were all right with that. I had done the same. I have known women whose company I appreciated, but none I wished to commit myself to in such a way.”

“Yes,” I say slowly. “Yet at the risk of giving offense, I do not think it is quite the same. Men often immerse themselves in their work or their interests with no intention of marrying, knowing they may change their minds at any point. A man may wed at forty, fifty, even sixty and begin a family. A woman past the years of childbearing is less likely to be seen as a prospect for marriage. Once I decided that I was not ready to wed, I knew it could be permanent, and I had accepted that.”

I shift in his arms. “I may be making no sense. I ought to be thrilled.”

“You ought to be thrilled that you have met a man who wishes to marry you?” His brows shoot up. “If you honestly believe I would think that, I have represented myself very poorly. This has happened quickly, and it is disconcerting.”