She could hide in the shadows, but she didn’t have to do that anymore. Nor did she want to. Thankfully, there were no more secrets to keep. She could be Mirabelle and Evie. “I love you too.”

His eyes widened and his lips parted. She nearly giggled. “Is it that shocking?” she asked.

“I just… I didn’t think you would let yourself love me. Actually, that’s what Lucien said, and it seems he knows you rather well.”

She arched a brow at him. “You spoke to Lucien?”

“After I sent Ash to your house. I needed advice. I wanted to go to you, to fight for you, but I didn’t think you wanted me to. I was going to try to let you alone, as I did when you returned to London, but that was excruciating.”

“And in that instance, you also used Ash to get to me.” She ruffled Ash’s fur as she smiled at Gregory. “You’re very clever.”

He continued to stare at her in disbelief. “I can’t believe you love me.”

“How could I not? You make me feel valued and important.” She took a breath as joy surged in her chest. “Cherished.”

He cupped her face and kissed her, soft and lingering, with so much love she felt she might burst. “You are cherished.” He kissed her forehead. “Worshipped.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Beloved.”

Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, Evie kissed him again. It was several minutes before he backed away, smiling. He picked up his discarded shirt and pulled it over his head. “When shall we wed?”

Evie froze. Loving him was one thing. Marriage was something else entirely. That would be a definitive end to her independence, to the life she had so painstakingly built. “I told you I don’t want to get married. That hasn’t changed.” She saw the joy recede from his expression and rushed to explain. “If I marry you, everything I have will become yours. I’m not wealthy by any means, but I’ve saved for my future, particularly over the past two years. I don’t think I can give up my independence.” She plucked nervously at her chemise.

He was quiet a moment, and she could practically hear his mind turning. He sat on the edge of the bed, angling his body with one knee onto the mattress so he faced her. “I also have a tidy sum—my father made sure I wouldn’t ever have to rely on my impulsive brother. Shall we see who has more?” He said this with humor, and it helped her relax. A little.

“No, because I’m sure it’s you.” She couldn’t possibly compete with the wealth a marquess bequeathed to a favored son.