Harry knew he would appreciate that fact later. He brought one hand to where he was joined with her. He touched her.

“Yes!” she screamed.

“Fine, then.” Footsteps retreated.

His lady wrapped her legs high over his hips and leaned forward to bite his mouth. “Finish it.”

His eyes half closed at the feel, the perfection, of her. This was his lady, and he was going to claim her. His chest filled with gratitude that he’d been given this second chance.

But she was still waiting. “As you wish.” He pressed his thumb firmly on her and at the same time thrust hard and quick, shaking the table.

“Oh, my Lord!” she moaned.

“Bite my shoulder,” he panted, picking up his pace even more.

He felt the pinch even through his coat’s broadcloth. And then he burst within her, flinging his own head back and grinding his teeth to keep from shouting in ecstasy. “God!”

His entire body trembled in the aftermath, and he had to prop one arm on the table to brace both of them. He locked his knees to stay upright and gasped, “Will you marry me, my lady?”

“You’re asking now?” Her voice was weak.

At least he wasn’t the only one affected. “Yes. And I’m not leaving until you give me an answer.”

“WHAT COULD THEY POSSIBLY be talking about this long?” Violet asked no one in particular. She shivered and wished she’d thought to bring a wrap. The church was chilly.

The vicar muttered and settled more deeply into a front pew. His eyes were closed. She suspected he’d fallen asleep.

She tapped her foot on the flagstones. When Harry and his friends had first shown up, it had been quite tense, exciting really, with all those swords waving about. She’d thought for sure that some type of fight would break out. She’d been all ready to start tearing up her underskirts in the proscribed manner should any blood be spilled. But as the minutes wore on, the gentlemen had begun to look, well, bored.

The big man with the scarred face started poking the tip of his sword into the cracks in the church flagstones. The elegant-looking man was glaring at the big man and lecturing him on the proper maintenance of blades. The third man in Harry’s group had brown hair and was wearing a terribly dusty coat. That was all she knew about him because his back was to everyone else as he idly inspected the church’s stained-glass windows. He had a small boy by his side and appeared to be pointing out to him the biblical scenes depicted in the glass.

Meanwhile, Oscar, Ralph, Cecil, and Freddy, the defenders of George’s honor, were arguing about the correct way to hold a sword. Ralph’s eye was swollen and turning greenish yellow, and Oscar was limping. She’d have to find out about that later.