“There, Mister Rose. Privacy.” Her tone was almost mocking.

“I require more than this,” he replied sternly. “Much more.”

Celia shrugged as though it mattered little what he wanted, but she bent to his wishes. “We may enter the rose garden maze, if that will suffice.”

Gabriel nodded silently. He allowed her to lead the way as they approached the maze. The sweet scent of roses surrounded them as they stepped just inside the entrance. The bushes at the beginning of the path were thick but not terribly high. Gabriel and Celia could easily be seen in this section, but no one would be able to hear their conversation.

“What has happened?” Celia asked once they were out of earshot and mostly beyond the eyesight of other guests.

“Much,” Gabriel murmured.

Celia’s eyebrow rose. “Again, with the cryptic statements.”

Gabriel hesitated. The rest of his life depended on this moment. Leap or retreat. Seize or forfeit.

All of it or none of it.

Those were his choices as he stood on a rocky precipice.

He wanted all of it.

Because suddenly, here in the quietness of this maze, with the aroma of roses and rich green grass surrounding them, with the distant hum of others laughing and the light of the torches illuminating this girl’s face, he wanted everything. And above all else, he wanted Celia Buchanan.

“Certain events have occurred that change the nature of our relationship.” Gabriel paused at the confusion evident in Celia’s features. She did not quite understand what he meant. Clenching his jaw, he gathered his courage.

“I want you to be my wife.”

CHAPTER 17

“What?” Celia blinked.

Surely, she must look like a fool as she gaped in dazed shock at the man. Funny how it sounded as though he had just requested her hand in marriage.

No. Not requested. The arrogant cad demanded.

“I want you to become the next Marchioness of Rosenthorne.” Gabriel’s features were as pale as newly woven silk. The scar slashing his eyebrow in half glowed a faint white in the flickering light cast by the torches at the beginning of the maze.

This was most confusing. “I’ve no desire to marry the Marquess of Rosenthorne.”

Gabriel scrubbed his chin and let out a sharp laugh.

The faintest hint of insecurity glimmered in his demeanor and Celia was puzzled by it. This man was always supremely confident. So assured of his position. His power. He may be Ravenswood’s enforcer, the earl’s man in all things, but only because it was Gabriel’s choice. He held the reins of his own fate and lived as he wanted.

“I want you to marry me,” he clarified.

“You are not making a great deal of sense, Gabriel.” Celia shook her head in an attempt at clearing the cobwebs. She was obviously missing a great deal of information during this odd conversation. “How precisely would marrying you make me a marchioness?”

Gabriel took her by the arm.