“I am as shocked as you at this turn of events, but this title means nothing to me if you will not become my marchioness.”

Celia’s chin tilted higher with distress. “It matters not if you are a marquess. We cannot marry.”

There would be no shortage of women vying for Gabriel’s attention now. He would soon forget her, and she prayed that happened quickly. For both their sakes.

“And why not? I’ve no interest in marrying anyone else. And you must marry eventually.”

Celia grit her teeth at his persistence.

“I-We do not suit one another, Mister Rose. It’s obvious if you look beyond the superficial veneer of attraction we share.”

“You wanted a faux courtship. Well, there is no need pretending now.” Gabriel sighed when Celia remained silent. “I see I’ve a bit of work convincing you otherwise.”

“You possess more ups and downs than a rowboat tossed about in a hurricane, Mister Rose,” Celia grit from between clenched teeth. “I fear it is impossible keeping pace with your moods.”

Taking her by the shoulders, Gabriel turned her until she was fully facing him. One hand cupped her chin, holding her still while he studied her face. His eyes turned darker, a glint of wicked promise shimmering in the sun-sparked depths. “Marry me, Celia. I will keep you safe and care for you the rest of our lives. Your burdens will become my burdens. Your joys will be my joys. Your pleasure, my goal. And your happiness shall be my lifelong pursuit.”

“I don’t understand why you’ve suddenly decided this.”

“You needn’t understand why I want you.” Gabriel stood suddenly, pulling her up along with him. “You need only say yes.”

“I-I cannot.” Celia’s words escaped in an agonized whisper. “I cannot. You are too possessive. Too intense. Too much of everything that makes you unsuitable as a husband. My husband. You care too much, Gabriel Rose. It’s as plain as if you wore a banner proclaiming it to the world. I am not the wife for you. And you are not the husband for me.”

“Possessive? Yes. That is one thing we do agree upon.” Gabriel chuckled. His firm lips brushed over hers and she shuddered in reluctant compliance. “Intense? Yes, that too. Because every touch we share feels like flames licking at my soul. You’re goddamn right I care too much. The problem is that I care about you. Celia, give me your fears. I will conquer them and shatter any doubt that you and I belong together. Give yourself to me and I shall do the same.”

In the distance, Celia heard a collective cheer from the crowd gathered on the lawns. Seconds ticked by as she and Gabriel stared at one another, and for some strange reason, the darkness began receding. A warm, lovely glow spread from the darkest corners of the garden, tendrils curling and weaving through the roses’ thorny branches until Celia was convinced something magical was occurring.

It was the fireflies. The tiny insects were fleeing their brief captivity in glass jars, escaping the brightly lit lawns for the safety of the dark. They were nearly frantic in their attempts at reaching the edges of the shadows. Searching out all the secret, hidden places while lighting the way at the same time. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking.