He absorbed her words in solemn silence. It wasn’t only what she said that persuaded him. It was that lip wobble. When coupled with her fingers twined around his, he was powerless to refuse her.

“Very well,” he said.

She exhaled. “You’ll marry me?”

“I will.”

Tears started in her eyes. She made a visible effort to keep her composure. “I have conditions.”

He felt a rush of tenderness for her. “Ah.”

“Perhaps I should have mentioned those first?”

“You might have done.” He brushed his lips to her knuckles. “What are they?”

“First, that you promise never to restrict my reading.”

“Done. What else?”

“Cossack must come with me as my riding horse. And you must promise to allow me to have a cat and a dog, too. More than one each if I choose. And they may stay in the house with me. Even in my room.”

“Conditions accepted. Is that all?”

Color tinged her cheeks—a delicate wash of damask pink so faint he might have missed it if he wasn’t gazing at her so intently. “I-I want us to wait to consummate the marriage.”

By some miracle, he kept his countenance. “For how long?”

Her embarrassment was palpable. “A month or two. Until we know each other better.”

Heat crept up his neck. This wasn’t a conversation to be having with a lady. Not even one’s future wife. But he’d promised her she could speak plainly with him. He did her the courtesy of the same.

“It’s often the best way to get to know each other,” he said.

Her blush darkened. “I daresay it is, but I would still rather wait. I’d like a proper courtship. And there isn’t time for that. I want to be married as soon as may be.”

“How soon?”

“I wish it could be today. That we could go to Gretna Green like Lord Worth and Lady Elizabeth in The Fire Opal.”

The title wasn’t among those stacked on her bedside table, but he recognized it all the same. It was another of J. Marshland’s romantic novels. One of his earliest works and, by far, the most popular.

Jasper frowned. “Gretna Green doesn’t perform same-day marriages any longer. What we’ll need is a vicar—and a special license.”

The latter was still in his pocketbook. It had been there ever since yesterday morning when he’d obtained it in Doctors’ Commons. But there was no reason she need know about any of that.

“Can you—”

“I’ll arrange it. But before I do . . .” He paused. “I have a few conditions of my own.”

Her expression turned wary. “What sorts of conditions?”

He was matter-of-fact. Never mind that they’d just been discussing courtship and the marriage bed. “I have a past,” he said. “You know some of it. The rest I prefer to keep private. You’re to ask me no questions about my parents or about my time before the war.”

She looked as though she wanted to ask him already. But she didn’t. “I promise.”