She shook her head. “No, but I will give you leave to marry me.”

His grin was devilishly wicked, filled with promises. “For you, Fancy, it must be done right.”

Moving past her slightly, he went down a step and then lowered himself to one knee and took her hand. “Miss Trewlove, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

“I have a scandalous reputation, my lord.”

He pressed a kiss to her gloved hand. “Then you’re perfect.”

She laughed as joy filled her heart, her soul. “I love you, Matthew. Yes, yes, I want to be your wife.”

Shoving himself to his feet, he cupped her face between his hands. “Now they can’t object.”

And he claimed her mouth, her heart, her soul, there on the stairs, while the London elite looked on. Scandalous, a kiss such as this, so deep, so thorough, with her arms intertwining around his neck and his around her back, bringing her in so close that light couldn’t make its way between them. He tasted as she remembered, rich and dark, decadent.

When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I think a waltz is in order.”

Taking her hand, he escorted her down the stairs where the marquess and marchioness waited. When she would have curtsied, he stayed her actions with his palm gently placed on her back. “Fairhaven, Sylvie, I believe you’ve met Miss Trewlove.”

“Indeed we have.” Placing her hands on Fancy’s shoulders, she leaned in and bussed a quick kiss over her cheeks. “It seems congratulations are in order. I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to see Rosemont looking so happy. And even more thrilled that such a public proposal was issued at my ball. My affair shall be the talk of the ton.”

Matthew said something low to Fairhaven and with a nod, he walked off. Then Matthew leaned toward Fancy. “There is nothing my sister likes more than being the center of attention.”

“Oh, there are things I like more but they are best seen to behind closed doors.” She tapped her fan against Fancy’s arm. “Whenever Rosemont visited of late, he always mentioned you. I can see why. It seems you’ve thoroughly enamored him.”

“It is he who has enamored me.”

The lilting strains of a tune started up. “The Fairy Wedding Waltz.”

“If you’ll excuse us, Sylvie, my betrothed is in need of a waltz.”

As he was escorting her to the dance floor, three flaxen-haired misses stepped in front of them. Lady Penelope hugged her. “We’re so happy for you, Miss Trewlove.”

“The proposal was so romantic.” Lady Victoria waved her fan as though the very thought of it warmed her.

“I daresay, proposals in the garden are going to go by the wayside,” Lady Alexandria said. “I won’t settle for anything less than a public proposal in a ballroom.”