The truth hit him with the force of a snapped mast.

Because he fucking loved her.

“No,” he said to no one in particular, shaking his head. “No.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Sarani said, glancing up at him. “Are you well?”

He took hold of her elbow. “No, I’m not well at all. Please excuse us, Beckforth. I have something to say to my fiancée.”

Sarani’s expression was confused, considering she’d just declared to the entire ballroom that the engagement was over. The earl shot him a perceptive grin and nodded, making himself scarce.

“Your Grace, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Setting the record straight,” he said, gaining conviction by the second.

“What do you mean?”

Huge apprehensive hazel eyes stared into his, and he squeezed her hand in reassurance. It was more for him, however. He wanted to scream it, get it out before it burned a hole in his chest. Shout it to the rooftops so that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was his.

“I love you.”

She stared at him in shock.

“I have loved you from the very first day I set eyes upon you. Things beyond our control drove us apart, but then we were given another chance. I won’t lose you again.”

“You love me?” she whispered.

“You are the only woman for me,” he said. “You are my match in every way, and whether we make our home here or on the seas or in Joor or a quiet seaside village somewhere, I need you by my side.” Rhystan swiped at the tear that rolled down her cheek and clasped her hands. “If you’ll have me, I mean.”

The entire ballroom went quiet. Again. Those who had stayed, hoping for something more, were about to be rewarded. Because she was either going to say no, whereupon the scandal sheets would be rife with caricatures cataloging his epic rejection, or she would say yes, and a ducal wedding would be the toast of the season.

“What about the dukedom? And the scandal?” Her eyes were wide and achingly transparent, so many emotions running through them. “People will talk, Rhystan. You saw how many of them left tonight.”

“I don’t care about any of them,” he said. “‘A moment of happiness, you and I sitting on the verandah, apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.’” He sank to a knee, right there in the middle of the ballroom. Whispers rose in a crescendo around them. “‘The stars will be watching us, and we will show them what it is to be a thin crescent moon. You and I unselfed will be together, indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.’”

Her throat worked, tears gathering at the powerful, poetic words. “Rumi?”

He nodded. “He called it ‘A Moment of Happiness,’ but I insist on a lifetime of it. Marry me, Sarani, and make me the happiest of men.”