She made an inelegant snort through her nose. “Oh, stuff and nonsense. This is the modern age, Benedict. The world is changing.” She saw he was about to argue and raised her hand. “I agree that marrying only for money, with no other sort of compatibility, is a huge mistake.”

She had that right. His own parents were a case in point. His father might have supported his mother financially, but he hadn’t provided for her emotionally. He hadn’t loved and cherished her. He’d never been there for her through life’s ups and downs.

Georgie’s expression was an adorable mixture of frustration and pleading. “I don’t need you to provide for me financially. I need you to love me. I need you to love me so much that you can overlook the ridiculous amount of money I have and accept that it’s just part and parcel of who I am. Can you do that? Please.”

It was the “please” that broke him; Benedict almost fell to his knees. She didn’t have to beg him for anything. He was hers, body and soul. Happiness, acceptance, trickled through him, melting his resistance like a spring thaw.

“I suppose I must,” he said, trying to joke, but his voice broke halfway through, giving him away. “Because I really can’t imagine living without you.”

Her smile was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. She slanted him a teasing, haughty glance from beneath her lashes. “You do realize that you’ve never actually proposed to me, don’t you?”

He frowned. “You’re right.”

He sank to his knees, there on the grass, and watched her brows lift in surprise. It struck him that he was no better than poor, besotted Simeon Pettigrew, standing outside in the rain. Here he was, wet and wounded, offering himself, lacking even fancy clothes or clever words.

He took her hand in his. “It will come as no surprise that I have no expectation of a sudden inheritance of a gold mine,” he said gruffly. “Or even any army pension. I still have a bundle of debts. My profits from the Tricorn Club are being used to recover the family estate. That said, please take this as a formal request: Georgiana Caversteed Wylde, would you please do me the immense honor of becoming my wife? Again. Forever.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Yes.”

He stood and pulled her in for a kiss so sweet, so full of promise and longing, that it took his breath away. Every one of his senses reached out to her and became entangled. Her skin, her hair, her lips. When they pulled apart, he shook his head, incredulous, almost afraid to trust the happiness blooming inside him. “I can’t wait to be able to call you my wife in public, not just in my head,” he growled. “I’m sick of having to sneak around. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”