Page 138 of The Boxing Baroness

Sin gave a snort of annoyance.

“I’ll go,” Marianne said, giving Sin’s arm a gentle squeeze.

“Only Marianne needs to come,” Jo said. “I’ll escort her home afterward. The rest of you are free to leave whenever you want.” She cut Elliot a wry look. “That includes you, Mr. Wingate.”

“I’m going where Marianne goes,” Sin retorted before Elliot could respond. “I hope that won’t be a problem.” His tone said he didn’t care if it was.

Jo gave her knife one last spin and then shoved it into the top of her boot. “It makes no difference to me what you do.”

“I’m going, too.”

Cecile’s voice came from the doorway, where she stood with Guy, both bearing platters of food. She glared at Jo. “I see you’ve already fed yourself. And you—” She turned her glare on Marianne. “Don’t try to talk me out of coming with you.”

“I’ll be grateful for your company,” Marianne said honestly.

Guy sighed. “Well, then I guess I might tag along. Elliot, will you be joining us?”

“I’ve nothing else pressing.”

Jo gave him a long, cool look. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning.” She rose from her chair and strode to the door. “I’ll make sure the men ready the caravans.”

“I’ll help you,” Elliot said, not two steps behind her.

Cecile put the platter down with a loud clunk and then dropped into a chair with a disgruntled sigh. “Why do I even bother?”

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll eat it all,” Guy soothed.

“Marianne—these are yours,” Sin said. He held the letter and miniature in his palm.

She smiled. “I feel like you’re always giving me letters, Your Grace.” She met his concerned green gaze. “Would you like to read it?”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she said. It hurt to add the next few words, but she knew the piece of paper was too incriminating to keep, even if it was the only letter she’d ever received from one of her parents. “I want you to read it before I burn it.”

Later that same evening

Marianne collapsed on Sin’s chest, winded.

“You’re losing your stamina,” Sin murmured beneath her.

She laughed. “I wouldn’t talk if I were you, old man—you sound a bit breathless yourself.”

“Old man?” he repeated menacingly, rolling her over so swiftly her head spun, until he was looking down at her, their bodies still joined. “Do I feel old to you?” he asked, flexing his shaft.

“Pax!” she whimpered when his pulsing hips ground against her already overstimulated flesh. “I didn’t mean it.”

His nostrils flared, his barely there smirk triumphant. They both hissed when he withdrew and rolled to his side, propping himself on his elbow and staring down at her with a hungry, adoring look that never grew old, his fingers stroking the damp hair back from her temple.

“Marry me.”

Marianne’s heart, which had just begun to slow, thundered in her ears. “Sin—”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . you can’t.”

“There is no law forbidding it.” He gave her the same haughty look she’d seen on his face that first morning. But now she knew the man behind it—a man who gave his heart rarely and loved deeply when he did.