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“Shh,” he soothed, trailing his fingertips over her forearm. “Don’t take umbrage, sweet, for I meant no offense.”

Brandon drew her stiff form into his arms and kissed those silky red-gold curls. She smelled divine. He inhaled her lemon essence deep into his lungs as he gently caressed the tension from her back.

At last, she relaxed against him, burrowing her face into his chest.

“I don’t give a fig about your past or your paternity, Joy. All that matters is that you agree to spend the future with me as my wife.”

She tilted her head upward, her blue, blue eyes searching his.

“How can you say that? My shame will taint you. You’re a doctor, Brandon. The son of a marquess. Your patients and your family—”

“Have absolutely no say in who I love or who I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He brushed his lips over hers, nearly groaning at their sweet, sweet softness. A hint of mint and tea lingered, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d sipped mint tea before coming below.

To soothe her nerves?

“And I choose you, Joy…Winterborne.” Grinning, he said, “I don’t know your middle name.”

“I have three, actually,” she said softly, her expression slightly dazed. As if she couldn’t quite believe Brandon truly wished to make her his wife. “Shepard, Natalia, and Martha.” She tipped her mouth into a winsome smile. “All of the girls from Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women share the middle name Shepard.”

“Ah, after Mrs. Hester Shepherd?”

Joy nodded. “She has no children of her own.”

“Well, I choose you, Joy Shephard Natalia Martha Winterborne, to be my wife.” He stole another kiss from her irresistible rosebud mouth.

“Forever.” Kiss.

“And always.” Kiss.

Joy’s eyes grew misty, and a tremulous smile curved her mouth. “You truly love me?”

He gave a solemn nod, somehow knowing this wasn’t the time to jest or tease. She doubted his sincerity and needed reassurance that she, and only she, would ever be Mrs. Brandon Morrisette.

“I do, my lady. My heart. My love.”

Giving a watery chuckle, she entwined her arms around his neck. “I’m not a lady, even if my mother was the Countess of Winterbanks. A claim, which I’m sure I’ll never know the truth of.”

Angling so that his spine rested against the settee’s worn fabric, Brandon swept Joy onto his lap.

A tiny yelp rent the air, but she giggled and tightened her grip around his neck. Pressing his mouth to first one cheek and then the other, he managed between kisses, “You’ll be a lady as my wife.”

“A lady?” She scrunched her adorable nose. “I never thought to marry, let alone become a lady. What will your family say?”

“That I am a very, very lucky man.”

Her mouth sweeping upward, she gave the slightest nod.

“Does that mean you will marry me, Joy?” Brandon framed her chin between his forefinger and thumb. “I’ve loved you for so very long. I think since the first time you opened that godawful green front door and the sun burst from inside the house, blinding me.

“You, sir, are waxing poetic.” A radiant smile arced her mouth. “I confess, I do like it. Very much.”

She nestled further into his lap.

Zounds, she’d kill him if she kept squirming like that.

He gave a little growl and nipped Joy’s earlobe.

She half-sighed, half-moaned, arching her neck to allow him full access to the ivory column.