20

One thought kept repeating itself again and again and again through Zayne’s mind.

Agatha wasn’t dead.

She couldn’t be.

She was a vibrant, resourceful, extremely intelligent woman, and because of that . . . she’d find a way to stay alive until they could find her. The only problem was . . . they truly had no idea where to look.

Theodore had his men scouring the city, and the police had been called in as well, but time was passing all too quickly, and . . .

“She’s not dead,” he said out loud, even though he was alone in the carriage. “She’s out there, somewhere, and when we find her, I’m marrying her whether she accepts my proposal or not.”

Resting his head against the side of the carriage, he closed his eyes, turning to God for what felt like the millionth time that evening, pleading with Him to keep Agatha safe. Feeling the carriage begin to slow, he opened his eyes as the carriage came to a complete stop, and he found Hamilton bending toward the window from his position on top of his horse.

“Theodore and I are going to loop through all the back alleys, but some of them are narrow and your coach won’t fit. We haven’t gone all the way down Park Avenue yet, so it’ll be a great help if you make sure there’s no suspicious activity going on there. Meet me back at my house in three hours if we haven’t crossed paths by then.” Hamilton ran a hand through hair that was standing on end. “We’ll find her, Zayne, you have to believe that, and we’ll find the younger girls as well—although I’m hoping they were simply out doing whatever it is young girls feel they should do in the midst of disasters and have turned up by now.”

Zayne’s first instinct was to argue. He didn’t want to waste his time traveling down Park Avenue, an area of the city that was completely respectable and probably the last place on earth Agatha had been taken. She’d most likely been taken somewhere deep in the bowels of the stews, or put on a boat, or . . .

Shaking himself out of those less than productive thoughts, he nodded, finding it impossible to speak past the lump that had formed in his throat.

Hamilton leaned closer. “I know this is hard for you, Zayne. I understand your anguish, but with that leg of yours . . .” Shaking his head, Hamilton straightened in the saddle, turned his horse, and galloped away.

“We’re going to Park Avenue, Andrews!” Zayne yelled out the carriage window to his driver before he settled back against the seat. He heard the snap of the reins, and the carriage jolted into motion, picking up speed and maintaining that speed because the roads were practically empty since the hour was late. Most people were either still in the midst of their entertainments that would last until the sun came up or were nestled snug in their beds, completely oblivious to the fact Zayne’s world had turned on end.

How Zayne wished he were one of those people at the moment. When Arabella had first stated that Agatha was gone, he’d almost crumpled to the ground, thinking she meant Agatha was dead.

When it became clear she’d been taken, not killed, everyone had swarmed into motion. It wasn’t too long after that, after they’d stopped by Agatha’s house, where Theodore had ordered his men to meet, that it had become known that Piper, Lily, Grace, and Matilda were missing as well.

He was fairly certain they weren’t truly missing, just misplaced, but the thought of the children becoming inadvertently drawn into whatever madness was occurring at the moment left him cold and furious.

He was responsible for what had transpired this dark, dark night.

If he’d not gone after Helena but had instead done what his heart had been screaming at him to do—gone after Agatha—she wouldn’t have felt compelled to go to some brothel, and wouldn’t have put her life in danger.

He didn’t deserve Agatha, but even knowing that, he was still going to do everything in his power to convince her they truly were meant to be together forever . . . once someone found her.

The carriage suddenly slowed to a mere crawl, and impatience had him sticking his head out the window. “What seems to be the matter, Andrews?”

“There are some horses blocking the road up ahead, sir. I’m not sure what they’re doing there, but no one seems to be around to move them out of the way.”

Apprehension had sweat rolling down his back. “Could you come help me out of the carriage?”

“Sir?”

“There shouldn’t be horses roaming around the street at this hour of the night, Andrews. I’m going to go investigate, but I’m going to need my cart taken down from the back.”

“I don’t think that’s wise, sir. As you said, horses don’t normally roam the streets unattended, and you’re in no shape to deal with whatever is happening here. We should turn around and find assistance.”

“My cart, if you please.”

He heard Andrews mutter something under his breath, but the man climbed down from his seat, moved to the back of the carriage, and reappeared a minute later, his expression decidedly concerned.

“Shall I run along beside you, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary. Stay with the carriage and ease up further on the street, but do prepare yourself for a fast getaway.” Zayne climbed from the carriage, reached back and snagged hold of his crutches, and held them out to Andrews. “Would you put these on the back of the cart? I might require them if I need to walk somewhere.”

Andrews sent him a look that clearly expressed doubt, but he moved to the cart, tied the crutches on the back, and then blew out a breath. “If I may be so bold, sir, I know the situation is dire, but Miss Watson is an uncommonly resourceful lady, and I have to believe she’ll somehow manage to come out of this latest disaster just fine.” He helped Zayne into the cart and leaned closer to him for a second. “I’ll be saying prayers for everyone’s safe return.”

As Zayne shot forward faster than he’d anticipated, he knew prayers, and lots of them, were certainly going to be needed.

Minutes later, he’d negotiated around the horses but still had yet to find any sign of people who might own those horses. He traveled past darkened house after darkened house, grateful for the sparse light the gas lamps threw out, especially since it had begun to snow. Snowflakes were covering his head at a rapid rate, and he blinked when one fell in his eye and blinked again when something caught his attention, someone charging his way—a lady.

As the lady came closer, he realized it was Agatha running toward him, holding Piper by the hand, but someone else was chasing after her, and that someone had a gun.

“I’m coming, Agatha!” he yelled as he pushed the button that was only meant to be pushed when going uphill. The cart thrust forward, and he realized a second later that he’d lost all control of it. The steering column wouldn’t turn, and before he knew it, he was blazing past Agatha and Piper and heading directly toward the man with the gun, who jumped out of the way as Zayne’s cart zoomed onward. He stomped on the brake pedal, but even though he was pressing it completely against the bottom of the cart, he continued to fly forward.

Looking up, he found an entire group of men running his way, their pace slowing as they caught sight of him. A few of them dove for cover the closer he got, but some weren’t fast enough and he winced as the cart bumped into one man after another before he finally came to a stop, directly over a ferocious-looking and profusely swearing man who seemed to be lodged under his front wheels.

“Get this off me,” the man rasped.

“Right,” Zayne said, reaching around for his crutches, but freezing in place when a pistol suddenly appeared in his face.

“Get your hands where I can see them, Mr. Beckett,” the man holding the pistol growled.

Holding up his hands, Zayne lifted his head, but the man leaning over him had his hat pulled low and his collar high. Zayne couldn’t make out his features. “Who are you?”

“Why, I’m Mr. Jenkins, of course—reporter extraordinaire for the New-York Tribune.” Mr. Jenkins released a nasty laugh. “Unfortunately for you, Mr. Beckett, you’ve just caused me to lose my prey—that being Miss Watson. I really was hoping I could put an end to her once and for all, but she has once again slipped away, and for that, my dear man, I’m afraid you’re going to have to pay.”

Zayne tilted his head and considered the man. “Why would you tell me your name and that you work at the paper?”

“You asked and it would be impolite not to answer you.”

“Meaning you intend to kill me and I won’t be able to tell anyone.”

“What a bright gentleman you are, Mr. Beckett.”

The man still lying under Zayne’s cart released a grunt. “Did you call this man Mr. Beckett?”

“I did. You should feel honored that you’ve been run over by none other than Mr. Zayne Beckett of the illustrious Beckett family.”

Zayne frowned. “How do you know who I am?”

“I’m a reporter, Mr. Beckett, and a good one. I know everything about this city.”

“I didn’t sign up to take on the Beckett family.” The man underneath the cart shoved up, and Zayne found himself dumped to the ground. Rolling over to his back, he stiffened as the man loomed over him.

“My apologies, Mr. Beckett,” the man said, taking Zayne completely by surprise. “I have no quarrel with you or your family, and I do apologize if you’re in any way connected to that lady we snatched tonight who happens to be the same lady we were hired to run over with a carriage. We won’t be bothering her again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be on my way.” The man let out a whistle as he dashed down the sidewalk, joined a few seconds later by a group of men, all of whom disappeared into the darkness.

“You haven’t finished the job you were paid to do yet!” Mr. Jenkins screamed after them. “Miss Watson is still out there somewhere.”

“I don’t think they’re coming back,” Zayne said, earning himself a whack on the head with the pistol in the process.

“No, it doesn’t seem as if they are, but no matter. I’ll deal with them later.”

“You don’t truly believe you’re going to get away with this, do you, Mr. Jenkins? Theodore Wilder will not rest until he hunts you down, and even though the man has mellowed since he married my sister, he doesn’t take kindly to men trying to murder ladies.”

The man let out a laugh that held what was clearly a note of insanity. “Mr. Wilder has been searching for me for over a year to no avail, probably because he’s been centering his attention on the subjects of Miss Watson’s articles while I’ve walked freely under his nose. I’m not that concerned he’ll be able to find me once I finish matters with you and Miss Watson. I fully intend to disappear, and I’m very good at reinventing myself, Mr. Beckett. I assure you, I’ll succeed once again.”

Wanting to keep the man talking in order to allow Agatha and Piper time to get farther away, Zayne struggled for something else to say. “I find myself curious, sir, as to why you’re so determined to get rid of Agatha. What exactly has she done to garner your intense dislike?”

“Why, she’s a woman, of course.”

“That’s your reasoning behind wanting her dead?”

“She’s chosen to enter a profession she has no business being in, and she was given stories that should have gone to a man. Women have no business traipsing through the slums, or questioning factory owners. They should be at home, raising children, and leaving professions to men, as it’s always been meant to be.”

“Agatha’s a gifted writer. Why should she be expected to abandon that gift simply because she was born a woman?”

Mr. Jenkins waved the question away. “I would have left her alone after she went out west, if she would have stopped submitting stories that were earning her awards. It was beyond frustrating, seeing her win again and again, and it was also frustrating that the paper paid for her bodyguard, which severely limited her chances of getting killed by some random outlaw. That’s why I was forced to hire Mary and her small band of idiots. I got tired of watching Miss Watson garner all that praise and decided she needed to be taken care of once and for all. I’ve now come to the belief, though, that I’m going to have to be the one to kill her if I want the job done right.”

“If I’m understanding you correctly, you’ve done all of this—threatening Agatha with pig heads, running her out of town, and then hiring someone to kill her because of . . . jealousy?”

“I’m not jealous of her—I am her superior. My being able to capture her tonight proves I’m more intelligent.”

“And how did you manage to capture her?”

“It was incredibly easy.” Mr. Jenkins let out a laugh that had the hair sticking up on Zayne’s arms. “I am a reporter after all, and I learned that an old harlot by the name of Dot was asking questions around the city about Mary and her girls. It was an easy matter to feed her information through a drunk on the street. I paid him a few dollars, he went and told Dot where Mary was supposed to be found, and Dot very kindly went along with my plans and gave a message to Miss Watson.”

He laughed again. “It was fortunate that I warned Madame Bellefonte this evening to be on the lookout for a lady or two entering her brothel, although asking that favor of the woman set me back a pretty penny. It was all worth it though when Miss Watson actually showed up there. I thought she wouldn’t go until the day after her dinner party, but she’s always been a bit of an odd duck.”

Stalling for more time, Zayne nodded. “Agatha is different, there’s no getting around that, but I still find myself a bit curious about something. Did you put that pig’s head on Agatha’s doorstep or did you hire someone to do that for you?”

“That was personal, so I placed the head there myself.”

“And have you placed many heads on people’s porches throughout the years?”

“I must admit I have, especially on the porches of editors who don’t treat me well. Why, there’s an editor in Boston who stayed indoors for an entire month because so many strange things turned up outside his house, and that was simply because he made me do an interview with a lady who made candy. It was a frivolous interview, one I didn’t care for in the least, almost as frivolous as when I once interviewed your sister and she showed me the door before I was—”

“I don’t remember Arabella ever stating she was interviewed by a Mr. Jenkins.”

“Ah, well, enough about that, we need to return to the nasty business at hand. You’ll be relieved to learn I’ve decided to let you live. I still intend to shoot you, just not kill you. You’ve annoyed me by providing Miss Watson so much time to get away, and so . . . perhaps your other leg, the good one, would be the perfect spot for a bullet.”

Mr. Jenkins cocked his pistol, drew up his arm, and . . . flew through the air and landed on the ground, his unusual flying display brought about by the fact someone had hurled into him.

That someone turned out to be none other than Agatha.

She barely spared Zayne a glance as she launched herself at Mr. Jenkins, beating the man with what appeared to be one of her pistols, her black hair streaming down her back as she raised her other hand and slapped the man across the face.

“Agatha!” he yelled, fear coursing over him, “Mr. Jenkins is insane. You need to get out of here at once.”

To his surprise, Agatha slapped Mr. Jenkins across the face again. She sat back, leveled the pistol in the man’s face, and cocked the trigger. “This is not Mr. Jenkins. He’s that weasel of a man, Mr. Horace Pitkin, and he might be insane, but I do believe I’m strong enough to take him.”

“Not . . . Mr. Jenkins?” was all Zayne could say until he swallowed and shook his head. “Well, that explains why he didn’t want to kill me. He probably wanted to frame poor Mr. Jenkins for the events of this night.”

“Don’t feel sorry for ‘poor Mr. Jenkins,’ Zayne,” Agatha said. “He’s a nasty piece of work, but not, I think, as nasty as Mr. Pitkin.” She slapped Mr. Pitkin once again, earning a howl of protest from the man. “May I assume you were the one who brought up the idea about gathering articles from out west to Mr. Chambers in the first place?”

“I might have done that,” Mr. Pitkin mumbled.

“You certainly did a wonderful job of acting when I was chosen over you, but . . . if memory serves me correctly, I do believe I remember you seemed almost disappointed when it became known Mr. Blackheart had been hired to guard me.”

“You had less chance of being killed in the pursuit of an article with him around.”

“I’m very difficult to kill,” Agatha said smugly, looking over her shoulder for a second to catch Zayne’s eye. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, but you shouldn’t have come back for me,” Zayne said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Agatha retorted. “Of course I had to come—” Her words came to an abrupt halt when Mr. Pitkin suddenly let out a scream, reared up, and pushed Agatha off of him before he sprang to his feet. Agatha’s pistol skidded across the cobblestones, leaving her defenseless.

“Agatha, run!” Zayne yelled.

“Not on your life.” She jumped to her feet right as Matilda charged into view. “Get him, girl.”

Matilda needed no second urgings. She streaked by in a blur of pink and grabbed hold of Mr. Pitkin’s leg, hanging on even though he began shaking that leg vigorously.

“Agatha, run. Please, just run,” he pleaded.

“And leave you here at the mercy of a madman? Not likely.” She dashed around him, grabbed one of his crutches that had fallen off the cart, clutched it in both hands, and charged back at Mr. Pitkin, swinging the crutch like a bat. He heard a loud thud, and then, to his amazement, Mr. Pitkin crumpled to the ground with Matilda still attached to his leg.

“You guard him, Matilda,” Agatha said as she dropped the crutch and kicked Mr. Pitkin. She then turned and sent Zayne a smile. “I know it’s not well done to kick a man when he’s down, but I simply couldn’t help myself.”

He felt his lips curl into an unexpected smile. “I’d have done just that if I wasn’t stuck here on the ground.”

“Good heavens, Zayne, I do beg your pardon.” Agatha rushed over to his side and crouched down beside him. “I’m afraid Dr. Gessler is not going to be pleased with this little escapade. You’re in for quite the lecture once we get you back to the house.”

“I’m not hurt.”

She didn’t appear to hear him as her hands traveled over his body and then moved to cup his face. “You’re bleeding.” She reached down, tore a strip of fabric off her unusual gown, and wiped his head.

Loud grunts drew his attention as Agatha continued to mop blood from his face, and he turned his head and grinned as his gaze settled on Matilda.

“Is she trying to eat his shirt?”

“I told her about the head left on my doorstep, and I think she understood what I was telling her,” Agatha said with a grin. “She’s probably trying to get to his skin to really leave her mark.” She dabbed at his head again. “What could you have been thinking, driving Charlotte’s invention down this street? The last time you used it you almost killed yourself. Honestly, Zayne, you need to start trying to take better care of yourself.”

“I wanted to rescue you.”

“Of course you did.” She sighed. “While I do appreciate the gesture, you’re in no state to rescue anyone at the moment. You could have been gravely injured, or killed, for that matter. I didn’t think I was going to get to you in time, and it was only through the grace of God I got to Mr. Pitkin before he shot you.”

It struck him then, how completely idiotic he’d been. He’d made the decision that he, being the gentleman, should be responsible for saving her, not the other way around, but . . . it didn’t actually matter.

Agatha Watson was an incredible lady. She was bright, funny, annoying at times, and . . . she’d never expected him to be her knight in shining armor. Well, maybe she expected it just a bit, but she was perfectly content for them to share that armor.

What she truly needed was a partner, someone who would participate fully with her in life and share her adventures.

He was that partner, and he was going to do everything in his power to convince her to give him another chance. Hope curled through him when he realized that, since she was currently mopping up his face, muttering dire predictions about his idiocy under her breath in the process, he might still get that chance.

“Agatha,” he began, wincing when she touched a cut on his head he hadn’t felt before she’d dabbed at it.

“Hmm?”

“I need to say something.”

“Can’t it wait? You’re a mess, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to continue lying on the cold street.”

“It can’t wait.”

She stopped dabbing, although she did so rather reluctantly and caught his eye. “Yes?”

“Well, you see . . .”

“Thank God you’re still alive.”

Turning his head, Zayne found Hamilton and Theodore racing their way, pistols drawn and looking fierce. They stopped right next to Mr. Pitkin, and Theodore actually grinned. “Good job, Matilda.” He looked at Agatha. “You might want to call her off though, Agatha. I’ll be hard-pressed to question the man if Matilda gnaws him to death.”

Agatha handed Zayne the piece of her dress she’d been using on his face, rose to her feet and walked over to where Mr. Pitkin, with Matilda standing on his chest, was just beginning to stir. “Come, darling. We’ll leave what’s left of him to Theodore.”

Matilda let out a grunt, stepped off Mr. Pitkin, and moved over to Zayne. She sat down right beside him and gave him a sloppy lick of her tongue before she scooted down on her stomach and let out a snort.

Three of Theodore’s men stole quietly out of the shadows, picked Mr. Pitkin up, even though he was trying to squirm out of their hold, and with a nod to Theodore, carted Mr. Pitkin away.

“Take him to jail, gentlemen,” Theodore called after them. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Piper’s fine, by the way,” Agatha said to Hamilton after the men disappeared into the darkness. “Mary met us a couple blocks down and is taking care of her, but have either of you seen my sisters?”

“They’re the reason we found you here,” Theodore said. “They were running down Fifth Avenue, screaming at the top of their lungs, and they ran into some of my men.” He smiled. “They’re safe back at your house, where I’m sure your mother is hovering over them.”

“What do you mean, Piper’s with Mary?” Hamilton demanded.

“Mary won’t hurt her,” Agatha said, moving to tug Hamilton to a stop when he started down the street. “In fact, Mary’s the reason Piper and I are still alive.”

“I thought Mary was in on your abduction,” Theodore said slowly.

“She knew nothing about the abduction, although Mr. Pitkin did hire her to kill me.”

“But since I didn’t go through with it,” Mary said as she strode into view holding Piper’s hand, “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop trying to hunt me down and allow me and my girls to leave town peacefully.”

“You’re an assassin, Mary. I can’t just let you go,” Theodore said after Hamilton had Piper in his arms.

For some reason, Mary suddenly looked a little embarrassed. “If you must know, we’ve never actually killed anyone, not that we didn’t try.” She smiled. “That’s why we weren’t upset about tracking Miss Watson out west. Things were getting uncomfortable for us on the east coast. Turns out clients get upset when the assassins they hire aren’t very good at their job.” She walked over and looked down at Zayne. “Agatha told us we could keep that gold we took off of you, but I thought it would be only right to make sure you don’t have a problem with that.”

“Not since you apparently helped save Agatha’s life,” he said.

“Excellent.” Mary turned back to Theodore and arched a brow.

Theodore looked at Mary for a moment and then nodded to Agatha. “It’s your choice. What do you want me to do with Mary?”

Agatha smiled. “I want you to let her go.”

“I won’t forget this,” Mary said, spinning on her heel and fading into the night, the sound of her calling out to Hannah and Jessie a moment later floating back to them.

Agatha moved closer to Theodore. “Have you any news about Drusilla, Francis, and Jeffrey?”

“They’re fine,” Theodore said. “Well . . . not fine, since Jeffrey has a broken leg, Drusilla was shot—only a flesh wound—and Francis is currently sporting two black eyes and a huge lump on his head. But none of them will suffer from any lasting injuries.”

Agatha shook her head. “Poor Jeffrey. He only got involved because I just happened to jump into his carriage.”

“But now he has something to talk about for years,” Hamilton said as he hugged Piper closer to him and kissed the top of her head. “You have a bit of explaining to do, young lady.”

Piper fluttered her lashes at him. “It was Matilda’s fault, Daddy. Miss Agatha will vouch for that. And if Grace, Lily, and I hadn’t followed Matilda, why, Miss Agatha might not have been able to escape.” She gave another flutter. “Because of that, I do think it might be best if you and Mama and Mr. and Mrs. Watson go easy on us with the punishment business.”

Hamilton kissed Piper’s head again and rolled his eyes. “Why do I have the strangest feeling that you, along with Agatha’s sisters, are going to be responsible for giving us white hair way before our time?”

“We’re just following in Miss Agatha’s, Aunt Arabella’s, Aunt Felicia’s, and Mama’s footsteps, Daddy. You can’t claim to be surprised that we’d want to do that. All of them are amazing ladies.”

The mention of amazing ladies had Zayne returning his attention to Agatha. She was standing there, swinging her arms back and forth, dirt streaking her face, but she was the most wonderful sight he’d ever seen.

He cleared his throat, which had Agatha moving immediately to his side and leaning down. “Good heavens, Zayne, we need to get you up off of that cold ground. You must be freezing.”

“Could you bend down closer?”

Her eyes widened. “Does something hurt? Mr. Pitkin didn’t hit you, did he, because if he did, I—”

“Agatha, be quiet.”

“There’s no need for you to get snippy. I mean, I’m just—”

“I love you.”

Her mouth made an O of surprise, and then she sat down, right smack on top of him. “What did you say?”

“I said I love you, but I think you still have a pistol attached to your leg, and it’s digging into my side.”

“Oh, forgive me.” She hitched up her skirt, pulled a pistol out of her garter, dropped it to the ground, and proceeded to settle herself right on top of him again. “You may continue.”

“Where was I?”

“You love me.”

“Ah, yes, quite right.” He looked up at her and smiled. “I love you.”

“I know, you said that, but what about Helena?”

He shifted her to the left a bit and then reached into his pocket when he was finally able to find it through the layers of petticoats and silk that covered him. His fingers closed around the ring, and he pulled it out, holding it up so Agatha could see it. “I tried to give this to you tonight, but Helena ruined that moment. I need you to know that she means nothing to me and I never loved her, not in the way I love you.”

A single tear rolled down Agatha’s face. He raised a hand and captured it. “What I most wanted to tell you, though, is that my grandmother gave me this ring, and she told me that I was only to give it to a lady who could match me wit for wit.”

“And that’s me?” Agatha whispered.

“Well, yes, but you see, what I’ve come to realize is that you match me in every possible way. You’re my perfect match, and I think I’ve loved you from the very first moment I truly met you—back in that house you were breaking into with Eliza.”

“That wasn’t the first time we met,” Agatha said, her voice turning a little grumpy.

“I know that, darling, but it was the first time I really saw you. You were feisty and beautiful and annoying and . . . everything I could ever ask for in a woman.”

Another tear dribbled down her face, but then she got the look in her eyes that was always followed by some type of argument. “If I tell you I love you, would that mean you’re going to continue trying to keep me out of trouble at every turn and racing to my rescue even if you’re in no state to do so?”

“I don’t think you’ll ever be able to stay out of trouble.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m still going to try to rescue you if I think you need rescuing.”

“That’s fine, as long as you realize I’ll be doing the very same thing for you.”

He smiled. “I can live with that.”

“What else?”

“You’re going to marry me.”

He winced when she stiffened and remembered Piper telling him he needed to remember the romance business.

“Fine.”

“Let me rephrase that, I would be beyond honored if you would agree to become . . . did you say fine?”

“Weren’t you listening?”

He felt his lips twitch. She was back to sounding grumpy.

She was enchanting when she was grumpy.

“I wasn’t expecting you to agree so easily.”

She considered him for a long moment and then bent toward him until her face was only inches from his. “Why not?”

“Because you never agree to anything I suggest.”

“You didn’t suggest—you told me I was going to marry you.”

“And you didn’t like that?”

“I said fine. If I didn’t like what you said, I’d hardly reply in the affirmative, would I?”

Why was he arguing with her?

She’d apparently agreed to marry him.

He should be quiet before he said something that would have her changing her mind.

“We’re getting married tonight.” What had prompted him to say that?

“No, we’re not.”

He really should have kept his mouth shut.

“Why not?”

She leaned even closer to him, her breath tickling his face. “My mother has been planning my wedding since before I could walk. You must realize she, along with your mother, would be devastated if they’re not given the opportunity to plan a lavish event, so we’ll simply have to turn everything over to them and hope they’re able to pull a wedding together quickly.”

Relief was immediate.

She was going to marry him.

He needed to do something romantic to seal the deal, such as . . .

Soft, smooth lips slipped over his.

The world ceased to exist around him as Agatha kissed him, and even though he’d been hoping to be the one to initiate their first kiss, he suddenly discovered he had no complaints about this odd turn at all. In fact, he was simply going to give in and enjoy the moment.

A sliver of disappointment slid through him when she pulled away.

“We’ll have to be diligent convincing our mothers to speed plans along,” she whispered.

She wanted to marry him.

His soul began to hum.

“I love you, you know,” she whispered, “have loved you for years, and . . .”

He grabbed hold of her head and pulled her closer, this time capturing her lips with his as his hands cradled her face.

When he heard her sigh and her lips went soft, he knew God was smiling down on them, and as he deepened the kiss, he thought he heard angels sing.