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turned. She fully understood how vulnerable he must feel at this moment, for she had been every bit as nervous this morning when she tossed aside her pride and begged him to marry her. “You may get up, dear sir! I assure you I have no intention of turning down your welcome offer, and there are many things we must discuss if we are to marry.” She could scarcely credit her own words. Was this man really to become her husband?
    Not without a trickle of affection, she watched as he returned to the sofa and took her hand again. “I won’t expect any settlements,” he said.
    She chuckled. “Then you must know I’m dowryless. I daresay a man in your position knows everybody’s financial affairs.”
    â€œNot everyone’s.”
    â€œWhen should you like to be wed?”
    He patted his pocket. “I’ve a special license. Would tomorrow be too soon?”
    â€œBut . . . tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”
    â€œChristmas is a time for giving. I can think of no better day to marry.”
    She closed her eyes. This was all so unexpected. “You really do have a special license?”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œYou were that assured I would accept?”
    â€œI wasn’t at all assured, my lady, but I’ve schooled myself to always be ready for any eventuality.”
    â€œThen tomorrow is agreeable to me.”
    â€œYou know,” he said with an atypical lack of confidence, “you don’t have to marry me to save your brother. I could negotiate some sort of loan to secure his release.”
    She shrugged. “Marrying you is not repugnant to me, Mr. Birmingham. At six and twenty, I’m too long on the shelf not to leap at the chance of marrying—and I’m no longer the adolescent idealist who longs for a passionate love match.”
    His flashing eyes narrowed as he silently regarded her. She had the feeling he was carefully choosing his words. “You’ll never convince me,” he finally said, “that your being on the shelf is not of your own choosing. Any man in the kingdom would be only too happy to make you his wife.”
    â€œBut not the one man I had hoped to wed,” she whispered ruefully. She had to bring up Warwick. Everyone knew how thoroughly besotted she had been over the man, how humiliated she had been when he married another. If Mr. Birmingham was to become her husband, he had the right to know everything about her past.
    Mr. Birmingham stiffened, and he spoke sternly. “I don’t think I’d like being wed to a woman who’s in love with another man.”
    â€œPlease be assured, Mr. Birmingham, I’m no longer in love with Lord Warwick. I’m just wounded enough to be wary of giving my heart to another man.”
    His jaw tightened as his lazy gaze flicked over her. “And what of giving your body to another man?”
    Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest. She could not believe he was bold enough to speak to her of so delicate a matter. Then it suddenly occurred to her that in a day’s time she would belong to this man. He would have the right to possess her body. The very thought stole her breath and suffused her in a warm tingling sensation. “If I’m to be your wife,” she said, drawing in a deep breath, “I shall belong to you in every way.”
    â€œI shouldn’t like for you to close your eyes and pretend I’m someone else, Fiona.”
    Her insides trembled. He had called her by her first name—a gesture she found as intimate as a kiss. Just as intimate was his allusion to closing her eyes . . . closing her eyes while they made love. At the vision of their two bare bodies entwined, heated blood thundered through her veins. “There is no other man, Mr. Birmingham.”
    â€œNick,” he growled. “You’re to call me Nick.”
    How intimate Nick seemed. Nicholas would not have been nearly so personal. “I vow . . . Nick,