Page 109 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“I cannot marry you. Society would laugh at me—at both of us. I follow none of your rules of engagement. And…” Her voice trailed off.
“What else?”
“I am a matchmaker. I work for a living, and I adore what I do. Nothing has made me happier than making people happy, until…”
“Until what?”
“Until I met you,” she admitted. “But don’t you see? I cannot have my cake and eat it too. I cannot be a duchess and a matchmaker at the same time.”
“Why the hell not?” he asked so harshly, she recoiled.
“Because it’s not…it’s simply notdone.”
He laughed humorlessly. “Then we shall be the first to do it.”
Staring at him, she shook her head.
“Listen to me, Jo.” He gripped her upper arms. “Listen to me. I don’t give a damn about what’s done and not done. Not anymore. Those rules stifled me, limited me, turned me into nothing more than a hard shell of a man. With you, I am a complete man—ahappyman—and I care naught about what society thinks is appropriate. I want you to be happy. If you love matchmaking, then by all means, continue to do it for as long as you like. And as to society and its rigid andstupidideals of what is proper, to hell with it. I wantyou. I don’t care if people laugh. I don’t care if people shun us.” He shook her gently. “Don’t you see?”
She stared up at him, completely breathless. “I can’t play the pianoforte. I can’t sing or draw, and I don’t know the first thing about being an excellent hostess—”
“I know. I don’t care.”
“I am nobody. I have no lineage. That’s so important to you—”
“No. That’s important to my uncle and to society. I don’t give a damn about it. You are the woman I want. That trumps everything.”
“But you said—”
“No. What I said at the beginning—all my rules—they no longer apply. They never did. I onlythoughtthey did. I was wrong.”
Hope began to bloom in her chest, fortifying the stitches that made her heart whole, thickening them and then hardening them, turning them into bands of iron.
Reaching up, she cupped his jaw in her hand. It was warm, hard, the hint of afternoon bristles pressing into her palm.
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to regret this.”
“Never,” he vowed.
“I never want you to feel I’m not good enough, that I don’t deserve you.”
“The only person who isn’t good enough is staring down at you.”
She frowned. “If you say that again, I shall have to don my armor, heft my sword, and duel for your honor.”
A hint of a smile curved his lips. “Then perhaps we are both good enough. Perhaps we do deserve each other.”
“Perhaps we deserve to be happy,” she said, hope now reaching into every part of her, “together.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think we can be?” she asked.
“Iknowwe will be.”
