The first thought that sprang to Maribella's mind on seeing Henry Byron enter the back parlour was how annoyed he must have been to learn of her deception. Margaret had told her of the circumstances; they would have improved his temper. Oblivious to all else save the object of her thoughts, she did not see Sophia leave the room, nor Francis take Emma through the long windows into the garden. Consequently, she was a little perturbed to suddenly find herself alone with Henry Byron.

"Anna Kripinski, I presume?" His tone was perfectly equable but Maribella did not place any reliance on that. He came to stand before her, dwarfing her by his height and the breadth of his magnificent chest.

Maribella was conscious of a devastating desire to throw herself on that broad expanse and beg forgiveness for her sins. Then she remembered how he had responded to Anna Kripinski. Her chin went up enough to look his lordship in the eye. "I'm so glad you found my little...charade entertaining."

Despite having started the conversation, Henry abruptly found himself at a loss for words. He had not intended to bring up the subject of Anna Kripinski, at least not until Maribella had agreed to marry him. But seeing her standing there, obviously knowing he knew and how he found out, memory of the desire Maribella-Anna so readily provoked had stirred disquietingly and he had temporarily lost his head. But now was not the time to indulge in a verbal brawl with a woman who, he had learned to his cost, could match his quick tongue in repartee. So, he smiled lazily down at her, totally confusing her instead, and rapidly sought to bring the discussion to a field where he knew he possessed few defenses. "Mouthy baggage," he drawled, taking her in his arms and preventing any riposte by the simple expedient of placing his mouth over hers.

Maribella was initially too stunned by this unexpected manoeuvre to protest. And by the time she realized what had happened, she did not want to protest. Instead, she twined her arms about Henry's neck and kissed him back with all the fervour she possessed. Unbeknownst to her, this was a considerable amount, and Henry suddenly found himself desperately searching for a control he had somehow misplaced.

Not being as hardened a rake as Felix or Daniel, he struggled with himself until he won some small measure of rectitude; enough, at least, to draw back and sit in a large armchair, drawing Maribella onto his lap. She snuggled against his chest, drawing comfort from his warmth and solidity.

"Well, baggage, will you marry me?"

Maribella sat bolt upright, her hands braced against his chest, and stared at him. "Marry you? Me?"

Henry chuckled, delighted to have reduced her to dithering idiocy.

But Maribella was frowning. "Why do you want to marry me?"

The frown transferred itself to Henry's countenance. "I should have thought the answer to that was a mite obvious, m'dear."

Maribella brushes that answer aside. "I mean, besides the obvious."

Henry sighed and, closing his eyes, let his head fall back against the chair. He had asked himself the same question and knew the answer perfectly well. But he had not shaped his arguments into any coherent form, not contemplating being called on to recite them. He opened his eyes and fixed his disobliging love with a grin look. "I'm marrying you because the idea of you flirting with every Tom, Dick and Harry drives me insane. I'll tear anyone you flirt with limb from limb. So, unless you wish to be responsible for murder, you'd better stop flirting." A giggle, quickly suppressed, greeted this threat. "Incidentally," Henry continued, "you don't go around kissing men like that all the time, do you?"

Maribella had no idea of what he meant by "like that" but as she had never kissed any other man, except in a perfectly chaste manner, she could reply with perfect truthfulness, "No, of course not! That was only you."

"Thank God for that!" said a relieved Lord Byron. "Kindly confine all such activities to your betrothed in future. Me," he added, in case this was not yet plain.

Maribella lifted one fine brow but said nothing. She was conscious of his hands gently stroking her hips and wondered if it would be acceptable to simply blurt out "yes". Then, she felt Henry's hand tighten about her waist.

"And one thing more," he said, his eyes kindling. "No more Anna Kripinski. Ever."

Maribella grinned. "No?" she asked wistfully, her voice dropping into the huskily seductive Polish accent.

Henry stopped and considered this plea. "Well," he temporized, inclined to be lenient, "Only with me. I dare say I could handle closer acquaintance with Madame Kripinski."

Maribella giggled and Henry took the opportunity to kiss her again. This time, he let the kiss develop as he had on other occasions, keeping one eye on the door, the other on the windows and his mind solely on her responses. Eventually, he drew back and, retrieving his hands from where they had wandered, bringing a blush to his love's cheeks, he gripped her about her waist and gently shook her. "You haven't given me your answer yet."

"Yes, please," Maribella, her eyes alight. "I couldn't bear not to be able to be Anna Kripinski every now and again."

Laughing, Henry drew her back into his arms. "When shall we wed?"

Tracing the strong line of his jaw with one small finger, Maribella thought for a minute, then replied, "Need we wait very long?"

The undisguised longing in her tone brought her a swift response. "Only as long as you wish."

Maribella chuckled. "Well, I doubt we could be married tomorrow."

"Why not?" asked Henry, his eyes dancing.

His love look puzzled. "Is it possible? I thought all those sorts of things took forever to arrange."

"Only if you want a big wedding. If you do, I warn you it'll take months. My family's big and distributed all about. Just getting in touch with half of them will be bad enough."

But the idea of waiting for months did not appeal to Maribella. "If it can be done, can we really be married tomorrow? It would be a lovely surprise—stealing a march on the others."

Henry grinned. "For a baggage, you do have some good ideas sometimes."

"Really?" asked Anna Kripinski.