Emma had thought he had taught her all about kissing, but this was something quite different. She felt his arms lock like a vice about her waist, not that she had any intention of struggling. And the kiss went on and on. When she finally emerged, flushed, her eyes sparkling, all she could do was gasp and stare at him.

Francis uttered a laugh that was halfway to a groan. "Oh, Emma! Sweet Emma. For God's sake, say you'll marry me and out me out of my misery."

Her eyes grew round. "Marry you?" The words came out as a squeak.

Francis's grin grew broader. "Mmm. I thought it might be a good idea." His eyes dropped from her face to the lace edging that lay over her breasts. "Aside from ensuring I'll always be there for you to discuss your hare-brained schemes with," he continued conversationally, "I could also teach you about all the things I do with l-ladies."

Emma's eyes widened as far as they possibly could.

Francis grinned devilishly. "Would you like that Emma?"

Mutely, Emma nodded. Then, quite suddenly, she found her voice. "Oh, yes!" She fling her arms about Francis's neck and kissed him ferociously. Emerging from her wild embrace, Francis threw back his head and laughed. Emma did not, however, confuse this with rejection. She waited patiently for him to recover.

But, "Emma, oh Emma. What a delight you are!" was all Francis Cambridge said, before gathering her more firmly into his arms to explore her delights more thoroughly.

A considerable time later, when Francis has called a halt to their mutual exploration on the grounds that there were probably gardeners about, Emma sat comfortably in the circle of his arms, blissfully happy, and turned her thought to the future. "When shall we marry?" she asked.

Francis, adrift in another world, came back to earth and gave the matter due consideration. If he had been asked the same question two hours ago, he would have considered a few months sufficiently soon. Now, having spent those two hours with Emma in unfortunately restrictive surroundings, he rather thought a few days would be too long to wait. But presumably she would want a big wedding, with all the trimmings.

However, when questioned, Emma disclaimed all interest in wedding breakfast and the like. Hesitantly, not sure how he would take the suggestion, she toyed with the pin in his cravat and said, "Actually, I wonder if it would be possible to be married quite soon. Tomorrow, even?"

Francis stared at her.

"I mean," Emma went on, "that there's bound to be quite a few weddings in the family—what with Maribella and Sophia."

"And Margaret," said Francis.

Emma looked her question.

"Felix has taken Margaret off somewhere. I don't know where, but I'm quite sure why."

"Oh." Their recent occupation in mind, Emma could certainly see how he had come to that conclusion. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask for further clarification of the possibilities Margaret might encounter, but her tenacious disposition suggested she settle the question of her own wedding first. "Yes, well, there you are. With all the fuss and bother, I suspect we'll be at the end of the list."

Francis looked much struck by her argument.

"But," Emma continued, sitting up as she warmed to her theme, "if we get married tomorrow, without any of the others knowing, then it'll be done and we shan't have to wait." In triumph, she turned to Francis.

Finding her eyes fixed on him enquiringly, Francis grinned. "Sweetheart, you put together a very convincing argument. So let's agree to be married tomorrow. Now that's settled, it seems to me you're in far too composed a state. From what I've learned, it would be safest for everyone if you were kept in a perpetual state of confusion. So come here, my sweet, and let me confuse you a little."

Emma giggled and, quite happily, gave herself up to delighted confusion.