Disregarding this, Delia eyed him, sniffing back the tears. “What would you have done if you had failed to oust Piers?”
“Persuaded you to marry me and come back with me to India,” he said, without an instant’s hesitation.
Delia’s tears spilled over and she could not speak. Giff released her hands and took her into his arms. With gentleness this time, cradling her against him. Delia melted into the warm embrace. And then his lips were gentling hers, murmuring between kisses words she’d longed to hear.
“I do love my flower girl… I can’t live without her…”
Sighing in contentment, her tears arrested, Delia responded with fervour. “And I love my reckless prince…”
Giff broke away, laughing. “Prince? What nonsense is this?”
Delia’s cheeks warmed. “It’s nothing. A silly dream of mine, that’s all.”
A frown came into his eyes. “I’m no prince, Delia, if that’s what you mean. I’m not even a fit earl, if you want the truth. I don’t know if I can play the role.”
She gripped one of his hands. “You don’t have to. Just be yourself. If it comes to that, I’m no fit countess. We’ll muddle through together, Giff.”
“But if I can’t bear it? If I want to go home?”
She smiled from the heart. “Then we’ll go together.”
He drew in a breath and sighed it out in a bang. “I knew it wouldn’t scare you.”
“It does scare me. But it scares me more to think of letting you out of my sight to do whatever reckless thing you get into your head to do next.”
Giff laughed, catching her back into his arms. “I must be mad, saddling myself with a wench who won’t hesitate to nag me any time she doesn’t approve of my conduct.”
“No, and you’ve only yourself to blame, Giffard Gaunt. You have been amply warned.”
He kissed her again. “I’ll take my chances. The rewards will be worth it.”
Which, Delia decided, precisely mirrored her own sentiments. Giff was no fairy-tale prince, but life at his side promised such a whirlwind she might welcome the odd moment of dullness.
***