"I did appreciate your changes, but . . . they were just your clothes. I wanted you to be different on the inside. Which wasn't fair of me. I was wrong to want that."

"Were you? I'm not certain." His gaze grew steady, warm. "Dahlia, whatever we-you-decide, I'm not going to quit. I've invested too much in you-too much in us." He spread his hands. "I know I've said some things I shouldn't have. And I know that's pushed you away." He gave a short laugh. "And I thought I had everything so well planned out. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, there's not even a dance tonight for me to claim, and I wanted one. And now there's not-"

"A dance?"

He nodded.

"But you can't dance."

His eyes lit with humor. "Who says?"

"You do."

A pleased smile touched his mouth. He tilted his head and listened to the faint strains of a waltz that drifted up from the ballroom. "That will do nicely. Come, Dahlia. Dance with me." He leaned his cane against a chair and held out his hand.

"Are you serious?"

He grinned.

She placed her hand in his. "I don't understand. What are you doing?"

He pulled her to her feet. "Are you strong enough to dance, if just a little?"

"Yes, but-"

He bowed. "Miss Balfour, may I have this dance?"

Her gaze dropped to his leg. "But you'll hurt yourself. I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He took her shawl from the settee and tucked it about her shoulders, and then-with the most graceful of movements, he pulled her close and swept her into a slow waltz.

A real waltz, though. Perfectly performed, each movement executed to the final degree. They were dancing, and though he was moving stiffly, there was no flicker of pain on his face. Dahlia held her breath, waiting, but Kirk moved steadily, if the tiniest bit awkwardly.

"You said you couldn't dance."

"I've been working on strengthening my leg since I arrived."

She had an instant image of him in the barn, his body glistening with sweat. So that's what he'd been doing. "It must have been difficult."

"It wasn't easy," he admitted. "But it was all worth it for this single moment."

She closed her eyes, surrounded by him, his arm warm about her waist, his hand clasping hers as they moved almost effortlessly. A deep rumble in his chest made her smile as she realized he was humming the song as they moved.

When the song ended he drifted to a stop, pulling her gently into his arms, his chin against her hair. He sighed, a deep, satisfied sigh. "I've wished to dance with you like that since the first day you told me how much you enjoyed it."

Her smile trembled and she looked up at him. "You did that-strengthened your leg, learned the steps-just so you could dance with me?"

He looked surprised that she found it amazing. "Why else would I wish to dance, if not because you wished it?"

Dahlia's heart swelled. He'd never talk about the hours he'd spent working in the stable or the pain he'd endured because of it, but she knew. She knew and she was humbled by his efforts.

Kirk was a man of few words. He might never think to tell her he liked her gown or thought her hair looked pretty curled, but he would always hold her umbrella.

And that was love. True love. The kind that carried on and lasted through the good days and the difficult days. The kind of love that always gave, and never hurt. It might not be the kind of mad love poets wrote about, but it was the kind of love strong enough to build a home upon, secure in the knowledge that this man would be there when things went wrong, and would do everything in his considerable power to make things right again.

She turned her face against his coat and pressed against him.

Instantly, his arms tightened about her, warm and strong, as his chin came to rest on her head.

They stayed there for a long, long time, and then Kirk gave her a final squeeze and then stepped away. "Thank you for the dance. I'd better leave, for Freya will have my head on a platter if I overtire you."

"No, no. I'm fine."

He looked as if he might say something more, but instead, he pressed a kiss to her fingers. "I must go." Kirk knew that if he stayed a second longer, he would sweep her into his arms and never let her go. And that was not how he-how she-needed him to proceed. He'd promised himself that he'd go slowly, show her how he felt, and win her back one day at a time, even if it took forever. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he slowly released her.

"Kirk, don't." She placed her hand on his chest and looked up at him, her gray-blue eyes silver with tears. "You love me."

She didn't ask, but said the words as if she knew.

His heart lurched against his chest as he nodded. "I've never thought that word had any meaning, but-" His throat tightened. "When you were ill, I promised you I'd never leave you. The truth is, I can't leave you. You are a part of me, Dahlia. A part of who I am."

Her eyes shimmered. "And here I was making peace with the idea that you would never be a man of tender words."

"I'm going to do better."

"And so will I. Kirk, I love you, too. So much. But we both had things to learn. And now it appears that we did just that-learned to value each other as we should have been doing since the day we first met." She looked up at him and smiled. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"What?"

"It's my turn now." She took his hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers before she looked up at him and said with the most deliciously saucy smile he'd ever seen, "Lord Kirk, would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

"Dahlia, are you certain?"

She laughed. "I've never been more certain of anything. I love you, Kirk. I think I have for a long time, but I was too silly to know it. I-"

She might have been ready to say more, but he couldn't wait. He kissed her, possessing her with a heated pa.s.sion that set her own afire.

When he broke off the kiss, she sighed in disappointment. "Why did you stop?"

"For this." He picked her up and carried her to the settee, where he settled her in his lap. "And this." He cupped her face in his hand, his fingers warm on her skin. "Dahlia Balfour, I accept your offer of marriage." Then he tenderly pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, and then her lips.

She snuggled against him, soaking in his strength. "Forever."

He tucked her closer. "Forever, Dahlia, my dear. Forever and ever."

Epilogue.

From the Diary of the d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe

Ah, I have surprised myself yet again. Another match made in heaven . . . It wasn't easy this time, for fate seemed set against our lovers. There was wind, rain, illness, and tribulations. But as with all true love, they have found their way.

I, along with Lady Charlotte and the Roxburghe pugs, have performed our magics. We can rest in peace now that the Balfour sisters are all happily wed, their husbands beaming with pride, their hearts full.

After such triumphs, I thought to retire, but then a thought crept in . . . a small one, mind you . . . a thought about my companion, lovely and generous Lady Charlotte.

Her? a novice might wonder. Can she find true love at her age? I laugh at such silly questions. I've been married many times, and can promise you that love does not end with youth.

Neither does matchmaking. Trust me on this . . . if it has to do with love and matchmaking, I shall never quit.

Never.

Turn the page to meet Dahlia's sister Lily and the handsome Russian prince she falls in love with in

How to Pursue a Princess!

From the Diary of the d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe

Huntley arrived early and I spoke to him at length, delicately suggesting that it was time for him to wed again. He nodded thoughtfully, and I believe he has already come to this conclusion himself. I'm sure that all it will take is one look, and the deal will be done. All I have to do is find Lily.

We seem to have somehow misplaced her.

Lily slowly awoke, her mind creeping back to consciousness. She shifted and then moaned as every bone in her body groaned in protest.

A warm hand cupped her face. "Easy" came a deep, heavily accented voice.

Lily opened her eyes to find herself staring into the deep green eyes of the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

The man was huge, with broad shoulders that blocked the light and hands so large that the one cupping her face practically covered one side of it. His face was perfectly formed, his cheekbones high above a scruff of a beard that her fingers itched to touch.

"The brush broke your fall, but you will still be bruised."

He looked almost too perfect to be real. She placed her hand on his where it rested on her cheek, his warmth stealing into her cold fingers. He's not a dream.

She gulped a bit and tried to sit up, but was instantly pressed back to the ground.

"Nyet," the giant said, his voice rumbling over her like waves over a rocky beach. "You will not rise."

She blinked. "Nyet?"

He grimaced. "I should not say 'nyet' but 'no.'"

"I understood you perfectly. I am just astonished that you are telling me what to do." His expression darkened and she had the distinct impression that he wasn't used to being told no. "Who are you?"

"It matters not. What matters is that you are injured and wish to stand. That is foolish."

She pushed herself up on one elbow. As she did so, her hat, which had been pinned upon her neatly braided hair, came loose and fell to the ground.

The man's gaze locked on her hair, his eyes widening as he muttered something under his breath in a foreign tongue.

"What's wrong?"

"Your hair. It is red and gold."

"My hair's not red. It's blond and when the sun-" She frowned. "Why am I even talking to you about this? I don't even know your name."

"You haven't told me yours, either," he said in a reasonable tone.

She hadn't, and for some reason she was loath to do so. She reached for her hat, wincing as she moved.

Instantly he pressed her back to the ground. "Do not move. I shall call for my men and-"

"No, I don't need any help."

"You should have had a groom with you," he said, disapproval in his rich voice. "Beautiful women should not wander the woods alone."

Beautiful? Me? She flushed. It was odd, but the thought pleased her far more than it should have. Perhaps because she thought he was beautiful as well.

"In my country you would not be riding about the woods without protection."