In that moment, Pandora realized it would kill her not to have him. She might actually expire of heartbreak. She was becoming someone new, with him—they were becoming something together—and nothing was going to turn out the way she’d expected. Kathleen had been right—whatever she chose, it wouldn’t be perfect. She would have to lose something.

But no matter what else she gave up, this man was the thing she couldn’t lose.

She burst into tears. Not dainty, feminine tears, but a messy, red-faced explosion of sobs. The most terrible, beautiful, stunning feeling she’d ever known had come crashing over her in a huge wave, and she was drowning in it.

Gabriel stared at her with alarm, fumbling in his coat pocket for a handkerchief. “No, no . . . you weren’t supposed to . . . my God, Pandora, don’t do that. What is it?” He mopped at her face until she took the handkerchief from him and blew her nose, her shoulders shaking. As he continued to hover and ask worried questions, Phoebe left the piano and came to them.

Keeping Pandora folded deeply in his embrace, Gabriel cast a distracted glance at his sister. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” he muttered.

Phoebe shook her head and reached up to ruffle his hair fondly. “Nothing’s wrong, lunkhead. You came into her life like a lightning strike. Anyone would feel a bit scorched.”

Pandora was only dimly aware of Phoebe leaving the drawing room. When the storm of tears had ebbed enough that she could bring herself to look up at Gabriel, she was caught in his transfixed stare.

“You’re crying because you want to marry me,” he said. “Is that it?”

“No.” A hiccupping sob escaped her. “I’m crying because I don’t want to not marry you.”

Gabriel drew in a sharp breath. His mouth came down over hers in a kiss so rough that it almost hurt. As he searched her hungrily, his entire body vibrated with thrills.

Breaking the kiss, Pandora put her hands on his cheeks, and stared at him woefully. “Wh-what rational woman would ever want a husband who looks like you?”

He took her mouth again, fierce and demanding. She closed her eyes, surrendering in a dark half-swoon of pleasure.

Eventually Gabriel’s head lifted and he asked huskily, “What’s wrong with my looks?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re too handsome. Other women will flirt and try to attract your attention, and chase after you forever.”

“They’ve always done that,” he said, kissing her cheeks, chin, throat. “I won’t even notice.”

She squirmed to evade his marauding lips. “But I will, and I’ll hate it. And it will be so monotonous, looking at a perfectly beautiful person day after day. You could at least try to grow fat, or sprout some hair out of your ears, or lose a front tooth—No, even then you’d still be too handsome.”

“I could develop a receding hairline,” he offered.

Pandora considered that, reaching up to push back the heavy gold-shot locks that had fallen over his forehead. “Are there bald people in your family? On either side?”

“Not that I know of,” he admitted.

She scowled. “Don’t give me false hope, then. Just admit it: You’re always going to be handsome, and somehow I’ll have to find a way to live with it.”

Gabriel tightened his arms as she tried to pull away. “Pandora,” he whispered, holding her firmly. “Pandora.”

If only she could stop the terrible-wonderful feelings that flooded her. Hot. Cold. Happy. Afraid. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening to her. Gabriel was murmuring, pouring delicious words into her ear. “You’re so beautiful . . . so precious to me. I’m not asking for a surrender, I’m offering you one. I’ll do anything. It has to be you, Pandora . . . only you . . . for the rest of my life. Marry me . . . say you’ll marry me . . .”

His mouth was on hers, stroking deeply, his hands moving over her, his fingers spreading as if he couldn’t feel enough of her. The heavy muscles of his body tensed and relaxed as he altered his hold, trying to fit her closer against him. Then he went still with his lips against her throat, as if he’d realized the futility of words. He was silent, except for his unsteady breathing. The side of her face was pressed against his hair, the gleaming locks smelling like sun and ocean salt. His scent filled her. His warmth was all around her. He waited with merciless, devastating patience.

“All right,” she croaked.

His breath stopped, and his head jerked up. “You’ll marry me?” He spoke with great care, as if he wanted to make certain there was no misunderstanding.

“Yes.” She could barely speak.

A flush of color rose through his tan, and a slow grin emerged, so brilliant that it nearly blinded her. “Lady Pandora Ravenel . . . I’m going to make you so happy that you won’t even care about losing your money, freedom, and your entire legal existence.”

Pandora groaned. “Don’t even joke about it. I have conditions. Thousands of them.”

“Yes to all of them.”

“Starting with . . . I want my own bedroom.”

“Except for that one.”

“I’m used to privacy. A lot of it. I need a room in the house that’s only mine.”

“You can have several rooms for privacy. We’ll buy a big house. But we’re going to share a bed.”

Pandora decided to argue about the bed later. “The important thing is that I won’t promise to obey you. I literally can’t. The word has to be removed from the wedding vows.”