I really really hope this is ok.

"Richard," she murmured, her tears abating a little, "Please. Don't do this."

"Isobel," he replied, his heart heavy in his chest, "I'm sorry, but I can't-... Why? Why do you have to go back to him?"

Quickly, she withdrew from him, sitting up again, leaning forwards and burying her face in her hands and her knees.

"Do you love him?" he asked her, sitting up as much as he could, watching as her back trembled.

"Yes," came her muffled reply.

"Do you?"

No reply this time.

There was a long pause.

"Darling-..."

"Don't," she told him, sharply, "Please, Richard, please don't."

"Why do you have to go back to him?" he asked again, his voice growing firmer.

She did not answer.

"Does he love you?" he wanted to know, "Does he even know you, Isobel?"

Normally he would not dare to ask her a question like that. For twelve years he had not dared to ask her a question like that. But now was not the time to remain silent.

"Richard," she told him, raising her head from her knees but not turning to look at him, "The things you're asking me-... You don't know-..." she broke off, "I've promised him," she stated firmly, "I promised I'd marry him."

He ignored her.

"I know you," he pressed, "I know that this isn't what you want, you don't want to marry him. I love you, Isobel. I know you're not-... You don't slip up, Isobel," he stated firmly, talking to her back, "You never slip up. You love fiercely and with such devotion. You don't waver and that's one of the things I love about you the most. If you loved Lord Merton you wouldn't have looked twice at me. You're so-... single-minded. You're so passionate. You're so-... you're so damned passionate, Isobel," his voice trembled as he said it, recalling images of what they'd just done: the tension between them finally, finally breaking and her grabbing his shirtfront practically pushing him up against the wall downstairs; them falling back onto her bed together; her scrambling to undo the buttons on the front of his shirt; their lips locked together in passionate, passionate kisses, "Alright, so you say what we just did was a mistake," he forced his voice to remain calm and steady, "Just look me in the face and tell me it didn't mean anything to you."

She had her face buried in her hand, and she was sobbing. Her tears made him physically hurt, but his heart burned inside of him as well at her coldness, her refusal to admit.

"Richard," she said weakly, "You don't know what you mean to me. You can't-... But I have to marry him. I owe it to him."

"No," he murmured.

"He was so kind after Matthew died."

"You don't," he insisted, "You don't owe yourself to anyone. You don't owe yourself to Lord Merton and you certainly don't owe yourself to me. But I love you, Isobel, and I want you, and I would spend the rest of my life trying to let you know that. I would spend every day of my life trying to make you happy. Has he ever said that to you?"

She sat, frozen.

"Has he?" he demanded.

"No!" she told him, still not looking at him, "No, he hasn't."

"Isobel," he murmured, gently, "I don't know if I can let go after this. You were-... You were so wonderful. You are unbelievably beautiful. Isobel, I'm begging you. Don't make me live without you now, Isobel," his voice finally broke, "Don't."

She still sat, looking away from him. He could not speak, he thought he would cry if he did. Shuffling forwards a little, he laid a tentative hand on her hip. She tensed a little under his touch, but she did not stop him. Slowly, sitting up a little, he moved behind her, placing a single kiss at the top of her spine.

"Just stop me," he whispered to her, "If you want to. Just stop me."

He placed a row of timid, tender kisses down her spine, his hand still resting on her hip. He was as gentle as he could be, trying to imprint his love on her with every touch of his lips, willing her just to see. He reached the base of her spine. Her back arched gently in pleasure as he touched her, and as he sat back up, he moved his hand gently to cover her breast. He heard her let out a gasp.

"I'd make love to you every day," he whispered in her ear, rising to his knees behind her, "I'd make love to you for the rest of my life," he kissed her ear, kissed her neck; his hands covering both of her breasts now, massaging them. She moaned and leant back against him, "Do you know how beautiful you are, Isobel, when you make love? Do you? Has he ever told you that?"

"No," she murmured quietly in reply, between ragged breaths, "He wouldn't know-..."

The thought gave him a thrill of delight, and of relief. He leaned over a little, saw that her eyes wear closed. He kissed her brow and her temple, still touching one of her breasts, his other hand moving down over her stomach.

"Marry me instead," he whispered, his hand tangling in her curls, "Marry me, Isobel. I love you."

Her head fell back against his shoulder as her sank a finger inside her, her mouth parted in a silent moan. He kissed her lips, sinking his finger inside her again.

"Yes, Richard," she moaned, so quietly that he could barely hear her.

His heart almost stopped, almost exploded in his chest.

"Yes, what?" he asked breathlessly, overtaken by surprise.

"I'll marry you," she gasped, "I love you, just-..." he was kissing her suddenly, kissing her all over, adoring her with his mouth, thanking her, lavishing her, still moving his fingers inside her, worshipping her in the only way he could, "Don't stop, Richard, darling, I love you, make love to me properly, Richard, YES!" she exclaimed her hips jerking and rutting against his fingers as he touched her, "Oh God, Richard!"

He held her as she gave a cry and shook against him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him, lying her down beside him and burying his face against her skin, unable to believe what she had just said.

But as her breathing slowed, she said it again, slowly, her voice shaking with the enormous significance of every word.

"Richard, darling. I love you. I'll marry you."

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