Paladin

Judging by her expression, a proposal was the farthest thought from Sophia's mind. She stared at him, a hardened, unconvinced look on her face that made him wonder if he'd made the correct choice in telling her of his past life and mistakes.

"I've told you the truth," he said, lowering his gaze. The painful, horrific, surreal past that belonged to him alone. Looking back on it, he could barely believe he'd lived in the cellar for as many years as he had—or that he'd stayed far away from people since his childhood. "And I've told you how I feel and what I would like. For us," he added quickly.

"Us," she echoed.

Christine's rejection had nearly killed him because it was all he had ever known, and if Sophia denied him, he was certain the pain would be fatal this time. At last he'd attempted to prove himself, to give the deepest, rawest parts of himself honestly, without false conviction or behind a mask. If she could accept him here, in his own home, she could forgive him for what he'd done in the past and still love him. There was nothing he wanted more than her acceptance.

"Sophia, please," he said, then stopped abruptly when he realized he didn't know what else to say to her. Never again would he lower himself to his knees and beg for what the rest of the world received freely. He didn't know if he had become more accustomed to losing what he wanted or if he'd come to respect himself more and let go of what didn't belong to him.

She took his hands in hers and smiled, which surprised him into complete silence. The warmth of her grasp, her skin soft and smooth against his, everything about her stunned him despite their recent time together. It was as though he'd never once kissed her, as though he were still a young man rather than an adult.

"Do you want me to marry you because you fear there will be no one else for you?"

Her words punched the breath from his lungs, and he frowned. "I do not intend for my proposal to insult you, Sophia."

"I find this all very…sudden," she replied. "I'm not certain if you're asking me because you want to ask or because you're afraid that I will leave now that you have fired me."

He winced, completely forgetting what had brought them to this situation in the first place. "I do fear losing you," he answered. "But I've thought of making you my wife for some time now."

Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with suspicion. "Honestly?"

At once he nodded. "Especially after this morning, in your home when you and I were…intimate with one another," he said, keeping his voice low. He didn't want his mother to overhear their conversation, much less Citrine—who probably already knew everything.

"Yes," she said, her face flushing.

"I don't know if either of us can wait for something more," he said, purposely keeping his words vague.

"I will wait until I'm married," she answered. "No matter if I'm…I'm eighty years old."

He smiled down at her. "I'd be ninety," he said. "I don't know if I could please you if we waited that long."

As much as she tried to keep her lips pursed, she smiled up at him. "I never said I would marry you," she said, though her voice was light and musical. Forgiveness lay ahead, both what she could offer him and what he could offer himself.

"Then I will ask you properly."

Before she lowered her eyes, he saw the twinkle of hope in her gaze and he wondered if she did want to marry him but had decided to play coy. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that women were unpredictable creatures who begged to be understood yet tried their best to keep men confused.

"I need time to consider," she said as she stared at their joined hands.

Erik nodded and brought her fingers to his lips. "And I need time to ask you properly."

"Excuse me?"

"I will ask again. Later."

"Later?" Now she suddenly seemed more concerned than he'd been, which he found intriguing and amusing.

"When you're ready to be asked."

-o-

Sophia furrowed her brow and attempted to dissect what had happened and how she'd lost the upper hand. She'd only meant to see if he was absolutely certain that he did want to marry her, as she had no desire to become a mistake—but and suddenly he was no longer asking.

All she knew for certain was that Citrine would be terribly disappointed in her, but she wasn't sure if she cared what Citrine thought. She didn't want to agree to marriage and then discover that he'd used her to replace the woman he'd lost. Considering he'd been in love with a singer, she didn't see why he would ask her—not unless she had first convinced him.

And now she'd driven him away.

"How will you know when I'm ready?"

He studied her, his eyelashes lowered seductively. The veil over his eyes left her wondering what was on his mind—and how she could find out. A shiver ran down her spine at the endless possibilities. It would take a lifetime to discover him completely, but she was willing to make the sacrifice.

"I will know," he said softly.

"Tell me how," she said breathlessly.

"Perhaps later tonight," he answered. "Or tomorrow night if we are alone."

Her lips parted at the thought of being alone with him, of what he'd done to her earlier in the morning when they'd had a private moment—of what he might do again. Her stomach tightened, the tips of her breasts tingled with need. She hadn't thought she'd crave him like this.

"Why must I wait? Are you punishing me for—for wanting to know if what you've said is true?"

His chin lifted, and he searched her face. "You already know that what I've said is true."

She swallowed and glanced away. "They why?"

"Because I've decided it is a surprise now, and that you must decide if you truly want what I wish to offer you."

Sophia swallowed, watched his lips move with each word. There was nothing more sensual than watching him speak, seeing the words form and play against his soft, smooth lips.

"But I do," she replied. She wanted to explain to him that she didn't want him to ask her because he'd decided it was time to marry—or that now, when he was far from Paris, he feared that he'd never find anyone else and that he'd given up hope of marrying someone with as much passion for music as he had. She had to fear his offer, though she didn't understand why. It all seemed too perfect for her. After the deaths of her parents, after losing her home and becoming a servant, after what Karl had tried to do to her…she barely believed there was anything good in the world left for her.

With a single finger, he touched her chin and drew her face up. His smile made her fully aware that he knew what he was doing and that she had no idea how to react. She wanted to grab him by the lapels and make him kiss her. Then she'd know how he felt about her for certain. Then there would be nothing left to consider.

His thumb dragged along her lips, sent a spike of pleasure and anticipation down to her knees, which threatened to buckle. Instinctively she flicked her tongue out to quell the tickle left in the wake of his touch, and she licked the tip of his thumb.

His mouth opened, lips quivered in response to her touch. She felt the warm exhale of his breath against her face and ears, and her toes curled in her boots, heels lifted from the ground in anticipation. Slowly he leaned forward, his eyes heavily lidded, his lips still parted and inviting. His breath smelled of coffee, which she wanted to taste on his mouth. In fact, she was certain she'd die without the slightest hint of his flavor on her lips and in her blood.

There was no caution when it came to him, she realized. He'd become desire without fear of consequence, need without fear of risk. All she could recall was his proposal and her damnable response. Their time spent together should have been answer enough for her to realize that he did care for her. He couldn't hide or forge the passion he'd shown her.

"Erik, tell—"

"Soon, Sophia," he promised, his lips moving against hers with each word.

Her eyes fluttered shut, tongue searching for his, but in a heartbeat of madness, he was gone, and she couldn't remember ever feeling this alone.

-o-

Erik walked into the kitchen and found Citrine at the table with a pile of vegetables and cut meat beside her and a knife in hand. He was tempted to ask her to put the knife down.

"How good is your memory?" he asked.

"I remember how you hurt Sophia, and if you ever—"

"Find Gabe," he said coolly. She sat a little straighter, her eyes blazing with fury and curiosity. "And have him take you to retrieve several items."

"For what?"

"For Sophia."

"A parting gift to send her on her way?"

His jaw twitched. "To give her a proposal she'll never forget."

Citrine immediately scooted her chair back, shoved all of the food into a baking dish, and tossed it into the oven.

"Tell me what I need," she said as she tossed her apron onto the chair. "Tell me everything I need."