He cut through the water, his shoulders aching from the movement. Eyes closed, he reached for the wall at the end of his lap, grabbing it from memory as he let himself glide to the end of the swim. It was enough for now, he hoped, throwing his head back, letting water stream down his face and hair one last time before he exited the pool.
He opened his eyes, his gaze landing on a pair of brown boots a foot away. He looked up, his heart knocking in his chest.
Georgiana.
She stared down at him, all seriousness. “May I tell you now?”
“How did you get here?”
“Langley drove me,” she said before repeating, “May I tell you now?”
“Tell me what?”
She sank to her knees, then to her hands, bringing herself closer to him. “May I tell you that I love you?”
He reached for her, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her close. “You may not,” he said, his heart threatening to beat from his chest. “Not unless you mean to say it every day. Forever.”
She smiled. “That will depend upon you.”
He looked into her eyes, trying to read her meaning. Trying not to hope that she said what he thought she was saying. “Georgiana…” he whispered, loving the way her name curved over his lips and tongue.
“I cannot say it every day if we are apart, you see.” Her voice cracked, and he was desperate to hold her. “So if you’ll have me —”
“No.”
He hoisted himself out of the pool, effectively cutting off her words. She gasped as water sluiced off him, and flooded the tile work at the edge of the pool, dampening her trousers and no doubt ruining her boots.
He was on his knees next to her, turning her to face him. “You are stealing my part.” He took her hands in his. “Tell me again.”
She met his gaze, and he lost his breath at the truth in her beautiful amber eyes. “I love you.”
“Untitled scoundrel that I am?”
“Rake. Rogue. Whatever you like.”
“I like you.”
She smiled. “I hope that’s not all.”
“You know it isn’t,” he whispered, pulling her close. “You know I love you. The first moment I laid eyes on you, you stood in the darkness and defended yourself and those you love, and I have adored you since then. I have wanted to be counted among their ranks.”
Her hands were on his cheeks, cupping her face. “I love you.”
“Say it again,” he said, kissing her deep – long and slow until they were both gasping for breath.
“I can’t say it if you are kissing me,” she protested.
“Then save it,” he said, his lips once again on hers. “Tell me when I am through.” He kissed her again and again, the caresses deep and drugging, and every time he lifted his lips from hers, she whispered, “I love you.”
Over and over, the words echoed around him, warming him, until he finally, finally pulled away and said, “It’s always been you.” He put his forehead to hers. “Marry me. Choose me.”
“I will,” she promised. “I do.”
“When?”
“Now. Tomorrow. Next week. Forever.”
He stood then, lifting her high in his arms. “Forever,” he said. “I choose forever.”
And forever it was.
Epilogue
One Year Later
The Fallen Angel
Georgiana stood inside the owner’s suite of The Fallen Angel, watching the floor far below. The casino teemed with gamers, and her gaze fell to the roulette wheel at the center of the room, spinning in a whirr of red and black. A half-dozen men leaned in as the wheel slowed.
“Red,” she whispered.
Red it was, and even better, a man at the table threw up his hands in glee. He had won. And winning at the roulette wheel was a triumph.
Chance was a remarkable thing.
She had built this empire upon it – upon luck and fate, fortune and destiny. She’d learned remarkable lessons about lies and truths, about revenge. About scandal. But she still grew breathless when the roulette wheel spun.
The door to the suite opened, and she knew without looking who had entered, the way the air shifted, the way her breath quickened. Duncan’s arms were around her, warm and strong, and he followed her gaze to the floor. “A dozen games on the floor of your hell,” he whispered at her ear. “And you always choose roulette. Why?”
“It is the only game that is truly left to the fates,” she said. “It is the only game that cannot be calculated. Its reward is risk as much as anything else.” She turned in his arms, reaching up to clasp her hands behind his neck. “It is like life – we spin the wheel and…”
He kissed her, long and deep, his hands coming to her waist, pulling her tight against him.
When he released her, she sighed. “And sometimes we are well rewarded.”
His hands slid to the heavy swell of her stomach, where his child grew. “Sometimes we are,” he agreed. “Though I will tell you that I often worry that my luck has been too good – that I am due to run out.”
“You have lived enough bad luck for a lifetime. I don’t intend for you ever to run out.”
He raised a brow. “And you have the power to deliver an edict to the fates?”
She grinned. “On days when you do not have luck, you must rely on something else.”
He kissed her again, then turned her to the window once more. They watched for long moments as cards turned and dice flew and men played their games before she stretched, trying to ease the kink in her back. “You promised me you would sleep more,” he said, his hands coming to the small of her back, pressing, soothing the ache that seemed to live there now that she neared the end of her term. “You are not supposed to be here.”