by Mary Balogh
She paused to see if he had something to say, but he looked as though he were rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed upon her, his jaw like granite. She was suddenly very glad Maude was in the room, though her presence was also embarrassing. Maude did not approve of any of this and did not scruple to say so when they were alone.
“Perhaps we could combine forces and each acquire what we want,” Wren said.
“You are offering me . . . marriage?” he asked.
Had she not made herself clear? “Yes,” she said. He continued to stare at her, and she became uncomfortably aware of the ticking of the clock.
“Miss Heyden,” he said at last, “I have not even seen your face.”
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