After a minute, he pushed up on his elbow to look her in the face. "The proposal," he said.
"Yes," she said. "You may make it now. But first—I want to tell you. I have finished a painting."
"Yes?"
"And it is not bloody, or self-righteous. Though perhaps it is melodramatic."
He laughed softly. "But not flat, I hope?"
"No, not at all. It is of you, on the roof of Sapnagar. I had drawn you once, in Kurnaul. But the plain was filled with bodies. Not so in this painting. There are no shadows behind you, now. Nothing dark. Only the future. And it is green and lovely to my eyes."
He opened his mouth, and a door opened. Emma ducked beneath the covers as he said something.
"All right," he said after a moment. "We've scandalized the poor chambermaid into her grave, but I think you can come out now."
She poked her head back up.
"You are blushing again," he purred.
"Well," she said. "I suppose the nice thing about being ruined is that a woman of uncertain reputation does not need to fret over niceties."
One black brow lifted. "Nor does a duchess," he said.
"Who's to be a duchess? You haven't even properly proposed yet."
"Let me try again," he said with a grin, and rose over her, and took her mouth with his.