“Mary,” Ryan eventually said and grinned, easing slightly away from her. “I didn’t finish my proposal.”
Mary’s eyes swam with merriment, and her lips edged upward into a warm smile. She didn’t say anything, however; she just waited with what little patience she possessed for him to proceed.
He pulled a small velvet box out of his pocket and opened it. “Mary Croyden, Marchioness of Steepleton and the finest surgeon I have ever known, I love you more than words can say. Would you do me the tremendous honor of becoming my wife?”
“You might be an oaf,” she said, laughing, “but you are my oaf, and I love you. So yes, a thousand times, yes.”
“Do you know, you are quite outspoken for a little gnome,” he chuckled as he slipped the ring onto her finger. “But I must admit that it is one of your finest qualities; I wouldn’t have it any other way.” And to prove it, he pulled her back in his arms and kissed her so thoroughly that she was sure never to forget it.