Desire of the Heart. Barbara Cartland

could only tremble and was aware of an excitement mounting within her that made her feel breathless and that choked her so that the words died in her throat

      “You are alone?”

      It was a ridiculous question and yet she could not smile at it and could only incline her head dumbly.

      “I wanted to see you alone.”

      His voice was low and deep, yet still she stayed where he found her by the side of the piano, the silver frames with their smiling photographs making a background for her pale face and pink-frilled dress.

      “Perhaps you have some idea of what I want to say to you?”

      Cornelia could only stare at him through her darkened glasses.

      She felt that they protected her, hid her feelings which she knew were shining from her eyes, revealing all that was throbbing in her heart. Never had she thought it possible for a man to seem so wonderful or so splendid.

      He was waiting for her to answer him and at last she managed to force a monosyllable through her lips.

      “No.”

      As if her answer was disconcerting, he looked at her a little helplessly and she wondered if he was shy as well.

      “I want to ask you to be my wife.”

      He spoke slowly and with deliberation and yet Cornelia thought that she must be mad or dreaming.

      He could not have said it, he could not have asked her this question of all questions. She stood trembling and then suddenly the full realisation of what he had just said swept over her so that she must faint from the very joy of it.

      He loved her, he wanted her! He was feeling for her all that she was feeling for him.

      She clasped her fingers together, but somehow it was impossible to make any reply.