“Diana Merriwell.” Giles dropped to his knees and stared deep into her eyes. “My Goddess of the Hunt, Hunter of the Truth, and Fearsome Kicker of Hornets—for some inexplicable reason I love you, and much to your chagrin, you love me, too. I know that scares you, and heaven only knows I don’t deserve you, but we both know that there is nobody else we would each like to spend eternity with and, quite frankly, nobody else who could stand us enough to want to. So marry me. Today … tomorrow … in twenty years if you feel I deserve to be tortured for that long. I do not care so long as you say yes.”
