He pressed a kiss to her gloved hand. “Then you’re perfect.”
She laughed as joy filled her heart, her soul. “I love you, Matthew. Yes, yes, I want to be your wife.”
Shoving himself to his feet, he cupped her face between his hands. “Now they can’t object.”
And he claimed her mouth, her heart, her soul, there on the stairs, while the London elite looked on. Scandalous, a kiss such as this, so deep, so thorough, with her arms intertwining around his neck and his around her back, bringing her in so close that light couldn’t make its way between them. He tasted as she remembered, rich and dark, decadent.
When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I think a waltz is in order.”
Taking her hand, he escorted her down the stairs where the marquess and marchioness waited. When she would have curtsied, he stayed her actions with his palm gently placed on her back. “Fairhaven, Sylvie, I believe you’ve met Miss Trewlove.”
“Indeed we have.” Placing her hands on Fancy’s shoulders, she leaned in and bussed a quick kiss over her cheeks. “It seems congratulations are in order. I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to see Rosemont looking so happy. And even more thrilled that such a public proposal was issued at my ball. My affair shall be the talk of theton.”
Matthew said something low to Fairhaven and with a nod, he walked off. Then Matthew leaned toward Fancy. “There is nothing my sister likes more than being the center of attention.”
“Oh, there are things I like more but they are best seen to behind closed doors.” She tapped her fan against Fancy’s arm. “Whenever Rosemont visited of late, he always mentioned you. I can see why. It seems you’ve thoroughly enamored him.”
“It is he who has enamored me.”
The lilting strains of a tune started up. “The Fairy Wedding Waltz.”
“If you’ll excuse us, Sylvie, my betrothed is in need of a waltz.”
As he was escorting her to the dance floor, three flaxen-haired misses stepped in front of them. Lady Penelope hugged her. “We’re so happy for you, Miss Trewlove.”
“The proposal was so romantic.” Lady Victoria waved her fan as though the very thought of it warmed her.
“I daresay, proposals in the garden are going to go by the wayside,” Lady Alexandria said. “I won’t settle for anything less than a public proposal in a ballroom.”
“I hope you all receive proposals very soon, but only from gentlemen you love.”
The ladies giggled and waved as Matthew offered their excuses before leading her onto the dance floor, taking her in his arms, and sweeping her over the polished parquet.
“I don’t know if I’ll get used to hearing you referred to as Rosemont,” she told him.
“I love you, Fancy. Call me anything you like.”
“Whenever I attended a ball, I imagined you being there, waltzing with me. You’re everything I ever dreamed of wanting.”
“Don’t stop dreaming, Fancy. For I intend to help you realize all your dreams.”
She had an entire list, although she suspected he knew most of them and would guess the rest. They’d always been so attuned to each other.
She wished her mum had been here tonight, but she would tell her all about it in the morning. For now, she became lost in the music, the movement, the eyes of the man she loved.
Beresford studied his cards, fighting not to groan and alert everyone that his luck continued to be ghastly. He was still struggling with the fact that Fancy Trewlove had preferred scandal to marriage. The moment he’d heard of her incredible dowry, he’d set his sights on acquiring her as a wife. He hadn’t cared about her lack of a pedigree. He’d cared only about the coins she’d put in his coffers. Year after year. That she was interesting, gracious, and comely had been a boon. Even more so was the fact that he enjoyed her company. He didn’t know if he would have ever come to love her—his mistress had held his heart for years now—but he’d already developed a bit of affection for her. He certainly would have worked to ensure she never regretted marrying him.
He shouldn’t have arranged to be caught in a compromising situation, but he’d panicked when he saw how much attention she was garnering from other lords. And then when Rosemont—a man presently outside of social events—had implied a knowledge of her, Beresford had decided action was needed. Because if or when Rosemont returned to Society, he couldn’t compete with the man, not when half the ladies of London were going on and on about the damned letter his wife had written. It had been bad enough listening to his sisters wax on about it, hearing them sighing over the earl.
So he’d made an error in judgment, tried to force Miss Trewlove into accepting him. The devil of it was that her rejection had only served to make him respect and want her all the more. He wondered if he would stand any chance at all with her if he courted her properly. Of course, now she was not only tainted by her birth, but by scandal. Even if he was the reason behind the scandal—
“Stand up, Beresford.”
The whispered words carried enough venom to paralyze him. It took him several heartbeats to recover. When he finally did, he glanced up to find Rosemont glaring at him with an intensity that sent a cold shiver of dread racing up his spine. “Why?”
“Because I never strike a man when he’s sitting.”
“And why would you want to do that, old chap?” Although he had the unsettling thought that he knew.
