She had been plagued by thoughts of the day Longleigh had planted evidence upon him, having him hauled away to prison. She had known when she had returned to a quiet, empty house that something was desperately amiss. She had suspected Longleigh from the beginning, although he had been careful to hide his sins. Not even the servants had been willing to speak to her concerning what had happened.
“Damn it. I am making a scene,” Adrian cursed then, jolting her from her thoughts.
A glance around confirmed there were indeed more eyes upon them, some ladies whispering surreptitiously behind fans. Additional scandal would no doubt follow them after this evening. She did not care. She would suffer the scandal anew just to hear him tell her he wanted to begin again.
“Then take me home, Mr. Hastings,” she said.
“That I shall do with great pleasure, Mrs. Hastings.”
He offered her his arm, and she took it.
He had not called her Tilly yet, but Mrs. Hastings was a far cry from Duchess, and it was the only title she had cherished with all her heart.
She would take it.
* * *
The carriage rockedover the streets, taking them back to Haddon House.
Home.
Of sorts.
For now.
Adrian remained uncertain he could ever completely view the house as a place where he belonged. But the only home he truly needed was the woman seated at his side.
Tilly.
As with their impassioned tête-à-tête, their hasty departure from the ball had not gone unnoticed. But they had left anyway. She had held her head high, befitting the duchess she was. He had escorted her with pride, accepting in a way he had not before that she was his. His wife. How right it felt. The lingering doubts, when he had chosen to release them, had scattered, like seeds in the wind.
As he had dressed and made his way to the ball, everything Northwich had said had suddenly fit into place in his heart, his mind. And he had known what he must do. Arriving to find her engrossed in conversation with another man had been an unexpected blow.
But he had been honest with her when he had told her he trusted her. He did. Not just because he wanted and needed to, which was also the case, but because, as his friend had correctly pointed out, she had never given him reason to doubt her. Longleigh’s knowledge of the ring and pocket watch and cuff links would forever puzzle him.
He was far more willing to believe the duke had employed some of his servants as spies rather than continuing to suspect Tilly had been responsible for telling him. He did not believe her capable of so callously committing him to prison. As his anger had dissipated over the past few weeks, he had become increasingly aware that the need for vengeance he had clung to during his interminable time at Dunsworth had been for naught.
He reached for her hand now, lacing his fingers through hers. She clasped him tightly, turning toward him in the gentle glow of the lamp illuminating the carriage. She was so beautiful, he ached just looking at her.
“I am sorry,” he said again. But this time, his contrition was for a different reason than the one he had offered before. “It was not my intention to make a spectacle of us this evening, and I very much fear that is what I have done.”
“Let them talk,” she said, smiling, her green eyes glittering with what he suspected were unshed tears. “I would gladly endure all the whispers and the gossip and the wagging tongues in the world if it meant you would be willing to leave the past behind us, where it belongs.”
Doing so had seemed daunting. Clinging to his resentment and doubts had been safest. If he had refused to believe her, if he had refused to make himself vulnerable, then she could never hurt him again. But last night had altered so much, and his talk with Northwich earlier had convinced him of the necessity of moving on. For the both of them.
There was happiness in the future, he thought, within reach. They simply had to reach for it together.
He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. Though she wore gloves, the heat of her sent an answering rush of desire through him. He was having difficulty gathering his wildly racing thoughts, making sense of what he wanted to say, and how. Instead, he maintained his silence.
She seemed to understand, because she kissed his shoulder, and though his bare skin was separated from hers by layers of fabric and civility, he swore he felt that kiss upon him as surely as a brand. Her patience and caring humbled him.
He knew a moment of shame, rushing, burning, to think he had waited this long, and yet she had still calmly accepted his words. She still showed him such tenderness. What an arse he had been.
“I am also sorry for doubting you,” he said, needing to fully unburden himself. “I have spent so much time planning my revenge, holding on to my resentment and my anger, that it never occurred to me you were every bit as much a victim of Longleigh.”
“You need not speak of it, my love.”
How good she was.
