“What shall we do?” Clementine whispered. “She cannot see you here in my chamber!”
“We have just decided to remain betrothed, have we not?” he pointed out, careful to keep his voicesotto voceas well.
“Yes,” she hissed, “but that does not mean we ought to be found here alone. That would be scandalous.”
“You look thoroughly kissed,” he said, and not without a bit of smugness, for he was proud of that.
He wanted to kiss her more, in fact.
He had only just begun.
“Oh dear.” She frowned.
Knock, knock, knock.“Lady Clementine?”
“You have to answer her,” he said. “She does not sound as if she intends to go away otherwise.”
He could not contain his grin. Yes, he was ridiculously happy. Far too happy for a man about to be caught by his hostess in a scandalous situation.
Although, in fairness, this was the most well-behaved he had been in a lady’s presence in as long as he could recall. He had earned his reputation by playing the rogue well and often. By the old Dorset’s standards, being alone with a lady who remained fully clothed whilst a bed was a dozen steps away was bloody miraculous.
Someone ought to award him a medal.
“How can you be grinning at a moment like this?” his betrothed groused.
“Because I am happy.” He was still grinning.
Indeed, he doubted it was physically possible to keep the smile from his face just now. Not even the impending doom of being discovered alone with Clementine by their hostess was enough to do it.
“But this is terrible.”
“It is rather reminiscent of the timesyoufound couples alone, is it not?” he could not resist asking.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Answer her,” he said.
“Just a moment, Miss Julia,” she called.
“Lady Fangfoss,” came the reprimand from the other side of the portal.
“Go to the door,” he directed, not certain of how this drama of theirs would play out but knowing they needed to see it to the fall of the curtain.
Clementine’s eyes widened. “Where shall you go?”
“Out this window?” he suggested, having no intention of attempting such an escape.
They were on the third bloody floor of the manor house, nary a nearby tree upon whose facilitating branches he could find purchase. The drop was—he glanced down—of the broken neck variety.
“It is too high,” Clementine protested.
Concern for him—a sign most excellent. His grin deepened.
“You are still grinning,” she accused.
“I cannot stop it.” He shrugged, unapologetic.
Something had overtaken him—a calming, deep sense of peace. For the first time in as long as he could remember, everything felt utterly and completely right. There was no other way to describe it save one word.
