She didn’t care.
Couldn’t care about anything except this—except him, except the way he kissed her like she was air and he’d been drowning, like she was the answer to every prayer he’d been too afraid to voice.
When they finally broke apart—driven by the basic human need for oxygen—they were both trembling. His forehead rested against hers, their harsh breathing mingling in the scant space between them. His hands framed her face with trembling reverence whilst hers remained fisted in his coat, anchoring her to reality.
“I love you,” he whispered against her lips, the words a prayer and a promise. “God help me, Amelia, but I love you beyond reason.”
“Then it’s fortunate,” she managed, her voice shaking with emotion, “that I love you just as unreasonably.”
He kissed her again—softer this time but no less intense. His hands mapped her spine, her waist, the curve of her jaw, as though reassuring himself she was real. That this moment wasn’t some fever dream that would evaporate come morning.
She met him kiss for kiss, touch for touch, pouring everything she couldn’t articulate into the press of her lips against his. All the fear she’d carried. All the longing she’d denied. All the love she’d been too frightened to name—it was his now, freely given, nothing held back.
Behind them, through the open terrace doors, the ballroom buzzed with scandal and speculation. Tomorrow, London would talk of nothing else. Tomorrow, there would be consequences to face, explanations to give, and society’s judgment to weather.
But tonight—tonight they had this.
Had each other.
Had the promise of something neither had dared imagine possible.
And as Tobias pulled her close once more, his lips finding hers in the moonlight whilst the gardens whispered secrets around them, Amelia thought that perhaps—just perhaps—being ruined had never felt so much like being saved.
CHAPTER 30
“We need to go back inside.”
Tobias’s breath was warm against her ear, his forehead pressed to hers whilst the gardens rustled secrets around them. Amelia’s pulse hammered so violently she thought he must hear it. They stood tangled together in shadow, his hands still cradling her face, her fingers twisted in the damp fabric of his coat.
She’d just kissed him. Here, in the garden at a prestigious ball, attended by half the Ton. Thrown every shred of propriety to the wind and claimed him as thoroughly as he’d claimed her moments before.
The terrace doors blazed with light, spilling scandal across the flagstones. Inside, society would be in uproar. Whispers spreading like wildfire. Judgments forming. Consequences mounting.
She couldn’t bring herself to care.
“I know,” she whispered. “But first—first I need to speak with Lord Ashbourne.”
Every muscle in Tobias’s body went rigid. His jaw clenched so tightly she heard his teeth grind. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.” She pressed her fingers to his lips before he could argue. “I have to do this myself. I owe him that much.”
“You owe him nothing.” Protective fury blazed in those grey eyes. “Not a thing. You… are allowed to make your choice, you made him no promise yet, you…”
“Please.” Her voice cracked on the word. “Let me have this. Let me face him with what dignity I have left.”
She watched the war play out across his features—the desperate need to shield her battling against respect for her wishes. Finally, though it looked as though it caused him physical pain, he stepped back.
“I’ll be watching,” he said quietly. “If he so much as looks at you wrong?—”
“I know.” She rose on her toes and pressed one more kiss to his mouth. Quick and chaste and entirely insufficient. “Thank you.”
Then she turned before her courage could desert her entirely.
The ballroom had descended into barely controlled chaos. Everywhere, faces turned toward her with hungry curiosity. Whispers hissed through the crowd like serpents. Fans fluttered with renewed violence. She caught a glimpse of Clara’s face—her cousin looked torn between triumph and concern—before pressing forward.
Lord Ashbourne stood near the orchestra. Rigid as marble. Pale as death save for two spots of hectic colour high on his cheekbones.
His gaze locked onto hers with such intensity that her steps faltered.
