CHAPTER16
The moon hung low over the hills, full and golden as a coin tossed into fate’s waiting hand.
They had been married a full day.
And yet it still felt unreal.
Not the kind of unreality born from disbelief—but from wonder. As though the girl who once stared at ballroom chandeliers and dreamed of something more had finally slipped into the dream itself and found it tangible. Honest. Imperfect but hers.
Frances leaned against the wooden rail of the small inn’s balcony, her dressing gown wrapped tight against the night breeze. Below, the village was quiet. Far beyond, the border road stretched away into darkness.
Soon, they would return to London.
Return to consequences.
But for now?
They were still hidden. Still safe from censure.
Behind her, the door creaked softly. She did not turn. She knew it was him.
She felt his presence before he spoke. The warmth of it.
“I thought you were asleep,” he said, voice low and raspy from rest.
“I was,” she replied. “But the moon was too beautiful to ignore.”
Johnathan stepped up behind her, draping his arms around her shoulders without a word. His hand brushed her arm. Gentle. Intentional.
She leaned back against him, eyes drifting shut.
“I keep thinking I will wake up,” she said after a moment.
“You are not dreaming.”
She exhaled. “And therein lays the fear.”
He wrapped his arms around her, chin resting on her shoulder. “What scares you more? That this is real, or that it might be taken from you?”
She did not answer immediately.
“I am used to having things decided for me,” she said at last. “This—us—was the first choice I made for myself. I am terrified that the world will punish us for it.”
Johnathan’s fingers traced slow circles along her wrist. “They might try.”
“But you will remain at my side?”
He did not hesitate. “Every time.”
They stood in silence for a long while. The wind rustling the treetops, the distant call of a night bird rising and falling like a lullaby.
Frances turned at last to look at him.
Johnathan was shirtless beneath his robe, the bandage at his shoulder freshly changed, his hair mussed by sleep and wind. He looked tired. Human. Beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with scandal or status.
“I do not want to go back,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
“We do not have to.”
