“To the ones who still believe in reckless decisions,” Maximilian added.
“And to the women who made them worth it,” Johnathan finished.
They clinked glasses.
And at long last, Johnathan felt… settled. Like the man he had been running from had caught up—and instead of scolding him, had offered him a second chance.
Later, after farewells and more murmured gossip, he found Frances waiting near the carriage, her arms crossed against the chill, her smile faint and tired.
“Well?” she asked as he approached.
“I survived.”
“Did they toast to your downfall?”
“They drank to our defiance.”
She tilted her head slightly, one corner of her mouth lifting in a slow smile. “Did you tell them the scandalous truth?”
“That I plan to worship you until my dying breath?” He opened the door for her. “Yes.”
Frances smiled as she stepped into the carriage, pulling him in after her. “Then let us go home, husband, so that you might demonstrate in private.”
“Minx.” He settled beside her, arm slipping around her waist.
As the carriage rolled into the night, leaving behind gossip and whispers and the weight of a thousand eyes, Johnathan leaned in close.
“You realize,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear, “they will write about us for years to come.”
Frances curled against his side. “I look forward to reading the tales.”
And as the lights of Mayfair disappeared behind them, Johnathan Seton—once the Duke of No Return—sat beside the only person who had ever truly understood him.
And to is surprise…
He did not want to go anywhere else.
