They lingered in the hush of the garden.
Frances guided him down a path, their fingers laced, her skirts brushing softly over the dew-kissed grass. Lanterns had been strung between the trees earlier that day, their soft glow flickering like fireflies against the night.
He pulled her into a gentle embrace, his hands smoothing over her back. She rested her head against his chest.
“I thought I had ruined it,” he whispered. “The night you first came to me. I thought… if I turned you away, I was saving you. But it nearly cost me everything.”
Frances looked up at him. “And what did you learn from that, Your Grace?”
“That being noble is a fine thing, but being honest is better.”
She smiled. “And what would you say now, if I appeared on your doorstep again, desperate and out of breath, asking you to help me escape?”
“I would sweep you inside,” he said without hesitation. “And I would say, it took you long enough.”
She laughed and kissed him again—slow and sure, the way one drinks in something rare.
The wind stirred the leaves above them. Somewhere in the distance, one of the dogs barked. The other joined in a brief chorus, then fell quiet again.
Frances drew back slightly. “Do you think we will grow bored?”
“Of what?”
“Of peace.”
Johnathan smiled. “Perhaps. But I imagine you will cause enough mischief to keep us entertained.”
“Of course. I plan to shock dinner parties for decades.”
“And I will defend your honor with charming wit and superior posture.”
She arched a brow. “You always were infuriatingly tall.”
“Comes in handy when dodging scandal.”
“Or dodging bullets in a duel.”
Johnathan laughed, his arms tightening around her. “We survived it all.”
“We did,” she agreed, softer now. She snuggled closer to him. “Do you think we will ever stop surviving?” she asked. “And just… live?”
He considered that.
Then, shook his head.
“No,” he said. “But that is the beauty of it. Surviving means we still have more living to do.”
She nodded, her eyes bright in the lantern light. “Good. Because I plan to live enough for both of us.”
“Frances Seton,” he said, “you already have.”
She rested her head against his chest again, her breath warm through his shirt.
And for the first time since his father’s death, since he had inherited the weight of the dukedom, since he had fallen into rakish distraction and earned the name the duke of no return, Johnathan felt no pull to run.
He felt grounded. Settled. Chosen.
Because he had returned.
