Alexandra arched a brow and allowed the barest hint of a smile to tug at her lips, betraying the anticipation she tried so hard to hide. “I do not.”
“You kissed a man in the rain for anyone to see.”
“That was hardly a choice.” Alexandra sighed.
“Oh, it was very much a choice,” Louisa said, gaze sparkling.
Alexandra took a sip of lemonade, her fingers tightening slightly around the glass. She could feel the weight of a hundred curious stares pressing against her spine, the chill of the drink no match for the heat rising in her cheeks. Around her, society watched. She could feel their collective gaze like a thousand flickering candles.
The rumors had not quieted. Nor had the speculation. Tonight, they all waited for a final act.
Magnus had promised a public proposal.
And if he failed to deliver, she would never let him forget it.
* * *
From across the ballroom, Lavinia watched with a mixture of worry and pride. “She looks beautiful tonight,” she said softly.
Sophia, beside her, beamed. “She always does. But tonight she’s radiant with something more. She’s in love.”
“I never thought I would see the day.”
“Oh, come now. Alexandra was always destined to fall hard. The only question was who would be bold enough to catch her.”
* * *
The musicians began the first notes of a waltz, and still there was no sign of Magnus.
Alexandra turned away from the crowd and strolled toward the edge of the ballroom, seeking respite in the shadowed alcove beside the conservatory doors.
And then?—
The doors opened.
A ripple passed through the room like a wave meeting the shore.
There he was.
Magnus Berkshire, Earl of Langley, dressed in black with a dark green waistcoat that made his eyes gleam like the first grass of spring.
He did not pause. Did not waver. He walked straight toward her with the intensity of a man with only one destination.
Her.
“You’re late,” she said, lifting her chin.
Magnus gave a slow, rueful smile as he came to a stop before her, his chest rising slightly with an unsteady breath. Relief fluttered in her chest. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to be composed. Instead, her heart betrayed her—racing ahead, already halfway to yes.
“Only if you measure by clocks and not by fate.” Magnus’s voice was steady, but a flicker of nerves passed across his features, quickly masked by a crooked smile.
“That is unforgivably poetic.”
“I had help from Arthur.”
Alexandra smirked. “Of course.”
He took her hand, bowed low, and kissed her knuckles. Then, without asking, he led her to the center of the ballroom floor.
