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This time, her answer came with less hesitation, steady and clear. “Yes.”

He put one hand at her waist and leaned in. She tipped her face up to meet him, and the small, willing movement undid the last of his composure. Their second kiss lasted longer. Her hand rose to his shoulder and rested there as she found the courage to answer him, her fingers curling into the wool. He felt her draw nearer and let his arm settle more securely about her, holding her without pulling her closer than she chose, mindful of every small shift of her body.

She smelled faintly of lavender, with the roses all around them. When her lips moved beneath his, soft and searching, he reminded himself they stood in their hostess’s garden, a short walk from a room full of guests. The thought felt distant and faint against her warmth.

He eased away, but kept his hand at her waist until he was sure she was steady, feeling the quick rise and fall of her breath. Elizabeth looked at him, then let out a little breath that might have become a laugh if she’d caught it, her eyes shining.

“What is it?” he asked, his own voice not quite steady.

“I was wondering whether you would ask a third time.”

He smiled, though it cost him effort to let her go. “I was considering it.”

She looked pleased. More than pleased, perhaps, though she drew her shawl together before he could decide, a small, shy gesture that made him ache with tenderness. “We ought to return.”

“We ought,” he said softly.

Neither moved at once. The night hummed around them, soft and fragrant, and faint music drifted across the lawn. Julian offered his arm, and she accepted it. Her hand felt different on his sleeve now, settled more comfortably, and he briefly covered it with his own before they began walking. The house came into view beyond the trees, its windows glowing. A gentleman stood at the open drawing-room window, speaking to someone inside, and Elizabeth slowed, her steps faltering.

Julian glanced at her, concerned. “Would you prefer to wait a moment?”

She shook her head. “No. I was only thinking.”

He waited as they continued along the path, matching her slow pace, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them.

“I am glad I came outside,” she said.

“So am I,” he told her.

She looked up at him then, her expression shy but unmistakably happy, her eyes bright in the lamplight. He wanted to stop and kiss her again. Instead, he escorted her up the terrace steps and opened the door, the warm hum of the drawing room spilling out around them.

Charlotte looked toward them as they entered, her gaze lingering for a heartbeat before returning to her conversation. Elizabeth remained beside him long enough to release his arm without haste, her fingers trailing from his sleeve.

“Before breakfast?” she asked quietly, her cheeks warm.

Julian forgot Sir Henry’s horses all over again. “I shall be waiting,” he said, holding her gaze.

She smiled and crossed to her friend. He watched her sit, arrange the purple silk about her, and answer something Charlotte said, her face glowing. A small, secret happiness lit her features. Then she glanced back at him, quick and shy.

He had come to Lady Wetherby’s expecting five agreeable days in the country. Now he wondered how long he would have to wait before he could call upon Lady Andover in London. Tomorrow, he decided, he would ask.

Four

Elizabeth woke before dawn with a smile already on her face, and it took her only a moment to remember why. She lay still beneath the coverlet, watching a thin line of gold where the early sun slipped around the curtains. Usually, she needed a few moments to remember where she was when she slept in an unfamiliar room. This morning was different. She recalled the garden, the lamplight and the scent of roses. A giddy feeling quickly unfurled in her chest. Lord Rosedale had kissed her. Not once, but twice…

She pressed her fingers to her mouth, then lowered them. She was faintly embarrassed, even though she was alone. Her cheeks heated against the cool pillow. She had been kissed before. She had been married. Yet she could not recall ever lying awake afterward wondering whether a gentleman had enjoyed it quite as much as she had. She was replaying every small movement and sound.

He had seemed to enjoy it. He had kissed her twice after all… His hand had circled her waist. He’d been so careful with her, and the warmth… She could not stop thinking about how wonderful it had been. Turning onto her side, she buried her face in the pillow to smother a laugh half joy, half disbelief.

By the time her maid arrived, Elizabeth was sitting up. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, and she folded her hands in her lap. “I should like to dress now, please,” she said.

The girl glanced toward the curtains, her brows lifting. “It is rather early, my lady.”

“Yes,” she said. “I thought I might walk before breakfast.”

Saying it aloud made the arrangement feel more daring. Her pulse gave a small, nervous skip. She would go downstairs, find him waiting. Somehow she would wish him good morning, as though she hadn’t spent the last quarter of an hour remembering his taste.

She chose a blue walking dress and let her maid fasten it, not changing her mind about the gown or its ribbons, and stood patiently as the buttons were slipped into place. Her bonnet presented a greater difficulty. She turned it in her hands, studying the brim. Would he kiss her again? The brim seemed suddenly designed to prevent it, and she felt a flush climb her throat.