“Because of the gossip. Everyone is wondering why I wasn’t thrown in Old Bailey.”
“Everyone is wondering,” he said, guiding her through another turn, “why I should be so lucky, having done nothing at all to deserve you.”
His hands clasping hers were warm and full of delicious promise. “I expect you would be receiving condolences,” she said. “Lord Daring, who walked away from the most beautiful maids in the kingdom, and he finally kissed the wrong woman.”
“No,” Darien said, watching her with that violet glow in his eyes, “I finally kissed therightwoman.”
Lost in his gaze, she floated across the floor. “Celestina?”
“Will take my name and be a lovely big sister to our own babes.”
“And Horatia?”
He nodded, looking pained. “Need never see Ratty and that viperous wife of his again. Though I am not entirely persuaded,” he added, “that this bluestocking school of yours is the place for a Bales. We are a conservative lineage, High Tories from the cradle, and you, my dear”—he leaned in to sniff her neck—“have a rather radical odor about you.”
“Miss Gregoire does not indoctrinate in politics or anything else. She encourages girls to think for themselves.” He used their crossed arms to pull her toward him again, and she conceded, squeezing his fingers. They moved about the floor in perfect harmony.
“I will not put aside my ideals for your Tory friends,” she warned. “I won’t give up my hospitals or causes. I want to run my farm, and my mills, and put some of my improving ideas into practice. And I am afraid…”
She trailed off, dreading what she needed to say. Darien twirled her again, his hand rising to grip her waist.
“When we are married,” she forced herself to say, “I beg you will be discreet about youraffaires. I am sure your friends will ever be laughing behind my back. I ask only that you not give them reason to laugh in my face.”
His eyes tightened at the corners, but he kissed her fingers. “If I make you a promise to forsake all others, Henry, then I will. And it will be no loss.”
She shook her head. “Please be honest with me. I am aware of your history, and the way things are. I only ask not to know if you—when you?—”
He scowled. “You plan to be faithful to me, do you not?”
“Of course!” she said, scandalized.
“Then if you expect to be faithful to me, why should you not expect fidelity as well?” He continued, overriding her protest. “You plan to honor your other vows, do you not—to love, honor, and obey?”
“Yes, but?—”
His eyebrows rose. “Obey? Truly?”
“To the best of my ability,” she said indignantly.
“To honor?” he pressed on.
“Of course.”
“To love?”
She looked into his eyes and saw the doubt, the vulnerability. She stopped in her turn, struck by realization. Lord Daring, the town’s most notorious rake, had been linked with dozens of women, but none had cherished him. Loved him completely, unstintingly, simply for who he was.
He doubted, with all his guilt and self-recrimination, that anyone could. He didn’t fully believe her yet.
“Oh, Darien,” she whispered.
He dropped to one knee, bringing her hands to his heart. She felt the bandage beneath his coat, a reminder of the scars he bore.
“Henrietta, you magnificent goose. I am mad about you. I adore you entirely. You are my Beatrice. Yes, I know you dislike her, but you are the light that steadies my course. I knew when I found you cursing outside St. James Palace that you were put there for me. Marry me, you reckless, willful, wonderful girl. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
He brought her clasped hands to his lips, feathering her gloved knuckles with kisses. The dancers about them stared. Neither cared.
“St. James?” she said, her voice wavering. “Even then?”
