Violet’s eyes darted between them. “Who is Ben?”
“Yes, Rose.” Timothy, damn him, chortled. “Tell your sister aboutBen.”
Her delicate jaw dropped. “Is he the one she’s been mooning after?”
“I wasn’t mooning!” Rose retorted.
Violet pointed at her accusingly, but it lacked heat. “Liar!”
“Freckles!” Timothy sang.
“What do I do?” she hissed, and Timothy made a show of plucking her nails from his sleeve like one might dislodge a panicking cat.
“Are you really asking that question?” Violet asked, gobsmacked.
“Go to the bloody garden, love,” he whispered, then winked. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”
Rose’s slippers barely touched the floor as she barrelled across the ballroom, through the wide French doors and over the terrace. The bite of the night air nipped at her exposed skin, but her blood was boiling, churning as she tore down the steps and into the garden.
Ben stood with his back to her, and when he turned, Rose’s breath caught. His black hair stuck up on its ends, and his suit—if she could even call it that—looked as though he had slept in it. Dirt was packed into the hems of his trousers, and his tie was gone. His dark eyes reflected the light from the gasoliers on the terrace and the stars above as they fixed on hers, his lips parted.
She froze in place, too far to touch him but close enough to watch his throat work as he took her in, his midnight eyes studying each detail of her, from the most likely disheveled curls to the satin slippers on her feet.
“My god, Rosie,” he whispered, his voice like gravel. “You look like a princess.”
The compliment would have sent her into paroxysms of glee months ago, but tonight she hated it, hated the word that separated them, that called out their differences. “It’s merely a dress.”
He shook his head. “It’s not the dress, it’s you. You’re glowing.”
Because you’re here. Dear god, how was hehere? “How did you find me?”
The corner of his lip pulled up for a moment before dropping. “Garrett cabled some friends from school who live in London, and it took a few days, but we found the Waverly family in Oxford. But then my train was delayed, and—” Despite the low light, Rose could see the flush rising in his face. “Your butler turned me out.”
Hot shame crawled up Rose’s throat, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Ben shook his head. “Look at me. I would have turned me out as well. I haven’t even changed since leaving the ship. But he told where I would find Lord Trembly, and I thought maybe I could leave you a message, but by then my carriage had left…”
She stepped forward, wanting to wrap him in her arms. “How did you get here?”
He shrugged and averted his gaze. “I walked.”
“Ben, it must have been miles!”
“It was.”
“And you might have missed me altogether.”
He brought his eyes back to hers, and the slow smile emerged again. “I suppose I was lucky.”
Ben’s edges had blurred, and Rose pushed the tears away, not wanting to miss a moment of him, a single detail of this rumpled, glorious man who had crossed the ocean to find her.
He had come for her, right?
“Ben,” she breathed, “why are you here?”
He stepped closer and she could see him clearly, the flecks of gold in the dark chocolate pools of his irises, the creases in the corners of his eyes, the lush mouth surrounded by several days’ worth of stubble. “I’m here because I love you, and I should have been on the first boat after you. I thought you’d never want me when you could have a life like this.”
A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob burst from Rose’s chest. “Idiot man.”
He gave her a half smile, and the weight on her chest dissipated like morning fog. “I never claimed to be as smart as you.”
