Ben stepped closer, until the toes of his scuffed, mud-encrusted boots brushed the velvet trim of her gown. “I let the fear of loss keep me from the greatest love I’ve ever known, and I lost you.” He huffed out a breath and shook his head.
Rose cupped his jaw and lifted it until he met her gaze. “You haven’t lost me.”
“You’re engaged.” The raw edge of pain in his voice cut deep, and Rose shook her head.
“No, I’m not.” Ben’s eyes lifted, his lips parted, and every bit of her wanted to kiss him, to throw her arms around him and claim him, but she sensed he was holding something back, his defenses raised. “I couldn’t marry Timothy, not when—not when I love you.”
A smile played at his lips, but he extinguished it swiftly, tightening his jaw and lifting his chin. “I was a coward, but I’m not afraid anymore.” He lifted his hands to touch her arms but hesitated, glancing at his soiled palms and letting them drop to his sides. “Rose, I don’t think I can fit into your world here, not like you do. You’re—”
“If you call me a princess, I’m going to wallop you.”
He chuckled, and the creases beside his eyes deepened. “I’d deserve it. And you deserve someone far better than me, but I’m not counting myself out of the fight. I’ll find work here and court you properly. I’ll make myself into a gentleman worthy of you—”
“You are the greatest man I’ve ever known.” Rose took Ben’s hands and put them on her waist, then draped her arms around his shoulders. “The gentlest man, and the strongest. A warrior for the weakest. And I don’t want you to be like all of those men inside. I want you to beyou,and I want to be the woman I am when I’m with you.”
His brows furrowed as his hands tensed on her waist, and Rose wanted to drown in his touch, feel his hands and body over every part of her. “Rosie, I haven’t slept much in the past few weeks, and I’m afraid I’m imagining things. Are you saying you want… me?”
She pressed her lips to his, relishing the gasp and subsequent groan that fell from his lips at her touch. “Of course I want you. I will always choose you. But not here.” She gestured to the ballroom behind her with a nod of her chin. “I’ve never felt as at home as I did in Brooklyn with you. And I want to go home.”
Ben lost the battle with his smile and he grinned, pressing his forehead to hers. Rose cupped his cheeks and kissed him again, slow and languid, as though they had all the time in the world. Perhaps now they did.
“Do you still have your coin?”
Ben blinked, then nodded, digging the coin from his waistcoat. Rose held out her palm, and after hesitating, he placed it in the center. “What’s this for?” he asked.
“I’m an American now,” she said. “I may need the coin for cab fare.”
That beautiful smile burst across his face and Rose wondered how she ever thought she could go a day without seeing him, without seeing him likethis.
“So, what do we do now?” Ben asked, and Rose barked her laughter.
“I haven’t the faintest idea. I thought planning was your skill.”
“So did I, but I’m at a loss.” He nuzzled his nose against hers, kissing the corner of her eye, her lips, savoring her.
The strains of the last waltz slid over them, the strings bright and crisp as the autumn air. “Then dance with me, Ben,” she whispered as she took his hand in hers.
“As long as you count for me.” He spread his palm wide over her back, steadying her.
“One two three,” she started.
Ben beamed and held her tight. “One two three.”
Chapter 35
Inhisthreedecadeson earth, Benjamin North thought he’d experienced more than his fair share of hard conversations and had, in fact, become somewhat of a master of them. However, nothing prepared him for staring down Lord Benedict, Viscount Redborne, and his wife wearing dazed expressions with their dressing gowns at three in the morning, still clothed in a suit that at this point was more mud than wool, with their daughter clinging to his arm.
Rose did more speaking in her father’s study than Ben did, which was decidedly a relief, given Ben called him “Mr. Waverly” half a dozen times before Rose hushed him and took over. In the end, after assurances that Ben had the means to provide for her, there was only one question he needed to answer. “Do you love her, Mr. North?” the viscount asked, and Ben laughed, actually laughed, at a real member of the British peerage, in his country estate that had belonged to their family for generations.
“Yes, my lord,” Ben managed. “I love her more than I ever thought possible.”
His gaze turned back to his daughter then, and the man swallowed, the affection palpable in his expression. “I only wanted you to be happy, my darling. I fear I’ve done a wretched job of telling you that lately.” She sniffed, and Ben laced his fingers through hers, squeezing.
“You have,” she choked. “And I’m sorry—”
“If you’re going to apologize, it should be for scaring your mother and me.” The viscount brought his gaze back to Ben. “Don’t apologize for finding someone who makes you happy.”
Tears and embraces followed, and the viscount pushed a glass of something potent into his hand, but Rose removed it just as quickly. He was aware of gratitude and welcome sweeping over him, waves of contentment and peace closing in, pulling him out of consciousness and dragging down his eyelids. Somehow Rose arranged to have him fed and bathed, then set up in a palatial bedchamber. Just as the sun peeked over the horizon, he finally fell into bed and succumbed to the deepest, most peaceful sleep of his life.
