"The first time, I said you were staring back. Which you were." His thumb traced a small circle against her waist, and her breath caught. "And you're doing it again."
She was. She couldn't help it. He was everything. The scar, the severity of his features, the rare and devastating smile—all of it, every bit of it, hers.
"I spoke with my solicitor this morning," he said. "About settlements."
She grinned. "How romantic."
"And I've drafted a letter to your father requesting a formal meeting."
She stifled a laugh. "Even more romantic."
His brows furrowed, but his eyes were warm. "You're mocking me."
"I'm mocking the fact that you've drawn up legal documents before you've even asked my father's permission. Before I’ve even met your mother."
"My mother will adore you. She's been writing to me daily since I mentioned your name, and I believe she's already chosen the flowers for the church." He paused. "She's also been scolding me mercilessly for the Clarissa debacle."
"Good. You deserve scolding."
"I know." He pulled her a fraction closer. Close enough that propriety was becoming negotiable. "But I want this settled, Estella. I want a date. I want banns read, and—" He stopped himself.
He wanted her. Completely, permanently, irrevocably. And the wanting was making him impatient in a way that was both endearing and slightly alarming.
"We'll do this properly," she said. "For Charlotte's sake, and for my reputation, and because I'd rather like to meet the woman who raised you before I agree to become her daughter."
He made a sound of grudging acknowledgement. "Fine. But?—"
"But?"
"On one condition." His eyes darkened. He dipped his head, just slightly, so his breath grazed her ear and made her shiver. "Meet me in the garden. After the supper dance."
Heat flooded through her. "The garden?"
"I can be patient with this wedding, Little Ella. If you insist. But I need to feel you in my arms again as surely as I need air to breathe."
The words made her dizzy. And suddenly the idea of a hurried wedding held much more appeal.
His lips brushed her temple. "There's a fountain in the garden. Perfect for a midnight rendezvous."
"I'll be there," she whispered.
The waltz ended, and he released her with visible reluctance. She stepped back, and they stood for a moment in the middle of the dance floor
"Go," she said, smiling. "Stand by your wall. Glower at the guests. I'll find you later."
"I don't glower."
"You do. You've been glowering since the first night I met you."
"That wasn't glowering. That was vigilance."
"It was glowering. The duchess agrees with me."
His mouth curved. There it was again—the smile. "The duchess agrees with everyone who isn't me. It's one of her less endearing qualities."
He bowed over her hand, and his lips brushed her knuckles, and the contact sent a spark through her that she felt to her toes.
He walked away, and she watched him go. And when he reached his wall and turned and found her eyes across the room, she felt it.
