Beatrice glanced up, catching him watching her. “You are doing it again.”
“What?”
“Brooding.”
“I was not brooding.”
“You were absolutely brooding.”
“I was thinking.”
“Darkly.”
He bent his head closer. “I was thinking that you are beautiful.”
Her lips parted, then closed again, her cheeks flushing a rosy pink.
A very satisfying victory.
Then the music fell silent, and an expectant hush settled over the room. As arranged earlier, the two of them moved to the front beside Dash and his duchess.
It was Beatrice who lifted her glass for the first toast.
“To my brother,” she said, her voice carrying clearly. “Who has found his way home at last. And to Ambrosia, who had the great wisdom, courage, and questionable judgment to marry him.”
Laughter swept through the crowd.
Dash narrowed his eyes at his sister, but his smile betrayed him.
“To the Duke and Duchess of Dasborough,” Beatrice finished.
Glasses lifted.
“To Dasborough!”
Dash then raised his own glass.
“To my wife,” he said simply.
The ballroom quieted at once.
Dash looked at Ambrosia with such open devotion that Gideon thought Beatrice might melt beside him.
“To the woman who found me when I had done everything possible to remain lost.”
Ambrosia’s eyes shone.
More glasses lifted.
“To Her Grace.”
Dash kissed his wife’s hand, then turned to the room.
“Nearly every person who matters to us is here tonight, which makes this an ideal occasion for another announcement.” He paused, his expression turning suspiciously solemn. “I have agreed to allow my sister to marry.”
A ripple of surprise passed through the room.
“Provided,” Dash added, with the grave air of a man setting out treaty terms, “that she doesn’t monopolize him entirely. I knew the fellow first, after all.”
