“Harry!” she cried.
He leapt down from his horse and she ran to him, flinging herself into his arms. She very well knew she was behaving like the boldest little minx that ever lived, but she did not care.
Harry had her in his arms and whispered into her ear, “Finally.”
“Yes, I know, I have been a terrible fool,” Isabel said softly.
“You certainly have not,” Harry said gruffly. “Once I arrived here, I understood everything.”
“I’m not going to be afraid anymore, though. I’ve made up my mind about it.”
“Have you made up your mind to kiss me, though,” Harry asked.
As it happened, she had made up her mind to do just that. She raised her face to his and he softly kissed her.
It was just as it ought to be. His lips were soft but firm and though she had never been kissed, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
It seemed a thing she could do all night long, actually.
There were people around them, and Isabel was vaguely aware of their presence. Somebody had taken the reins from Harry and led his horse away. Somebody else, she believed it was Smith, was directing a footman to stop gawking.
She did not think Harry noticed any of them, though. He was far too intent on kissing her. Her lips, her eyelids, her neck—there were such a lot of places to be kissed!
“I threw over Lord Lymington,” she said, as Harry made his way down the side of her neck. “I directed him to Miss Thompson.”
“Yes, I know,” Harry said, nuzzling her neck. “They announced their engagement to both duchesses.”
“Were they angry?”
“Furious,” Harry said laughing into her hair, which he had somehow undone. “But what care we?”
Harry was right. Of course he was. She would not wish to unduly upset the duchess, but in the end, what care she?
In any case, he had moved back to her lips, and she did find that rational thought was not compatible with kissing Harry Vance.
After he had kissed her long and soft, he said, “Lady Isabel Beaufort, will you finally consent to become my wife?”
“Finally and fully,” Isabel said.
Harry reached into his coat pocket and brought out a velvet-covered box. “I have been carrying this around since the Tredwells’ masque.”
Isabel flinched just a little at the mention of that time and place. She had refused the best man who ever lived. She’d come so close to ruining her life.
He opened it to reveal a magnificent rose cut emerald in a gold setting.
“Green suits you,” he said, “it complements your coloring. Further, the ring will symbolize our intentions.”
He slipped it on her finger and it dazzled in the moonlight.
“It is perfect,” she said.
“You are perfect,” Harry said, drawing her close once more.
She could not be certain precisely how long they stayed in that particular attitude on the drive, but it was long enough that the cool evening air began to make her shiver. Harry removed his coat and put it round her shoulders.
She stared at him and was certain she wore a flustered expression.
“What is it?” Harry asked, looking bemused.
