Rosalind sat back. The hand that had been holding the duke’s head on her lap went slack and his head smacked on the floor.
She quickly repositioned it back on her lap. “Really?”
“Indeed,” he said, wincing at the latest assault on his head. “And yet, what did I find upon arrival? Miss Mayton racing round the ballroom, frightening Lady Bloomington’s guests, and shouting for me.”
Rosalind sighed. “Yes, that did go awry. But you did think that you would, what I mean is, you were certain, I suppose what I want to know is you would not change your mind over what was really only…an accidental kidnapping.”
The duke began to laugh, and he laughed for quite some time.
Rosalind was not sure what his laughter meant, nor did it seem that Darden knew either, as he looked a bit terrified over it.
But she must find out. She must know.
“If you are to change your mind,” she said, peering at him, “then you must tell me straightaway. I must know if I’m to become a bitter spinster for all of my days.”
“Is that what you would do?” Conbatten asked. “You would not be swayed by some other fellow coming along?”
“Certainly not,” Rosalind said, a little affronted that such a circumstance could possibly be considered. “It is Conbatten, or it is no one.”
“Lady Rosalind, I cannot imagine spending my days with anyone but you. You are a confoundingly lovely and interesting woman coming with some of the worst ideas in the world and I have been under your spell since first we met.”
“Have you?”
“Entirely.”
Rosalind glanced about her and found Darden sitting next to the tied-up coachman, seeming rapt by the exchange.
“Darden, do drag that person out of here,” she said with what she hoped was a voice full of authority. “And shut the door behind you.”
“Well I—”
“You’d best do as she asks,” Conbatten said.
“Your Grace, yes, of course!” Darden said, hopping up. He grabbed Mondrian’s feet and dragged him toward the door.
In the silence they were left with, Conbatten said, “Now if you would reach into my inside coat pocket, I imagine you would find the token I wished to put on your finger at the masque.”
“A ring?” Rosalind said, reaching into his pocket.
She drew out a lovely little red leather box and opened it.
The ruby picked up the moonlight and glowed in the dim room. “It is glorious!” she said, slipping it on.
“A ruby for passion and a pattern of thyme in the gold setting for courage.”
“It is perfect. So very perfect.” She paused. “Goodness, so none of this was necessary at all? I might have just gone to Lady Bloomington’s masque as a regular lady going to a regular party?”
“But you are not a very regular lady,” Conbatten said, “and I do not suppose I would have it any other way.”
Rosalind, feeling very bold after that statement, bent down to kiss his lips. They were both firm and soft and positively glorious.
He reached his arms round her and pulled her down to him.
Rosalind was quite sure that she ought not be rolling round the floor with Conbatten. But how could she resist? His arms were just as she’d imagined, strong and wrapping round her tightly.
He whispered in her ear, “We’d better marry soon, I think, or I shall disgrace you.”
“Very soon, or I am sure you will and I would not stop you,” Rosalind said softly. “Should we think about running off to Gretna Green?”
