Grace found herself very agreeable to that request, as being in Dashlend’s arms was turning out to be a revelation. Both Felicity and Mrs. Right had told her that such things were very natural when the time was right and she could see that it was so.
They remained engrossed with one another for she knew not how long. Finally, Dashlend kissed her lips once more, which surely were flushed and maybe a bit bruised.
“You have positively mauled me, Dashlend,” she whispered.
“Yes, I have, very careless of me.”
“You must promise it is to be a lifelong habit.”
“Easily promised.” He winced as he reached inside his coat. He pulled out a dented velvet box. “I brought this with me to Lady Montague’s ball as a token of my affection. It has seemed to survive the fall.”
Grace took it in her hands and opened it. “It is positively lovely,” she said. It truly was. The garnets and the magnificent emerald in the middle of the piece sparkled in the afternoon light that streamed through the windows.
Lord Dashlend took it and carefully placed it round her neck and did the clasp. Then he kissed that now adorned neck for good measure.
There was a short rap on the door and Lady Marchfield barreled through it. Behind her, the duke shouted, “Keep your nose out of it, you old polecat.”
“Grace Nicolet!” Lady Marchfield said, upon seeing Grace’s current condition.
“It is all right, Aunt,” Grace said. “Look at this lovely necklace. We are to be married.”
“I should think so,” Lady Marchfield said. “The sooner the better, as far as I can see.”
Once Lady Marchfield had stormed into the room, it was not a moment before her sisters followed.
Grace and Lord Dashlend disentangled from each other.
Winsome stopped in her tracks and cried, “What have you done to Grace?”
Patience punched Lord Dashlend in the ribs, which doubled him over.
“It’s all right,” Grace said, patting Dashlend’s hand to try to distract him from his aching ribs. “We are to be married.”
“This is what married people do?” Valor asked incredulously. “They fight on a sofa? What’s the point of it?”
The duke moved her out of the way. “Well done, Dashlend. Have your solicitor set up a meeting. Now, perhaps both of you pull yourself together. New necklace, is it?”
Grace nodded as Lady Margaret sailed forward with loyal Lord Harraby by her side. “I do not like to claim credit for the match, but where credit is so obviously due…”
“Lady Margaret means to say,” Lord Harraby said, “that we are both gratified that our hopes have come to fruition.”
Grace did her best to straighten out her clothes and fix her hair amidst the congratulations. It had happened. It seemed impossible that it had happened, but it had. Dashlend had proposed and then mauled her on the sofa, and it was glorious.
“Your Grace,” Thomas said from the doorway, “Lady Felicity and Mr. Stratton.”
*
MONTCLAVE HAD LEFTthe duke’s house as fast as his legs could carry him. They knew! They knew everything!
What would they do? Should he run? Where? He had no connections outside of England. Should he stay and attempt to brazen it out?
But what chance would he have against the word of a duke? Even an eccentric duke. What evidence did they have? Was it that Lady Grace had seen him at the door?
Should he kill the florist before the fellow was interrogated? That might be the thread that unraveled the whole thing.
No. He was not a murderer yet. He had tried to be, but he was not. Could they hang him for simply locking a door?
Even if he were not hanged, if word got out, he would be disgraced.
