Page 48 of The Duke’s Hidden Runaway Bride

From the ballroom came the tentative notes of musicians tuning their instruments. Lady Daventry glanced towards the sound, then smoothed the front of her gown and drew herself upright.

“The guests are arriving,” she said. “Whatever disaster you intend tonight, try not to damage the parquet.”

“I shall confine myself to reputations.”

“That is exactly what I feared.” She gave his sleeve a final squeeze before releasing it. “I must take my place.”

Adrian watched her leave the drawing room and pass into the brightening hall, once more every inch the formidable hostess.

The cost she had named was real. The caricature he had seen that afternoon was real, as were the cuts and whispers that would follow. His rank could open many doors, but it could not make Ophelia welcome in every room. It could not keep cruelty from reaching their children, if they had them, and the thought would not be set aside.

There was an easier path.

He could free her from Markham and then step away.

The thought came dressed as honour. Ophelia would owe him nothing. He could place his influence behind her reputation, protect her father’s business, and leave her independent. London would praise his chivalry. His mother would forgive the scandal in time. No one could accuse him of taking advantage of a woman under his protection.

He need never ask society to imagine Ophelia James as the Duchess of Calder. He need never risk hearing Ophelia refuse.

Adrian recognised the open door. It was the most elegant escape he had ever devised.

For years he had believed running meant carriages, unfinished letters, and leaving rooms before they grew uncomfortable. He understood now that a man might remain in place and still retreat from everything that mattered. He might call fear restraint, call longing impossible, and arrange his life around avoiding one honest question.

He would not do it.

If Ophelia wanted only freedom, he would help her win it and ask nothing. If she wanted him, he would not deny her because London found the choice inconvenient.

The decision was simple. Waiting for hers would be harder.

By ten o’clock Daventry House blazed with light.

The ballroom filled in a glittering rush of jewels, uniforms, bright coats, and gowns of every shade imaginable. Every important face in London seemed turned towards every other in search of novelty. The air had begun to thicken with hot wax and crushed flowers. News of Ophelia’s expected appearance had spread, and Adrian could feel the anticipation beneath the music, a restless appetite disguised as conversation.

Sir Hugh Fenwick had followed them to London and stood near the card room with his sister, while Josiah James had arrived with Mr. Soane, the merchant visibly uncomfortable. Soane looked as though he had come to audit the chandeliers.

Markham had not yet appeared.

Adrian moved through the company, greeting people he scarcely heard. A countess detained him to ask about Wales, and a baroness enquired whether the roads were passable, smiling as though she meant something else entirely. Two of his old companions watched him with open curiosity, saying nothing at all.

He answered lightly and gave them nothing.

Near the ballroom doors, Josiah caught his arm.

“She means to come.”

“Ophelia?”

“Lady Elise sent me a note, telling me to be here, to support my daughter.”

Adrian looked towards the doors before returning his attention to Josiah. “What have you said to her?”

The merchant flinched, twisting his hands together. “Too much.”

“That is not an answer.”

“I asked her to marry Markham.”

For a moment the entire room seemed to sharpen around Adrian.