Page 55 of The Duke’s Hidden Runaway Bride

At last Lady Elise took pity on them.

“The library is empty,” she said. “The door will remain open, and if either of you causes another scandal tonight, I shall send Pettibone to supervise.”

Adrian offered Ophelia his arm.

“That is the most terrifying threat I have heard all evening.”

They escaped before Elise could reconsider.

The library was dark except for the fire and the light entering from the hall. Someone had left a book open on the reading table, and the smell of leather and old paper hung under the smoke of the hearth. Music began again in the ballroom, softened by the half-open door.

For the first time since Adrian had proposed, they were nearly alone.

He closed the door by another inch, then turned towards her.

“I had a speech.”

“I enjoyed it.”

“That was the shortened version. I rehearsed the other for two nights.”

“Did you? I am glad you forgot it. it would have been insufferable, like enough.” She could not keep the smile from her face as she teased him.

“Cruel woman.”

She sobered. “You stepped back. That said everything I needed, without pretty words to wrap it in.”

His expression was soft. “And you crossed the distance.”

“I did.”

He lifted his hand to her face, giving her time to turn away. She placed her palm over his and held it against her cheek.

Then he bent his head.

Their first kiss was nothing like the almost-kiss in the croft, or the one beneath the kissing bough. There was no storm to blame, no cold driving them together, and no fear that either had mistaken the other’s choice.

His mouth touched hers gently. Ophelia rose on her tiptoes to meet him.

The kiss deepened only by a breath, warm and wondering, before he drew back far enough to look at her.

“You are still certain?”

She put both hands around his neck.

“Very tiresome.”

This time she kissed him.

Beyond the open door, a shout went up as the Twelfth Night cake was cut and Miss Pettibone discovered the pea. Her voice rose above the laughter, demanding the privileges due to the Lady of Misrule.

Ophelia smiled against Adrian’s mouth.

“Lady of Misrule, indeed,” he said, laughing. “Shall we leave her in charge of our wedding arrangements?”

Epilogue

St. George’s, Hanover Square, several weeks later