Page 101 of A Troublesome Circumstance

He glanced down at her, his voice quieter. “If you had to choose one of my residences to live in, which would you prefer?”

She considered, her lips puckering adorably. “The cottage,” she said at last. “It is where I met you.”

The words struck him like an arrow—swift, precise, impossibly hopeful.

He sobered. “Do you think we would have met otherwise? If not for the carriage accident?”

“I am not certain,” she replied. “Do you spend most of your time in libraries?”

“I have read a book or two,” he said dryly.

She laughed. “Well, I like to imagine fate conspired against us so that we would cross paths.”

He swallowed, his heart full. “I like that sentiment, as well.”

Their steps slowed. Their conversation faded. Their eyes met—hers blue and bright, his undoubtedly far too earnest—and for a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them.

This.

This was what he wanted for the rest of his life.

She dropped her gaze, her cheeks blooming pink. He realized he had been staring again—quite shamelessly.

But he didn’t regret it.

Not for a single heartbeat.

The long clock in the corner chimed midnight—twelve slow, resonant strokes that echoed through the quiet parlor. Josephine gently slipped her hand from his arm.

“It is late,” she said softly.

“It is,” he echoed.

Brilliant, Jude. Truly inspired.

Was he incapable of forming a coherent sentence in her presence?

She turned towards her mother, who still sat beside the duke at the card table. “Shall we, Mother?”

Lady Redden nodded, and the duke immediately rose, offering his arm with courtly precision. “Allow me, my lady.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Redden murmured, taking his assistance.

Jude stepped forward and gestured towards the entry hall. “At least permit us to escort you to your carriage. We would be poor hosts indeed if we let you wander off into the night unattended.”

“That would be lovely,” Josie said.

They began walking towards the front hall. Jude matched his pace to hers, aware of every brush of fabric, every soft breath she took. He did not want the evening to end.

And then, because his nerves demanded he say something, he blurted, “Do you… like Gunter’s?”

Josephine arched a brow. “I do.”

“Would you allow me to take you there tomorrow?” Jude asked, trying not to sound as hopeful as he felt.

A small, mischievous smile tugged at her lips. “I would like that. Though I must confess… I am not entirely certain which I prefer more—you or lemon ice.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “A grave competition, indeed. But I am confident I shall triumph over Gunter’s.”