Page 96 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

He looked at her for a long moment before glancing toward the ballroom behind them, as though he briefly considered returning to it. “Gregory said something irritating.”

“That hardly narrows the possibilities.”

“He implied that I had handled our conversation badly.”

Augusta’s mouth twitched despite herself. “Ah.”

Ronan drew a breath and shifted his weight against the cane, and Augusta realized with growing surprise that he was nervous.

“I came after you because I do not want you going back inside believing what you clearly believed when you left me, and I know I should have said this before the dance ended, or before we arrived at the ball, or perhaps even before we left the house, but apparently I am capable of thinking several perfectly useful sentences and becoming an idiot the moment I am expected to say any of them aloud.”

Augusta stared at him.

Ronan continued before she could interrupt, perhaps because he understood that if he stopped now he might never begin again. “You asked whether I liked your dress, and I told you the color suited you, which is possibly the least useful thing I have ever said to anyone, because the truth is that when I saw you coming down the stairs tonight I forgot what I had intended to say altogether. You looked so beautiful that I could not think properly, and instead of telling you that, I stood there staring until you asked whether something was wrong.”

The night seemed to go very still around her.

Augusta had imagined many possible versions of this conversation while she walked through the garden.

Not one had included this.

“You thought I was beautiful?”

Ronan’s brows drew together. “I think you are beautiful.”

The correction sent a ridiculous warmth through her.

He took another careful step toward her, not close enough to touch but close enough that she could see his expression more clearly beneath the lantern light. “The gown is beautiful too, if that is still important, although I suspect I could have saved myself considerable difficulty by simply saying that earlier, but it was never really the dress that made me stare. It was you.”

Augusta’s heart began beating harder.

She wanted to answer.

Nothing came.

Apparently Ronan’s inability to speak had become contagious.

He seemed to mistake her silence for uncertainty, because his expression tightened slightly. “I know I am saying this badly.”

“You truly are not.”

“I have been rehearsing it since I crossed the ballroom, and none of it sounds the way it did in my head.”

Augusta swallowed. “What did it sound like in your head?”

Ronan looked at her. The question seemed to make something in him settle.

“When I saw you tonight, I wanted to tell you that you looked better than anything I had ever seen,” he said, his voice lower now, and although the words came slowly, they no longer seemed reluctant. “Then I thought that sounded ridiculous, because comparing you to objects or places seemed insufficient, so I decided I would simply tell you that you were beautiful, and somehow even that became impossible the moment you looked at me.”

Augusta could barely breathe. “You wanted to tell me that I am beautiful?”

“Is that a surprise to you?” he asked without missing a beat.

“I…” She stuttered, blushing. “I am not sure. I’m not quite used to hearing such things from you, and I can never tell how you’re feeling. You already know that you’re adept at hiding what you’re thinking.”

“Maybe I’m not as good at hiding as you think,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “Do you really wish to know what was going on through my mind?”

“I always wish to know that,” she said in a timid voice. “Any access that you give me inside of your head is one that I value.”