Page 99 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“There is only one thing to say, Your Grace,” she said, looking away. Somehow, it was too difficult to look into his eyes. Her caught her nervousness, and nudged her to look into his eyes. “I have fallen, too.”

By the hour of their departure, the grand assembly had dissolved a peculiar, late-night stillness. But what did any of that matter to Augusta?

She felt as though she was floating. Love. What a concept, and now she was in the midst of it. They hadn’t spoken much to each other after the confession, but had never once left each others side either.

Something had shifted between them, and it felt only like the beginning.

Ronan assisted her into the carriage, his palm lingering against hers a moment too long, and the door clicked shut.

He chose the seat beside her rather than the one opposite, a small gesture that did not escape her notice. In fact, she seemed to notice everything tonight.

The heat of his shoulder, the rhythmic motion of his thumb over her knuckles, and the rhythmic rattle of the wheels as they journeyed toward Ravenhill.

He looked rather calm, and she wished she could be the same. Instead, her mind had become fixed upon a single, daunting subject.

Children.

It was a thought she had entertained before, of course; no lady of her station could marry without considering the expectations of the nursery. But until this very night, it had remained a distant abstraction… a duty for some far-off season. But now, it felt startlingly real.

She could see them clearly: a child with his brooding eyes and stubborn set of jaw. She imagined a small boy being bossed about by Sarah, or a daughter chasing through the corridors of Ravenhill.

The vision was so vivid it almost drew a smile from her lips. Then the fear took hold again.

Ronan had been explicit at the start; he had promised there would be no rush for an heir, that they had years to find their footing as friends. At the time, his patience had been her greatest mercy. But what about now? Did he truly desire more children at all?

His first wife had perished bringing Sarah into the world. Perhaps he had decided that Sarah was sufficient.

She shifted, her silk skirts rustling.

Ronan’s eyes turned toward her. “You are deep in thought.”

“I was told that was a virtue,” she replied softly.

“Not when it leaves you looking so distressed.”

“I am not distressed, Your Grace.”

His lips quirked upward, and she knew that he could see right through her. “Tell me, what is it?”

“It is nothing.”

“A most unconvincing lie. I am your husband, Augusta.”

“A title that does not grant you passage to every corner of my mind,” she replied. How had they resorted to bickering again, she did not know. But somehow it felt easier than being vulnerable.

“True, but after the events of tonight, I had hoped for a little more honesty between us.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. The warmth in his gaze was undeniable, and she felt her defenses crumbling. “There is a question I wish to ask,” she confessed finally.

He turned fully to face her. “Then ask it.”

She let out a frustrated sigh, looking away even as she felt the intensity of his focus. “I am not sure if I can find the right words.”

“Knowing you, you always do.”

The words were at the tip of her tongue, yet she could not muster enough courage to say them out loud, yet. It was a blessing, then at that time the carriage came to a jarring halt.

She gathered her heavy skirts, but something made her freeze.