Page 82 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

"Mmm." He looked around them meaningfully. "I must insist that you return home with me, if for no other reason than I cannot possibly propose to you properly in the same place where you were just recently held hostage."

Her breath caught.

"I'm afraid it goes against my gentlemanly upbringing to propose to the woman I love in the least romantic setting I could imagine, and⁠—"

She cut him off with a kiss. Hopping up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his, unable to contain for one more second all the love that was in her heart.

With a groan, he kissed her back. The kiss was sweet and passionate all at once. It was a promise. A vow.

It was a kiss that marked the end of one adventure—but the start of another.

When she pulled back, he was smiling. That crooked, devastating smile she'd first seen in a drawing room in the country. The one he wore when he wasn't being the upright Lord Alderton, but just…John.

Her John.

"Come home," he said quietly.

"Yes," she said with a smile. "All right."

27

Arabella's mask was still hanging from her ear.

John reached over and removed it, his fingers brushing her temple. She looked up at him with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks, her hair rapidly coming undone and her smile watery.

And she was far and away the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Ready?" he asked.

She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. "Ready."

They walked back toward the lights. The Grand Walk was still bright and loud, the music still playing, the masked crowd still laughing and drinking as if nothing extraordinary had happened fifty yards away in the dark.

Arabella's grip on his hand was tight, as if she feared they'd be separated in the crowd. His grip on her was just as firm. He had no intention of letting go of her hand tonight. Or tomorrow. Or at any point in the foreseeable future, come to think of it. And if his fingers went numb in the process, that was a price he was willing to pay.

They found Blackwood first, near the entrance. He nodded once—the short, efficient nod of a man confirming that his end had been handled.

Pierce was gone, he informed them when they reached him. The duchess's people had him.

"Where—" John started.

"Taken care of," Blackwood said. "The duchess and I will talk to him in the morning. He'll be given his choice then."

John looked at Arabella. She was staring straight ahead, her jaw set. But her hand hadn't loosened in his.

John turned at the sound of footsteps behind them.

Thea was walking toward them, her hair escaping its pins on one side and a tear at the shoulder of her gown she didn't seem to have noticed.

A few steps behind her came Gage. Neither of them looked hurt, exactly. Just…rumpled.

"Are you all right?" Arabella asked Thea.

"Perfectly." Thea smoothed her hair without success. "There was a complication."

Arabella's brows drew together. "What sort of complication?"

Thea glanced over her shoulder at Gage, who met her gaze with an expression that was, in John's estimation, far too neutral to be genuine. "Doesn't matter. It has been handled," Thea said. Her gaze ran over Arabella and she frowned. "Are you all right?"