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She laughed, although her throat became tight. “If I could convince him otherwise, then I would have it be so,” she told him.
In the darkness, he stared at her, sadly.
“Your feelings are unchanged, then?” he asked. Suddenly, she panicked. What if his had? Arabella had never considered that before. She decided to take the chance.
“Completely unchanged, Charles,” she assured him. “Yours?”
“I only love you even more, Arabella,” he said. ”Thinking of you is the only thing getting me through this.”
“What was?” she asked, curious to know.
“The thought that you were out here, alive and well,” he murmured, reaching up to touch one of the curls that framed her face. She caught his hand in hers, kissing it.
“I was thinking of you,” she murmured. “Always.”
He reached out, drawing her in close to him, one hand on her cheek, the other at her waist. Arabella’s breath caught. He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. At first, the kiss was hesitant, searching—then, it deepened.
Arabella’s skin tingled deliciously. When she pulled away, she opened her eyes.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied, he was smiling at her. “Between the two of us, we’ll find a way to convince him, won’t we?”
A tear slipped down her cheek. This moment should have been a happy one. Instead, she was devastated.
“I’m so happy that you’re safe,” she said, her hand on his cheek.
He smiled. “I am safe,” he assured her. “Now, you need to go back inside, before you’re missed. Facing down an angry mob of nobles is a bit more than I can handle.”
“Kiss me once more?” she asked.
“Always,” he said, kissing her again. A joyful feeling went all of the way down to Arabella’s toes. If he asked her to, she would run away with him. He would never do that, though. Charles was the realist.
* * *
Charles made sure that Arabella made it back safely into the house. She reached the door, then turned back to look at him, one last time. He raised his hand in farewell, watching the smile that spread across her face. She waved back then disappeared behind the door.
He let out a deep breath that he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding.
His feelings for her were complicated. The kiss had both buoyed and devastated him. He was ecstatic to find that she still loved him. But there was a deep ache in his chest, accompanied by the knowledge that what they both hoped for might never come to pass.
He made his way out to the street.
All of the street lamps were lit. Finely-dressed people were bustling about, the light from the lamps causing jewels and silk to gleam in the night like stars. He joined the crowd, easily fitting in while dressed for dinner at the Duke of Tiverwell’s.
He still recalled the softness of her lips on his, a memory which caused his skin to heat pleasantly.
The Duke had been angry, when he’d found out about him and Arabella. He’d forbidden them from speaking privately, from marrying. He had promised the Duke what he could—that Arabella would never want for anything, and that he would love, honor and cherish her. The Duke had declared that it wasn’t enough.
The level of comfort that my daughter is used to is more than you will ever be able to give her, the Duke had said. She needs a Duke, or at the very least, an Earl or Viscount. A London barrister? Out of the question.
Charles had never in his life felt like he wasn’t good enough. Until the members of the ton deigned to remind him.
Completely unchanged, Charles.
She still loved him. It seemed impossible. According to her own father, he was barely one step up from a nobody. He was only around because he was useful. And the Duke certainly required his services, if he was to have the entail removed.
He was, unfortunately, going to have to convince the Duke to leave the title and the county seat as is. There were, however, certain things which he could work out.
Arabella—one of the brightest stars in London—lovedhim. A lowly barrister, who had come from simple, working-class folk. It seemed too impossible to be true.
