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The Duke appreciatively at that. But the mirth did not last, as their gazes met. The breeze ruffled his hair, and again, she was mesmerized. The moment had somehow loosened her tongue.

“Do you still want to kiss me, Your Grace?” she asked, startling herself - and him to stillness.

“Are you certain you want me to answer that question?” he rasped.

“Yes,” she breathed.

The Duke closed the gap between them, and whispered, “I have wanted to kiss you almost continuously since the day you accused me of purchasing Ashbourne out of greed.”

Rosamund blinked, uncertain she heard him right. “That was our very first meeting after being years apart.”

“I am well aware,” he murmured, his eyes caressing her mouth before meeting hers once more.

“That is impossible,” she protested, even as her pulse thrummed in her throat.

“You have mentioned that before,” he retorted.

“Then have you not?” she asked, trembling a little.

The Duke looked down to her, the heat in his eyes undeniable. “Because wanting you does not entitle me to you.”

That made a dent in her heart. It was the moment she willingly chose him, stepping forward to make the claim.

“Then, perhaps,” she said, “you should stop deciding for me.”

The Duke’s breath hitched, his eyes fierce with heat as he reached for her. His hand pulled her by the waist, pressing her body against his chest. Then, he kissed her. It began cautiously, almost a query. It gave Rosamund a chance to pull away from him if she wished, but she had no intention of doing that. Instead, she eased herself closer to him, her hands holding on to his broad shoulders.

The Duke felt her surrender. He pulled her more tightly against him, as the kiss became warmer and deeper. It erased years of anger and grief. It swept away the longing. When they pulled apart, both gasped for air. He rested his forehead against hers, their breaths still mingling.

“Good heavens,” Rosamund blurted out. “I understand why half of London behaved so foolishly over you.”

Laughter rumbled from within the Duke’s chest.

“I sincerely hope,” she whispered into her hair, “that you do not intend to share that observation with the other half.”

“I have not yet decided,” she said softly, a smile breaking on her face. “I may or may not keep the knowledge to myself.”

The Duke responded by kissing her again. This time, it was softer and more tender. It lingered against her lips like a promise.

For the first time, Rosamund felt that quiet but tremendous shift within her. For the first time in years, she could imagine a future that was not built around correcting the past.

Thirty

“Ibelieve you intend to make it a permanent habit to break society’s rules,” Rosamund remarked, as she and the Duke strolled the Rosewood garden early in the morning.

“This gentleman cannot help but want to come as early as possible, such as the very moment his eyes opened,” the Duke replied.

Alice stood nearby. Earlier, she saw Rosamund’s flushed cheeks and the Duke’s satisfied and unrepentant expression, and more likely could guess what had happened.

“Her silence is a little alarming,” Rosamund admitted when she saw the Duke glancing in her friend’s direction.

Despite the kisses they had shared, he walked a few paces away from her, maintaining the proper distance. Both knew it did not matter. The air hummed between them.

“Rosamund. May I call you that now?” he asked. She nodded, her cheeks feeling warm. “I came early because I want to say these things as soon as possible. I do not want you to feel rushed. I do not want a single kiss to turn it into an obligation.”

“Your Grace, if you choose this precise moment to become excessively honorable, I may lose all patience with you,” she said mischievously.

He laughed. “God forbid,” he murmured. “I do want to court you properly and openly, Rosamund. Please do call me by my given name. Peregrine. I want to do it not because of Ashbourne Hall, Henry, or your family. I want to court you because I want you.”