Page 73 of How Not to Marry a Duke

Frederick did not care about any of it. He had one thought, one purpose, one destination—and she was standing across the room with Lady Raventhorn, her grey eyes fixed on him, her lips curved in a smile that made his heart stutter.

Now it is my turn, he thought. Now I am free to choose.

He crossed the ballroom.

The crowd parted before him—whether from respect or simple self-preservation, he could not tell. He was aware of eyes following him, of murmurs trailing in his wake, of the particular quality of attention that meant society was about to witness history.

Good. Let them watch.

He stopped before Florinda. Lady Raventhorn made a small, choked sound and stepped back, her eyes very bright.

"Miss Ashbourne." His voice came out steadier than he felt. "I find myself unexpectedly free this evening."

"So I observed." Her voice held the faintest tremor. "That was quite a performance, Your Grace."

"It was not a performance." He reached for her hand—with deliberate care, giving her time to retreat if she wished. She did not retreat. Her fingers curled around his, warm and sure. "It was the truth, at last spoken aloud. And now I have another truth to speak."

The ballroom had gone quiet again. Three hundred guests held their breath.

Frederick dropped to one knee.

* * *

"I have loved you," he said, "for nine years."

The words fell into the silence like stones into still water. He heard gasps, murmurs, the rustle of silk as people pressed closer to hear.

"Nine years since you knocked me flat on my back in a stable and ruined me for anyone else. Nine years of watching you from across ballrooms, of counting gold threads in your hair, of writing letters I never sent because I believed I could not have you." His voice cracked, and he let it crack. "I was wrong. I can have you—if you will have me."

Florinda's eyes were wet. Her hand trembled in his.

"You have already asked me this question," she said, her voice unsteady. "In a tower. In the rain."

"I asked you in private. Now I am asking you in public." His fingers tightened around hers. "I want everyone here to know that I choose you. Not because of a contract. Not because of duty or obligation or family pressure. I choose you because you make me laugh. Because you see me—the counting, the obsessions, all of it—and you do not look away. Because I cannot imagine spending another day of my life without you in it."

He reached into his pocket with his free hand and withdrew a ring—not the Carthedge diamond that had been meant for Penelope, but a smaller ring, older, set with a sapphire the colour of Florinda's eyes in candlelight.

"This was my grandmother's. She wore it for fifty-three years of marriage to a man who counted her heartbeats when she slept." His voice dropped. "Will you wear it for me?"

Florinda laughed—a wet, broken sound that was half sob. "You are doing this here? In front of everyone?"

"I am doing this here because I spent eighteen months hiding what I felt. Because I stood on the other side of doors and pretended I did not want to break them down." He lifted her hand to his lips. "I am done hiding. I am done pretending. I want the world to know that you are mine, if you will be."

She pulled her hand from his—and for one terrible moment, his heart stopped.

Then she dropped to her knees before him, heedless of her gown, heedless of the crowd, heedless of everything but him.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, you impossible, wonderful, utterly mad man. I shall wear your grandmother's ring. I shall be your duchess. I shall let you count whatever you wish for the rest of our lives."

He kissed her.

In front of three hundred guests, in the middle of a ballroom still reeling from scandal, with his mother watching from the edge of the crowd and Lady Raventhorn weeping openly and the gossips already composing tomorrow's headlines—he kissed her.

And Florinda kissed him back.

* * *

Later—much later—when the guests had departed and the candles had burnt low and the ballroom stood empty except for the two of them, Frederick held Florinda in his arms and counted.