Page 101 of An Alleged Rogue

His lips met hers, and there was nothing in his world but Phoebe. She smelled of roses and tasted of mint, and she fit in his arms as if she were always meant to be there. Her fingers reached into the hair at the nape of his neck, sending tremors coursing through him. He deepened the kiss, soaking in the wonder of this moment.

On the other side of the terrace, a door opened, setting free the orchestra music and the hum of voices from within the ballroom. The poignant reminder that they were not alone filtered into his consciousness, and he slowly raised his head. Phoebe stayed close, the rapid beating of her heart reaching him through his jacket.

“Phoebe.” He spoke softly. “Would you permit me to officially court you?”

“May we walk together through the orchard?”

He smiled into the darkness. “Would you like that?”

“Very much. I find that I miss being there more than I could have imagined.”

“Then, yes, we shall walk through the orchard as often as the weather allows. And as I believe your father plans to enlist Henry’s help to tame the trees at Charwell Park, perhaps we might walk there too.”

She pulled back a little. “May I also visit you in the Dunsbourne cart shed?”

“With or without pasties?”

She laughed softly. “Whichever you would prefer.”

He pulled her close again and pressed his lips to hers. “What I would prefer,” he said, touching his forehead to hers, “is a very short courtship.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I have fallen deeply in love with you, Phoebe Hadford, and once we are married, my opportunities to kiss you will not be limited to the orchard and the cart shed.”

She touched his face. “I love you too, Adam, and a short courtship sounds rather wonderful.”

Footsteps echoed across the flagstones, moving nearer.

Adam released his hold on Phoebe and offered her his arm. “Then I have one last question, my love.”

She looked up at him. “What is that?”

“Do you think your mother would be very put out if a third rumor about Lord Dunsbourne supplants the second this evening?”

Her eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean?”

“My ballroom etiquette may be a little rusty, but I seem to remember that if a gentleman asks a lady for a second dance it is because he wishes to single her out—and such things are duly noted by the matrons in the room.”

“Who rarely withhold their observations from anyone else,” Phoebe said, and he could hear the humor in her voice.

“Exactly. It is a risk.”

“But one you are willing to take?”

They were dangerously close to the french doors, but he turned and bowed politely. “Miss Hadford, I have put off being truly happy for over five years. I do not wish to postpone it any longer. Would you do me the honor of the next—our second—dance and then brave the consequences with me?”

She rose onto her toes and brushed her lips across his. “Yes, Lord Dunsbourne. It would be my pleasure.”