Chapter 20
The clasp was impossibly small.
Nora stood before the mirror in Hampshire’s drawing room — the one with the gilt frame that had been his mother’s — and held the necklace at her throat, the two ends of the clasp refusing to meet.
From the adjoining room came the low murmur of her mother’s voice, in conversation with Lord Somerset.
Her fingers were trembling, which did not help, and the delicate hook required a steadiness she could not summon.
“Here.” His voice came from behind her, closer than she had expected. “Allow me.”
She lowered her hands and felt his step into the space behind her, the warmth of him arriving before his touch did.
His fingers found the clasp — careful, precise, his movements constrained to the minimum necessary — but his knuckles brushed the nape of her neck and a shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the evening air.
“Hold still,” he murmured, and she could feel his breath against her hair.
She watched him in the mirror. His face was set with concentration, his brow furrowed slightly, the line between his eyes deepening as he worked the tiny hook.
He was dressed for the ball — dark coat, white cravat, waistcoat of deep blue silk — and the sight of him in the mirror, his hands at her throat, his face above her shoulder, created an intimacy so vivid it stole her breath.
“There.” The clasp caught. His hands lingered a moment at her shoulders before falling away, but he did not step back. In the mirror, their eyes met.
“You are shaking,” he said, quietly.
“I am nervous.”
“About Rathbone?”
She turned to face him. The distance between them was nothing — six inches, perhaps less — and she could see the pulse at his throat, the faint shadow of fatigue beneath his eyes, the careful way he held himself, as if he too were fighting the pull of their proximity.
“About everything.” She reached up and touched the knot of his cravat.
It was slightly uneven, the left side a fraction higher than the right.
She smoothed it, her fingers adjusting the folds of linen with a competence her mother would have approved of.
“I am nervous about what he might do. I am nervous that something will go wrong. I am nervous that—” She stopped.
Her hand flattened against his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath her palm.
He covered her hand with his own, pressing it there. “That?”
“That tomorrow morning, I will wake and discover none of this was real.” She looked up at him and in her eyes was the accumulated fear of the past year — the letter, the silence, the hollow days, the careful reassembly of a heart that had been shattered.
“That I never found you again. That the codicil was genuine and you married Frederica, and I spent the rest of my days attending other people’s weddings and pretending to be happy for them. ”
He cupped her face in both hands. His thumbs traced the curve of her cheekbones, and she closed her eyes, leaning into the touch.
“You are not dreaming, Nora.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“I called upon your father this afternoon. He has granted every request I made of him. And by tomorrow evening, all of London will know that you are mine and I am yours — and Rathbone will know it too, along with the consequences of every dreadful thing he has done.”
She opened her eyes. His face was very close, close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, the small scar at his jawline she had never noticed before.
“Your cravat is still crooked,” she said.
He laughed — that quiet, surprised laugh that she loved — and the tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. “Then fix it, my love. But do be quick about it. We have a villain to catch.”
She fixed it. Her fingers worked with a steadiness that had not been there five minutes earlier, and when she was done, she ran her hand once down the length of his lapel, feeling the fine wool beneath her palm.
“There,” she said, and the word held everything she could not yet say aloud — there, you are ready; there, we are ready; there, we are going to survive this, and then we are going to live.
He offered her his arm. She took it.
“Are you certain he will come?”
David nodded, glancing around the ballroom.
“I am sure of it.” He had made every effort to make certain that this engagement ball would not only be well known amongst the ton but that everyone in society was aware that there was some grand announcement he was to make.
He had every expectation that Rathbone would appear, one way or another, and attempt to either capture Frederica or threaten David himself in some way.
What Rathbone did not realize was that David had been expecting him all along.
“I am at your disposal, as you well know,” Lord Broadford murmured, looking around the room as if he might spy Rathbone appearing at any moment. “You have your footmen and mine ready and watching for Rathbone, too, yes?”
David nodded. “There are also some stationed in the gardens. Recall that none are to do anything to prevent him from coming into the ballroom, however. They are only to watch his arrival, follow after him wherever he goes, and alert us to his presence. That way, I will know when to make my very grand announcement.”
“Very well.” Lord Broadford frowned. “And Frederica is quite safe, is she? I have not seen her here this evening.”
“And nor shall you,” David declared, just as Lady Nora came into view, her gloved hands clasped tightly in front of her as her gaze darted from one face to the next.
“She is kept quite safe at her own townhouse, with her companion beside her, the doors locked, and all of the servants on guard to protect her. I fully expect her to be resting with ease at this very moment.” Seeing Nora’s eyes land on him, David smiled warmly and held out one hand towards her.
She moved quickly, leaving her mother and sister behind her.
“Hampshire.” She bobbed a curtsy. “Lord Broadford, good evening.” Her breathing was quicker than usual, her nervousness obvious in the way she danced from foot to foot. “Is all well?”
David nodded, wishing he could wrap her in his arms and hold her tightly against him. “Yes, all is well,” he said, taking a step closer to her so the gap between them was diminished. “There is nothing left to do now but see it through.”
Nora blew out a long, slow breath.
“It will all soon be at an end,” Lord Broadford added, clearly intending to reassure Nora as best he could. “There is only a little longer to wait.”
She opened her eyes, smiled at Lord Broadford, and sighed. “It is foolish to be so very anxious when I was doing my utmost to encourage Frederica not to be so! I know that you expect him to be here this evening, and I confess that my eyes continue to search for him even though I should not.”
“There is no foolishness in any of that,” he reassured her, holding out his hand to her. “To take your thoughts from him and from all that he might intend to do, might I suggest that you and I step out together?”
Her lips curved. “The cotillion?”
“Indeed. It is not my particular favorite, and I fully intend to dance the waltz with you also, but it will do for the moment.”
With a gentle laugh, Nora placed her hand in his, and David, with a nod to Lord Broadford, led her to the centre of the ballroom.
Within a few minutes, they were dancing together, the music sweeping around them and filling David’s heart with joy.
Finally, he was free to dance and to smile and to love the lady before him, no longer held back from his affections or his desires by responsibility and duty.
“I seem to forget all of my concerns when I am with you, Hampshire.” Nora smiled up at him, colour rising in her cheeks.
“Your nearness has always captured me entirely.”
“You took my heart from me the very moment I first saw you,” he responded, as her gaze softened. “How glad I am – how relieved – that you are mine again.”
The music ended long before David was ready to step away. He lingered near to her, his hand in hers, unwilling to step back and end their dance, only for his gaze to be caught by a swift movement behind her.
Broadford.
“I think Rathbone is here,” he said, releasing Nora’s hand and then bowing low, as she dropped into the expected curtsy, her face going very still.
“The way Broadford is signaling me tells me that something has taken place.”
She took his arm before he could even offer it.
David smiled briefly and then walked directly towards Lord Broadford, who was gazing at him with a stern, firm expression on his face.
David did not hesitate, a fierce, protective fire surging through him as he looked down at Nora on his arm.
He was not about to allow Rathbone even a second of success in any of this. “Where?”
“To the west of the gardens,” Lord Broadford replied quietly. “I believe he intends to make his way into the house through the gardens. The footman states he is making his way very carefully and slowly indeed.”
David drew in a deep breath. “Then it is time.”
Lord Broadford, clearly aware of what this entailed, nodded and put one hand on David’s shoulder. “I will not fail you in this, my friend,” he said, directly. “Once I find him, I will stay behind him a step or two until the moment comes to act. Do not fear. He will not escape.”
David nodded. “I thank you, my friend.” He watched Lord Broadford as he stepped away, then, putting a smile on his face that he did not truly feel, turned to Nora.
“I must return you to your mother.”
“I do not want to step back from you.”
With a smile, David settled his other hand on her fingertips. “Do not fear, my love. It will not be for long.”
Her eyes closed. After a moment, she nodded. “I trust you.”
He pressed her fingers to his lips. “And I love you,” he said quietly. “More than I have words for.”