“I hope you ate the peppermint,” he said.
“I did. In front of him, so he would know I valued his payment. It was possibly the worst peppermint I have ever consumed, but I made appropriate noises of appreciation.”
“You are extraordinary.”
The words were quiet, almost throwaway, but they struck something deep inside her chest. She looked down at the path, at their joined hands, at anywhere except his face because if she looked at him now, she might do something foolish like cry orkiss him or demand to know why he had ever doubted her in the first place.
They resumed walking. The rose garden loomed ahead, and as they passed beneath the archway of climbing white blooms, the scent wrapped around them. Sweet and heady and almost overwhelming in its intensity.
August stopped. She stopped with him, and for a moment they simply stood there, surrounded by roses and afternoon light and the distant sound of birds in the trees beyond the garden wall.
He turned to face her fully. With his free hand, he reached for her other hand so that he held both of hers between them.
His thumb brushed across her knuckles. Back and forth, a gentle rhythm that sent warmth spreading up her arms and into her chest. She could feel her pulse jumping beneath her skin, could feel the way her breathing had gone shallow.
“I should have trusted you,” he said.
His voice was low, pitched for her alone, and the sincerity in it made her throat ache.
“August—”
“No, please. Let me say this.” His thumb continued its path across her knuckles. “I know what kind of woman you are. I have always known. You are honest even when honesty costs you. Youare kind without expecting anything in return. You give your time and resources to children who have no claim on you simply because they need help and you are capable of providing it.”
She wanted to look away, but his eyes held hers, dark and intent.
“You have never been anything but truthful with me. And I repaid that by believing the worst. By allowing my own fears and insecurities to poison what was growing between us.” He drew a breath. “I am sorry. Truly, deeply sorry. And I will spend however long it takes proving to you that you can trust me. That I am worthy of you.”
The words settled over her like a weight. She had wanted an apology, had needed one, but now that she had it, she did not know what to do with the feelings rising in her chest. Relief and warmth and something that felt dangerously close to hope.
“You are worthy,” she said.
“I have not felt that way. Not in a very long time.” His hands tightened around hers. “But when I am with you, I begin to believe I might be.”
Before she could formulate a response, he raised her hand to his lips. The kiss he pressed there was gentle, reverent, his mouth warm against her skin. The contact lasted only a moment, but it branded itself into her memory with startling clarity. The softness of his lips. The way his breath ghosted across her knuckles. The look in his eyes when he lowered her hand but did not release it.
The moment stretched between them, thick with possibility. Her heart was doing complicated things in her chest, racing and stumbling and threatening to break free entirely. She searched his face, looking for answers to questions she did not dare voice.
How many times will we do this? How many times will we come so close to something real, only to have it slip away?
His gaze dropped to her mouth. She watched him watching her, saw the want written plainly across his features. He was going to kiss her. She knew it with the same certainty she knew her own name.
She wanted him to. Wanted it with an intensity that frightened her.
“Your Grace!”
The voice shattered the moment as effectively as a stone through glass. August’s head snapped toward the sound, his body going rigid.
A steward hurried across the lawn, his stride announcing trouble before he had even opened his mouth. His face was flushed, and he clutched a leather folder against his chest.
“Your Grace,” he called again as he approached. “Forgive the interruption, but the solicitor has arrived. He says it is urgent. Papers regarding the northern properties that require your immediate attention.”
August’s expression clouded. The warmth that had softened his features moments before hardened back into something more controlled, more ducal. She watched the transformation with a sinking feeling in her stomach.
Of course. Of course, something would interrupt.
He squeezed her hand once, hard enough that she felt the pressure of his signet ring against her fingers. Then he released her, and the loss of contact felt like a physical thing.
“I must attend to this,” he said, already turning toward the steward. He looked back at her, and something in his expression made her chest ache. Regret, frustration, resignation—all of it written plainly across his face. “Perhaps we could continue our walk tomorrow?”