Love Is a Rogue (Wallflowers vs. Rogues #1) - Lenora Bell Page 0,89
was a surprise?”
“An unwelcome one for my mother. I’m always disappointing her and tonight I decided to do so in an ostentatious and irrevocable manner. Thank you for applauding.”
“Of course. I understood the statement you were making. You look enchanting.”
Her skin heated despite the cold air. “I really do have to go back inside. But I was hoping, that is . . . would you do me the honor of waltzing with me?”
He smiled. “Wallflower princesses don’t follow the rules of propriety, I see.”
“Propriety? I don’t even know what the word means.”
“Then allow me to recommend an excellent etymological dictionary by a studious lady I know . . .”
They entered the ballroom together, but before they reached the dance floor Lady Millicent intercepted them.
She flicked her gaze up and down Beatrice’s gown. “And what are you supposed to be?”
“I’m a wallflower,” said Beatrice.
Lady Millicent laughed. “I know that, silly. Why would you wear an old gown like that to a ball? No one’s going to want to dance with you.” She turned to Ford. “Aren’t you the dashing highwayman? Do I know you? You may steal me away for a waltz if you like.”
“I’m spoken for,” said Ford, taking Beatrice’s hand.
They walked to the dance floor, leaving Lady Millicent gaping after them.
“She looks like a trout,” said Ford.
Beatrice giggled. “She does, rather.”
“You know that’s my favorite gown of yours?”
“I know. You told me.”
The waltz began and Ford took her into his arms. This time they had an audience. Everyone in the room was staring at them.
“No one knows who I am,” Ford said. “Except your family.”
“You’re my mysterious highwayman.”
“And you’re my wallflower.”
His hands were so large and capable. They built her bookshelves, defended her from harm, and sent desire racing through her body.
“I love you, Ford,” she whispered.
She’d said the words. Now it was his turn.
But if Ford said those words, everything would change. He’d have to admit that he believed there was a way for their two worlds to collide, to overlap. When there was none.
And yet she was waltzing with him in plain sight of her mother, for everyone to see.
Yes, he wore a mask, but she didn’t. Not anymore.
“You don’t have to say anything, Ford. Because I know you love me, too.” Her smile sliced through his clothing and lodged in his heart.
“And how do you know that, princess?”
“Because you built me those shelves and you arranged that writing desk for me to use.” She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “It’s quite easy to interpret.”
“You think you know everything, do you?”
“My mother’s always telling me not to be a know-it-all, but I just can’t help myself. A Wallflower Princess can always tell when a highwayman loves her.”
There was no use denying it. She’d stolen his heart.
He squeezed her hand. “You’re right.” There, he’d admitted it . . . in a way.
“I know that you don’t want some socially acceptable version of me. With you I’m joyously myself—or not joyously—I won’t pretend anymore. I don’t have to be the perfect daughter my mother wants me to be. You helped me see that, Ford.”
Her smile was light shimmering on the ocean.
A stone temple built to the gods, where he could shelter from every storm.
“Beatrice,” he whispered, like a prayer. Like a poem.
A line from a song that stayed with you, that came to mind when you saw the sun set orange and fierce over a turbulent sea.
They were building something here, something good and strong.
But was it strong enough to weather the storms ahead?
The waltz ended, and Thorndon arrived to claim his sister for the next dance. He threw a look at Ford that could only be described as thoroughly suspicious.
Ford backed away. He’d had his one dance. It was time to leave.
He’d vowed to go speak with his grandfather, to find a way to convince him to allow Beatrice to keep the shop. He had no idea how he would find the leverage to make the old snake crawl back to his hole, but he’d damn well do it, or die trying.
He was going to make this right. Perhaps if Beatrice had her clubhouse, if what they’d created together was hers to keep, they could find a way to build a life together.
He was about to leave the duke’s house when a footman approached him. “Mr. Wright?”
“Yes?”
“The dowager duchess would like a word with you. In her chambers.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I should have known.” The dowager duchess paced in the center of her pink-and-white boudoir. “I should have