“Well, I have a wonderful teacher,” she said, her guard still up, and yet she couldn’t deny the fact that she longed to be in Will’s arms rather than circling him.
Will’s gaze warmed as he recognized her feelings, and his fists lowered ever so slightly.
Ben cleared his throat. “And me,” he pointed out. “You’ve got me, too, but suddenly I am feeling rather malaprop. I think I should make my departure, for the two of you are exchanging glances that are completely inappropriate for boxing partners. The scandal.”
She laughed, her heart so full of happiness. “Ben, you are the wisest of men and know exactly when one should retreat.”
He waved his white handkerchief. “Indeed, sister mine. I know the moment when a man is no longer wanted, even if he is loved.”
With that, Ben gave a bow and quickly departed through the ballroom door.
She gazed up at her husband. “I loved your gift,” she said, stroking her hand along her linen shirt, which was now damp with perspiration.
“I would shower you with as many gifts as I possibly could,” he said softly.
“A lady doesn’t need to be showered with gifts,” she replied. “She just needs the right ones.”
“And you find the breeches and the shirt to be the right ones?” he asked, crossing to her with that languid, self-possessed walk she loved so well.
She nibbled her lower lip. “I appreciate that you listened to me that night at the theater and that you recalled how much I longed to try these.”
“I remember,” he said, stroking a lock of her hair back from her face. He tucked it tenderly behind her ear. “And I valued then what you explained to me: the importance of a lady’s ability to feel free. Beatrice, I would make it possible for you to climb any mountain that you chose.”
She tilted her head back and felt her whole body fill with wonder. “I have the best gift of all, Will, without a mountain. I have you.”
His eyes flared, and he pulled her into his arms.
“I’m so bloody lucky, Beatrice,” he began. “So lucky you wrote me so many letters. So lucky you infuriated me. So lucky you did not give up on me.”
“I?” she countered with faux shock. “Give up? Never say such a thing. I am not capable of it.”
He cupped her cheek with his palm as love softened his hard visage. “Forgive me,” he said. “I never should have disparaged you so.”
“No,” she agreed. “But I can see how a gentleman like you might wear others down. And it is I who am lucky.”
“Oh?” he queried. “How so?”
“Because I found my equal,” she confessed. “You are my partner, my friend, and my love.”
“And you are mine,” he replied as he trailed his thumb along her lower lip.
“Now, as much as I adore the cut of your clothes on your fine form…I think I should like to see you out of them.”
“My sentiments exactly, my love,” he replied. “Shall I help you with your boots?”
Beatrice tilted her face into his palm. “Absolutely, my love,” she replied, happier than she’d ever been, ready to be in his arms. Now, forever, always.
Epilogue
A rumor was circulating London that Lord Christopher—Kit, to all who knew him—had, in a fit of romance, played the highwayman, kidnapped Lady Margaret out of her coach by the light of the moon, and stolen her away.
Of course, this was completely false.
Kit had approached Margaret right beside the stage that Will had set up by Parliament.
It was a day for proclamations and invitations.
And Kit, being a man determined to help his lady love achieve her desires, had suggested that they travel abroad and discover each other and the world.