Page 129 of Almost A Scoundrel

She surged to her feet. “I must go.”

Mr. Brayton frowned, seemingly understanding it was not her bedchamber she was returning to. “It’s three in the morning.”

“The perfect time.”

Brayton rose to his feet. “I cannot in good conscience allow you to dart off into the night to God knows where. At least wait for Portia and we will accompany you.”

“I’m not going far. Just next door.”

“Forgive me, Lady Phaedra, but the household will be sleeping. It’s best to wait for a few hours.”

Somehow, Phaedra knew Deerhurst wouldn’t be sleeping at all. Plus, Mr. Brayton’s attempt to have her do the right thing was truly amusing. “Mr. Brayton, I have seen you with your breeches around your ankles.” Both his thick brows rose. “Please do not preach to me on propriety.”

And with those parting words, leaving a slack-jawed Mr. Brayton in the drawing room, Phaedra dashed through the quiet house and out to the gate that led to Deerhurst’s garden. It was dark, and there were some close calls with furniture on the way, but Phaedra knew the layout of her house well enough to avoid a broken neck.

If Aunt Portia, who had lived through the atrocities Phaedra had merely witnessed, could take a leap for love, so could she. She only hoped Deerhurst would forgive all the hurt she had caused him with her coldness.

Now that she had decided, she realized just how much her lack of trust had hurt him. Hurt her. Because when she thought about it, deep down, shedidtrust him. She trusted him to be exactly who he was—a protector. Even when he made missteps, he always gravitated back toward who he was in his heart.

Phaedra only hoped she hadn’t completely ruined things. She yanked open the gate and rushed through only to come to an abrupt halt.

Deerhurst stood in the garden. And not just in any spot, but the exact place where they’d shared their first kiss. He seemed to have lost a bit of weight, and a few days of stubble coated his jaw. An air of gloom surrounded him, so palpable it made her heart ache. At his feet, a ball of fluff curled.

Puck?

They seemed like the best of friends.

Deerhurst looked up then, straight at her. Their gazes locked. Her breath stuck in her throat.

“Phaedra? Is something amiss?”

Yes.

Everything.

She hurried to him, and after the third step broke into a run and threw her arms around his neck as she planted her lips on his.

Let that be her answer.

I’m sorry.

Forgive me.

His arms shackled her waist instantly before his tongue swept home and he retuned her kiss like a man who’d been starved for weeks. The night charged with emotion, and within this hot, demanding exchange, they both vented all their grievances and fears.

And hope.

“Christ, Phaedra.”

She pulled her head back just enough to catch his gaze. “I love you, too. I love you too. Do you believe me?”

He sealed his mouth over hers again.I believe you, his kiss seemed to say. Phaedra relaxed in his arms. Unfortunately, he ended the sweet kiss too soon.

His questioning eyes searched hers. “What changed?” he asked softly.

“Brayton put some things into perspective for me.”

Deerhurst frowned. “Brayton?”