Page 196 of Dare to Love Me

She tilts her head up, those bright eyes locking onto mine, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Considering I had ten minutes to throw myself together, I’d say I pulled off a minor miracle.”

“You did,” I murmur, my hand tightening at her waist as I pull her in closer, guiding her through the turn.

Her gaze flickers across the room. “Do you feel everyone staring at us?”

“I’m not paying attention to anyone else.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” she mutters. “Edward, they’re all looking. And talking. This is . . . intense.”

I glance around, barely interested. “They’re looking because this is the bridal party dance. They’re supposed to be watching.”

“You know that’s not it. Your mother looks like she wants to rip my heart out with her bare hands.”

I glance at my mother. She’s perched at her table, lips pursed into that thin, disapproving line I know so well.

Yes, she is devastated. Yes, I have brought shame upon the family name. I’ve scandalized her today, and she’s making no effort to hide it.

“She always looks like that,” I say. “That’s just her face.”

Daisy bites back a laugh. “It’s so much worse now. Before, I was just a bad influence on Sophia. Now I’m a bad influence on her beloved firstborn son.”

“Yes, you are rather, aren’t you? Making me drive into lakes.”

“That was nothing to do with me!”

I smirk. “It was everything to do with you.”

She exhales, shaking her head, but there’s a smile playing at her lips.

“Darling, let my mother stare. Let the whole world stare. In this moment, it’s just you and me. Besides, she’s upset with me, not you. I made a fool of myself this morning.”

I pause. “Charlie has already informed me that the prevailing rumor is that I’ve gone mad with grief, couldn’t handle attending another wedding, and attempted to end things in a rather dramatic fashion.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“It’s fine,” I say, and find that I mean it. “They can think I’ve gone mad. That’s vastly preferable to not being with you.”

I lean down, pressing a slow kiss to her lips, right in the middle of the dance floor, right in full view of the scandalized British upper class.

It’s not like me—not in public, not with this many eyes on us. But I can’t find it in me to care.

Let them talk and judge. Let them clutch their pearls and whisper about how Edward Cavendish has well and truly lost it.

Because they’d be right.

I have.

And I don’t regret a damn thing.

When we part, her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with love, and it hits me right in the chest.

“Your mother’s going to have a stroke,” she whispers, though she’s smiling.

“She’ll survive.”

“You know . . .” She leans closer, her breath warm against my neck. “I didn’t have time to find knickers to put on under this dress.”

That’s just unfair. A low groan escapes me. “Are you trying to test my patience?”