He looked down at it for a moment. Then up at her. Will you allow me to speak to your father when he arrives?
The formality of the question was entirely at odds with the roughness still in his voice. And she loved both at once.
Yes. He let out a breath. Slow.
Long. The breath of a man who has been holding something for a very long time and is only now putting it down.
He brought her hand up and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Briefly. Warmly.
In the way of a man who intends to have many years to do this properly and is beginning now. You should go back upstairs.
It is past midnight and I have already compromised your reputation by approximately 10 different measures tonight. You knocked on the front door.
She pointed out. Very properly. At midnight. Without a hat.
The corner of his mouth moved. And there it was. The laugh she remembered from 20 years ago.