His fingers tightened on her thigh. “Say that again. Did you just say youloveWill Arden?”
She nodded in the darkness, wishing she could see the look on his face. “I did.”
“Ishethe man you dreamed of on your island?” he rasped.
“I’m afraid so.”
His breath tickled her lips as he pressed his forehead against hers. “Is he the man you’re thinking of when I touch you? Are you wishing he was here instead of me?”
“Yes,” Lucy whispered.
He gave a soft, disbelieving laugh, as if he was on the verge of madness. As if he’d just realized his only competition washimself.“Will Arden is the luckiest bastard in London.”
“And also the stupidest,” Lucy couldn’t resist adding. “After all, he doesn’t love me back.”
He paused for the space of three heartbeats.
“What if he does?” The question was barely audible, as if the thought were so delicate it would break if voiced too loudly. “What if he’s loved you for even longer than you’ve loved him?”
Lucy’s heart was thundering against her breastbone, but she managed to inject a note of skepticism into her tone.
“I’d find that hard to believe. He didn’t want to kiss me four years ago.”
He hissed out a tortured breath. “What if he wanted to kiss you so badly, he was shaking with it? What if he was seconds away from pulling you deeper into the gardens and ruining you completely?”
“I—”
He didn’t let her finish. “What if he was cocky, and arrogant, and thought he was too young to get married? What if he was scared by the strength of his own feelings? What if—” his voice held an ache that brought a lump to her throat. “What if he’s realized how stupid he’s been?”
Lucy sucked in a breath. This was more than she’d ever expected. More than she’d ever dreamed.
“That’s a lot of ‘ifs,” she managed.
His nose brushed hers in the darkness. “I have another. What if he was here with you right now?”
Lucy grazed her lips across his, a deliberate, provocative challenge. “Then I’d tell him to put on the light.”
All the breath seemed to leave her lungs as she waited to see what he would do.
For a terrible moment he didn’t move.
And then his weight lifted off her. The chaise creaked as he shifted his position and she almost protested as his hand slid from beneath her skirts. The air moved as he stood, and she heard the scrape of something metallic as his hand swept the top of the dressing chest in search of the tinder box.
She pushed herself upright on the chaise just as he struck the flint and lit the wick on the oil lamp. In the sudden flare of light, she saw his face, unmasked, and her stomach clenched with a terrible mixture of excitement and trepidation.
He leaned back, resting his hips against the dressing chest, and met her gaze. “Lucia.”
She raised her brows and matched his solemn tone. “William.”
How could turning on the light have made it so difficult to speak? It was as if they were suddenly strangers, with a yawning gulf between them.
But her lips were still tingling from his kisses, her skin still hot from his touch.
He gave a helpless little shrug and gestured to the scrap of black fabric she’d discarded on the floor. “No mask.” He raked his hand through his hair, only adding to its disorder, then touched the pale ridge that marked his cheek and temple. “I told you I was scarred.”
“And I told you, I don’t care.”
“How long have you known I was the Phantom?”
