“I am not a member of the royal family,” he countered firmly, steering her away from the exhibit.
Devil take it, he had brought her here so she would enjoy herself. So she would focus less upon the disparities between them, and more upon the similitude. He guided them into the Hall of Kings, where most of the wax exhibits looked to be from centuries long gone.
“You are nobility,” she countered at his side, when they stopped before a new exhibit. “Even your chamber pots are fancy.”
Her observation wrung a startled bark of laughter from him.
“I do not think I have ever taken note of the chamber pots,” he noted, reflecting on what she had said. “After adding the bathrooms and renovating, one hardly needs to even use them.”
“Not unless one has been encouraged to consume an unthinkable quantity of port by the Duke of Arden,” she said archly. “And one cannot make it to the bathroom in sufficient time to retch.”
Guilt skewered him anew at his behavior. He had been an arse, and he knew it. “I deeply regret the manner in which I treated you upon your arrival, Hazel,” he told her, his tone grave, for he meant every word of his apology. “I was wrong, and I am sorry.”
“I do believe it had Athena depicted on the outside, and it was rimmed with gold.”
It was not what he had expected her to say, and he turned to her askance. “I beg your pardon?”
“The commode,” she elaborated. “It is white porcelain, rimmed with gold, and bears Athena on the outside. Who would bother with such extravagance for an item that is tucked beneath a bed, mostly gathering dust?”
She sounded bewildered, and he wanted to kiss her, but he did not, for they were in public, and there was a startlingly lifelike effigy of William of Normandy staring at them through his highness’s rather lifelike glass eyes.
“I suppose it is old by now. Perhaps even a familial relic,” he teased. “But entirely appropriate, if the goddess depicted on it is indeed Athena.”
She frowned at him. “Appropriate how?”
“You are rather like a warrior goddess yourself,” he admitted, before he could think better of the words.
A charming flush crept into her cheeks, but she smiled shyly and looked away, eyeing poor, stoic William. “Hardly a goddess, though I will admit the warrior has been apt, at times.”
Her shyness charmed him. The more time he spent in her presence, the more he fell beneath her spell. He did not think he could ever find a more intriguing woman. It was not just her beauty and liveliness that drew him to her, it was…everything. Every part of her, each facet, all the nuances. All the wit and wonder, bravery and determination, the intelligence and wiliness, the brashness and the vigor, that comprised Hazel Elizabeth Montgomery.
“A warrior goddess,” he repeated. “You must take me at my word.”
“Must I?” She turned back to him, her brow raised, and the smile on her full, inviting lips would have been coquettish on any other woman. On Hazel, it was natural and artless. Breathtaking.
He was staring at her, mooning over her like a lovesick puppy, and he did not give a good goddamn. There was no one about who knew him, and neither his fellow visitors milling about the wax exhibition nor the eerily still figures themselves held him in thrall. Only she did.
“You must,” he said. “On account of all the instances in which you have astounded me, you must defer to my superior knowledge of the matter.”
Her smile turned wry. “Astounded you, or confounded you?”
“Astounded me.” His voice was gentle. Admiring. Just as he intended it to be. With his eyes, he told her what he did not dare say aloud with so many people about to overhear.
Her expression turned serious, her eyes darkening to a blue so deep, it was almost violet. Or perhaps it was a trick of the gas lamps. He could not be certain. Whatever the effect, he found himself lost in the still pools of those vibrant depths.
“Lucien,” she murmured, half protest, half plea.
“I admire you greatly, Hazel,” he told her unapologetically. “Surely you can see that by now. Surely I have made my esteem known. If I have not, I am a greater lout than I had supposed.”
Her lips twitched. “Youcanbe a lout at times.”
Her observation smarted, even if it was true.Becauseit was true. But he would not shy away from it. Rather, he would face and acknowledge it, head on. He owed her so many apologies, he realized, he little knew where to begin. “I am sorry for the way we began. I was an utter ass, and I know it. You are incredibly talented, intelligent, and capable, and it has been my honor to work alongside you.”
“Thank you.” She bestowed one of her rare, truly blinding smiles upon him then, as if he had pleased her immeasurably. “It has been my honor to work alongside you as well.”
They were silent for a beat, simply staring at each other, an unspoken agreement passing between them. Gradually, awareness of their surroundings returned to Lucien as he felt the uncompromising stare of William of Normandy upon him. Not far from his side, the equally lifelike wax figure of William II stood, also gazing.
Perhaps in disapproval? How strange to think that a life could be remembered so many centuries after a death, so many vicissitudes of fortune later. What a uniquely human trait that was, the collection of thousands of years of memories.History.At once, a blessing and a curse.
