God, her skin was so soft and warm. He wanted to lose himself in her. To forget the world and everyone in it, save the two of them.
But he couldn’t. Prince Theodoric would be arriving in Varros soon, and together, they would be formulating the plans for rebellion in Boritania. And after that, his wedding to Princess Anastasia.
Maxim’s gut curdled at the reminder.
Tansy seated herself with her customary prim grace. He sat as well, choosing one of the oversized chairs he’d had commissioned especially for his large frame.
“Lemonade?” he asked, wishing it were whisky instead.
“Please.”
He offered her a glass, and she accepted, taking a small, nervous sip. “Sweets?”
“The lemonade will suffice for now.”
He couldn’t prolong his delay a moment more.
Maxim cleared his throat, struggling to form the words. “You wanted to know about Mina.”
Her spine went straight at the mentioning of his past. “You needn’t tell me.”
“I couldn’t tell you that day,” he forced himself to confess.
“Maxim.”
“I couldn’t tell you because speaking of it without preparing myself causes me to…” He stopped, not wanting to say the words “go mad.” And yet, how else to describe it? “I lose control. I was beginning to lose control that day in the gardens. I didn’t want you to see it, to see me as I am.”
He was adept at disguising it. When the fits came, he hid himself away. No one other than Nando had ever witnessed them in full.
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Madness,” he supplied, hating the word, hating his weakness, the lack of power he truly possessed when it came down to it. “A form of it anyway.”
“You’re not mad, Maxim.”
Her voice was like silk to his senses, a balm to his ragged soul. He didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserveher. The last fortnight had taught him that.
“I’ve suffered from this madness since the war,” he forced out. “Perhaps it was all the battles, the blows to the head, the deaths I’ve witnessed and been responsible for. I cannot say. All I know is that it’s there, lingering beneath the surface of every moment like a serpent waiting to strike. I never know when it will come.”
She placed her scarcely touched lemonade on the table at her side. “Nando knows, doesn’t he?”
He nodded. “No one else.”
And now, her as well.
But that was how much he longed for her. How greatly he needed her. He was willing to strip himself bare, to reveal the most hideous parts of himself, if it meant she would forgive him. If it meant she would have him.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Her voice was quiet, almost hushed, and he was reminded of those endless hours they had spent in London with Gustavson’s guards on the other side of the walls. How cautious she had been. For her own sake then, and now, for his.
“No one else can know,” he told her. “If word were to spread that I’ve such a weakness, my enemies would press their advantage.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” she said.
“I trust you, Tansy,” he said, his voice hoarse with pent-up emotion. It was the closest he could bring himself to a declaration. “I would have told you then, but it was coming upon me, and I didn’t want you to see me that way. I never want you to see me thus.”
“Much time has passed since that day. Why did you not tell me sooner?” she asked.
