“My stage name.”
He shook his head in disbelief.
“This here,” she pointed at the box, “summarises what I am. The stones—the toys of my childhood. The theatre programme—how I was raised. The handkerchief—probably stolen from someone—sometimes they steal from the audience—to comfort a crying girl, to tell her it’s proof that her origins are genteel. It’s a lie I’ve believed my entire life, but no more. The fact is this: you can’t marry me. I’m an actress. You hate actresses.”
He didn’t reply.
Lucy’s heart ached. She wanted to memorise his face. That stern jut of his chin. His proud mouth and aquiline nose. She wished she could throw herself at him. Hold him. Feel the constant beat of his heart. Forever. She clung to the edge of the furniture to prevent herself from doing precisely that.
He rubbed his hand over his face. “What an unutterable mess this is.”
“By now you shouldknow that I have a talent for making messes.”
There were worlds between them. A yawning chasm that could never be bridged. The duke, on the top of the aristocratic ladder, and she, on the very bottom, lumped together with other Drury Lane doxies. It was impossible. It was a fact of life, yet it hurt.
He paced. He stopped, raked his hand through his hair, and glowered at her. “You made a world-class fool of me.”
“Yes,” Lucy whispered.
He resumed pacing. “But what is the alternative?” he muttered to himself.
Lucy’s heart wept. “There is no alternative. It’s like I said. The best move is that I disappear.” She went to the wardrobe and took out her carpetbag.
He watched intently.
“Hang it all. It’s no use.”
Lucy’s head snapped up.
He stood in the middle of the room, his hands against his hips, looking at the ceiling, an odd smile playing about his lips. “I’ve been an ass. They can all go to blazes. It doesn’t matter what they say. None of it matters.”
Lucy wondered if he had lost his mind.
He stepped forward and took her ice-coldhands between his warm ones. “Lucy.” She saw the heart-rending tenderness of his gaze. Her pulse skittered alarmingly.
“It matters. It matters very much. Otherwise you are repeating the same mistake as your father,” she babbled and backed away.
“I’m not my father,” he growled as he followed.
“You are about to make the same mistake.”
“My fatherhad no inkling what love really meant.”
Lucy gasped as the full implication of his words hit her.
“Lucy—” He moved to pull her to him, but she wound herself away and fled behind a chair.
“Please don’t say it.” She put both hands over her ears.
He kicked the chair away and drew her up against him. Her heart thundered.
“I will say it. And you will listen. You know I’ve loved you since you first climbed on that blasted cart.”
“No, no.” She shook her head. Tears welled up in her eyes. “You don’t know what you are saying.”
“Of course I know.” His eyes lit up with an inner blaze. “I know that only love matters and to hell with the rest.”
“You can’t do this. You have responsibilities. Duties.”
