“I hadn’t thought of it like that, but it’s likely. She also probably worried about Ava-Marie if I came back to my old life.”
Like the ghost of his old friend, Lucien left and walked down the stairs to join the rest of their party.
Rockwell ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Did he love Farah? They’d only known each other in a grown-up sense about a month. Not enough time to fall in love, or was it?
He marveled at how his life had changed in a few short weeks—finding Lucien, almost creating a scandal with a stowaway on his ship, and then the unexpected desire that had flared between Farah, the timid mouse, and himself. But then, he knew the moment he’d seen her in his Hessian boot in his bedchamber that she was all fire and heat under that quiet exterior she showed the world.
He’d wanted her from that moment on and a part of him knew he’d taken advantage of her on their travels. Because he wanted her. And God damn him to hell, he still wanted her.
But what ate him up inside was, did she still want him? What did he offer her?
I want my husband to love me.Those were the only stipulations she’d expressed in a husband to be.
If she loved him as she said, then perhaps she’d be content if he traveled.
As he walked slowly down the stairs, he cursed under his breath at why loving anyone, let alone only one woman, was the hardest thing for a man to do.
Chapter Nineteen
It had beenfour days since Lord Lucien Cavanaugh, Viscount Furoe’s return to London, became common knowledge, and tonight she would host the event of the season to welcome him home. People said that his father, the Earl of Danvers, was so happy, he immediately stopped drinking and gambling.
Lucien settled in with his father and family and was taking each day as it came. Society had already started gossiping about his daughter and his “marriage”—the lie all of them had agreed to honor to protect Ava-Marie. But all in all thetonwelcomed him home as the injured war hero. Wolf and Rockwell rallied around him, too.
What set thetontitillating more was the rumor, or was it a truth, that Lucien needed a rich wife.
As she sat letting her lady’s maid, Theresa, put the finishing touches to her gown, Farah couldn’t worry about her chat with Courtney at the opera last night. She’d confessed to Courtney that she loved Rockwell. But she hadn’t told Courtney the truth that Rockwell didn’t love her, nor did he wish to marry her.
She pushed all the conflict from her mind. All she wanted to do was get through this ball and prove to everyone, most of all her brother, that she wasn’t a hopelessly fragile woman.
Half an hour later, Farah stood at the top of the stairs to the ballroom next to her brother. The receiving line had finished, and their guest of honor had descended into the ballroom. Now,he was surrounded by people he did not know, most of them mothers with marriageable daughters. She sighed and wished she could help Lucien through this ordeal.
Courtney stood by his side, but the tension between them could fill the whole ballroom. Her heart bled for her friend. She turned to her brother and took his proffered arm to descend the stairs. She couldn’t believe how well Blackstone had taken her refusal to marry Lord Franklin, but since their talk, he was trying not to be such an overpowering elder brother. It was an uneasy truce, helped by the fact he and society still did not know she went to Ireland with Lord Rockwell.
As she stepped down the stairs, she viewed her success. The grand ballroom of Blackstone House sparkled with candlelight, the soft glow reflecting off crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors. She herself felt quite resplendent in a gown of emerald silk, and as she stepped onto the floor, she ensured she moved gracefully among the guests, playing the perfect hostess alongside her brother, the Duke of Blackstone. To all outward appearances, she was the picture of poise and elegance. Inside, however, she was a bundle of nerves, her stomach tied in knots that would put a sailor to shame. Her brother might judge her and be less accommodating if she failed tonight.
“Smile, sister dear,” the duke murmured in her ear. “Stop looking so scared. I’m proud of you. This ball will be the social event of the season.”
“Only because everyone is here to see what a dead man looks like.”
His family surrounded Lord Furoe and she could see the strain on Lucien’s lips from across the ballroom. Rockwell was also by his side, and she could feel his eyes upon her. She couldn’t resist glancing his way. The heat and desire flashing in his gaze would ruin everything. It had to stop. She let goof her brother’s arm. “I just wish to ensure Lady Courtney is supported.”
Her brother’s face for once showed emotion—pity. “You are a good friend.” Without a backward glance, he turned to talk with the prime minister and forgot all about her.
She made her way toward where Rockwell stood, his eyes tracing her every step. She squeezed Courtney’s hand when she reached her friend’s side, and Courtney gave her a grateful smile. “Get a servant to come and fetch me if you need a break from your guard duty,” she whispered to Courtney. “How is he doing?”
Courtney leaned her head sideways and whispered, “His father and sister are doing most of the talking. Lucien is—that is, he’s—it’s almost as if he’s detached from what is going on around him. But he squeezes my arm now and then.”
“And how are you doing?” She watched Courtney fight back tears.
She glanced briefly at Lucien, and her face softened. “I’m fine.” But her voice wavered. “He’s trying. We will try together, and if it’s not to be, then… At least I know he’s alive.”
Before she could reply, Farah’s skin prickled with awareness. Rockwell was beside her.
She turned to face him and tried to maintain her composure and not let the world see how much his smile made her knees give out. “Good evening, Lord Ware. Our thanks for the safe return of Lord Furoe.” When he stepped nearer, she stepped back.
But he just kept coming until she noted they were in the shadows. She stiffened as he leaned towards her and his arm reached behind them and unlatched the door that was there, almost pushing her into the servants’ corridor and closing society out when the door closed behind him.
She was about to remonstrate with him when he pulled her against his hard, lean body and his mouth took hers in a kiss meant to stir her senses—and it did. Her body clung to his, desire flared, heating her blood and she remembered the taste of him with a hunger that burned in her soul.
