He wasn’t opposed to that idea. She was a beautiful, intelligent, and obviously a loyal woman. But was that fair to her? He was not the same man she’d loved, and he wouldn’t hold her to an obligation just because they were to be married before.
Maybe he could find something more than a marriage of convenience with her, but it would mean letting Courtney get close. And his heart just wasn’t ready. Ava filled his mind, his soul, and his heart. He didn’t know if he loved her, or hated her, or probably a bit of both. Until he could get some clarity, he didn’t know how to let anyone else in.
But he didn’t have time to wait for his heart to heal. Farah would be the perfect choice as his wife, because he liked her. He knew her better than any other woman, and he admired her. But her heart belonged to Rockwell. Could he marry her knowing that?
Lucien sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Maybe a marriage of convenience with a woman who didn’t have any expectations of him, who didn’t know him from before he lost his memory, would be better.
But then a picture of Courtney’s face when she’d seen him alive and well swam into his mind. The love shining in her eyes, the joy, the happiness… Oh, to have a woman look at him like that again was intoxicating.
He’d shared his life with Ava and loved her and it had been wonderful even as a poor country peasant. Could he do a marriage without love? His heart clenched in his chest at that idea.
No. He selfishly wanted it all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rockwell walked tothe Marquess of Lorne’s townhouse to talk with Farah. The crisp morning air did little to cool his temper. How could she put them all through this? She must really want to punish him. And punish her brother.
His cravat constricted like a noose, far too tight around his neck. How was he to convince her to marry him when she thought so little of him?
Wolf had said to be honest with her, as it had worked with Tiffany.
Rockwell’s mind raced. The events of the past day played repeatedly in his head—Farah’s pale face at the ball as scandal circled like sharks, Lucien’s impulsive proposal, and now her disappearance. With each step, his frustration mounted. Did she not understand the consequences of her actions? What about the scandal that would erupt if she weren’t found?
And yet, beneath the anger, a deeper truth whispered through his bones. Had he not felt the same urge to flee, to escape the constant intrusion of society? The weight of disappointment that clung to him like a second skin—the wastrel life of a second son. Was that not what had driven him to travel the world all these years?
As he approached the Marquess of Lorne’s impressive townhouse, Rockwell slowed his pace. His reflection in a window caught his eye—disheveled hair, burning eyes, a man on the edgeof something momentous. He needed to approach this calmly, rationally. Charging in like a bull would only drive Farah further away. And despite everything, the thought of losing her for good made his chest tighten painfully.
Taking a steadying breath that did nothing to calm his thundering heart, Rockwell smoothed his disheveled hair and straightened his jacket. He had come here to convince Farah to marry him, to show her he truly cared for her. That their marriage could be more than just a solution to a scandal.
Rockwell rapped sharply on the door. As he waited for a response, the words he’d rehearsed a hundred times on his walk dissolved like morning mist. He’d lay his heart bare, pride be damned. It was time to stop running—from his feelings, from commitment, from the future that had been staring him in the face since the day he’d found her on his ship.
The door creaked open, and Rockwell steeled himself. This was his chance to make things right. To prove to Farah, and to himself, that love was worth fighting for.
“I’m here to see Lady Farah, and don’t tell me she’s not here. I know she is,” he growled, shouldering past the startled servant.
The commotion in the front foyer saw Courtney come running. She took one look at Rockwell’s thunderous expression and fled back up the stairs.
“Tell Farah I’ll meet her in the drawing room when she’s ready,” he called after Courtney’s departing back.
“Rockwell, what brings you here this early, causing a stir?” Tarquin, Courtney’s brother, strolled towards him.
“I came to speak with Farah, who is hiding here with your sister in the last place I thought to look.”
“I think you need a drink,” Tarquin replied and added, “Let’s give the ladies time to gather themselves and we’ll meet them in the drawing room shortly.” He spoke loud enough for the house to hear.
“I think I’d like that drink,” Rockwell replied.
As the two men walked toward the library, Tarquin said, “And you can tell me what excitement I appear to have missed while I have been away at our country estate.”
A few drinks later, Rockwell took a deep breath as he was shown into the drawing room where Farah waited. Tarquin and Courtney had given them some privacy, and he was grateful. She stood by the window, her back to him, tension evident in the rigid set of her shoulders. His heart ached at the sight of her.
“Farah,” he said softly.
She turned, her eyes wary. “Rockwell. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you found me,” she said, her eyes wary. “I assume little Ava-Marie let my location slip.”
“I’m very glad she did.” He stepped closer, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find you? That I wouldn’t move heaven and earth? Do you know I almost went crazy thinking you’d run off alone? Anything could have happened to you.”
A flicker of emotion passed across her face before she schooled her features. “I needed time to think. To consider my options.”
