It was time he stopped thinking about whathewanted for her and instead think about whatshewanted for herself.
He was her friend. Forget the confusion of desire and want. If all that went away, or even if it doubled by tomorrow, he’d still be her friend. And that meant he had to help her. That’s what friends did.
At the very least, he had to say sorry.
For a great many things.
Twenty-Six
Lucy eventually closed her sketchbook. She stood, stiff and cold from sitting, and went to the window. She sighed out at the moonlit night, seeing distant lamplight in the night’s damp haze, the moon lighting the clouds milk blue. She thought of the smoke hazing the candlelight at Mr Thornton’s and sighed again before closing the drapes.
She unbuttoned her dress, removed her stockings and stays, and wrapped her heavy bedrobe around her before unpinning her hair. Her maid was long in bed, sent there by Lucy when she first arrived home in no fit state to feign composure. Her agitated manner would only have added to her maid’s frowning disapproval. Lucy hadn’t even taken her to Mr Thornton’s tonight, deciding her reputation was already compromised beyond what her maid’s presence could salvage, and therefore there was little point subjecting the woman to an experience she so clearly loathed.
A desultory finger-combing of her tangled curls was all she had the energy for. She picked up her candle and stepped towards her bed, then stopped, heart pounding.
Someone was knocking on her window.
“Lucy? It’s me, Jack.”
Jack?
At her window? How? She was three floors up!
She put the candle down hastily, spilling wax on her fingers but hardly heeding the sting as she rushed to the window and pulled the drapes aside. It was Jack alright, half grinning, half grimacing as he glanced down at the distant ground. “Any chance you could let me in? If you don’t mind, that is.”
She pulled up the sash. It got stuck of course, but she wrenched it up with all her strength, letting in the smell of night and Jack himself, who swung a booted leg over the window ledge and climbed into the room, staggering a little on tired legs as he stood up.
“What on earth, Jack!” Lucy hissed, wary of being overheard. Her heart was still pounding, her skin hot. The breeze through the open window was chill, and she went to close it, Jack helping her when it got stuck again, his hands grazing hers where she gripped the frame.
He was flushed from the climb, or the cool night, or both, and breathing hard, his hair disordered. His dark grey eyes met hers and his grin broke out, crooked and as mischievous as it had ever been.
“Sorry,” he said.
He was very close. Too close. She stepped back and walked a pace or two across the room, wrapping her robe more tightly around herself.
“Sorry for everything,” he continued. “And now this too, I suppose.”
“What are you doing here? Are you drunk? What were youthinking?”
“No. Not drunk.” He ran a hand across his jaw, sheepish. “I wanted to see you. I didn’t plan on climbing up, but then I saw you at the window and…” He let out a breath. “My mother will be here tomorrow, Lucy. My sisters. How can I speak to you properly then?”
She stepped back to the window, still trying to collect her thoughts, and glanced down at the distant ground below with a shudder before pulling the drapes shut. Imagine if someone saw!
“I don’t even understand how you managed it.”
“It’s hardly the first time. Remember the schoolroom at home?”
“There was a great big wisteria vine! Here there’s nothing!”
Jack shrugged. “Drainpipes. A loose brick or two.”
She stared at him, every thought in disarray. He winced in apology, but…but his gaze went to the curls falling over her shoulders then dropped to the robe she wore. He turned away, picking up a small box from her dressing table and fidgeting with it. Her pulse hammered everywhere, tiny taps with a silver hammer on every nerve. Jack in her room, and she was undressed… It was a maddening song, entrancing and unwise as fairy music.
“I’ll go,” he said, putting the box back down. “I should never have come at all.”
“Jack,” she said firmly, tightening her robe once again. “You are an idiot.”
A tight laugh escaped him. “I am, Lucy, I really am.”
