“I found this,” he said softly, “hidden in my wardrobe behind a loose board.” His voice held a note of curiosity rather than accusation. “You signed it.”
“I—yes.” Her voice trembled slightly. “It was the morning before you left for Ireland. We had…” She broke off, unable to continue.
“Were we lovers?” The direct question, spoken in that slight Irish lilt he’d acquired, made her shiver.
“Once,” she whispered. “Just once. That night. We were to be married anyway, and you were leaving, and I—” She stopped, gathering her courage. “I didn’t want to risk you dying without having known me completely. And afterwards, I never regretted that choice.”
His thumb traced the edge of the paper, and she could see him studying the drawing in the intermittent light. “It’s quite…intimate.”
“I drew you without your permission,” she said softly, lost in the memory. “But you loved it. You said it was proof of how I saw you and of our love for each other.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “When you didn’t return… I have worried that someone might have found it. But Lauren never mentioned it. I didn’t know if you’d kept it at all.”
“I did keep it.” He turned to look at her then, and she saw something flare in his eyes—not memory but understanding. “That’s why you never married. Not just because you mourned me, but because we had…” He trailed off, clearly trying to find the right words.
“Because I had given myself to you,” she finished quietly. “Yes. How could I marry another when my heart—and my body—belonged to you?” More tears fell, but she didn’t try to hide them. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated. I want to marry for love. And after watching Tiffany and Wolf, I suddenly realized that if a man loved me, he wouldn’t care. I had started to allowmen to court me. I’m getting to an age where I can’t wait much longer if I don’t wish to be alone for the rest of my life. And I don’t.”
His hand found hers in the darkness, his callused fingers threading through hers. “The woman who drew this,” he said slowly, “who gave herself to me that night…she wasn’t the proper society lady everyone describes. She was passionate. Brave. Willing to risk everything for love.”
“I was different with you,” she admitted. “You made me feel safe enough to be myself. To want things. To take them. To share my dreams and longings with you. I want that again.”
The carriage hit a rough patch of road, pressing them closer together. Courtney felt the familiar heat of his body, so achingly similar to that last morning together. But this wasn’t her Lucien, not really. This was a new man, one who looked at her drawing with fresh eyes, seeing not the memory of their passion but the promise of what might still be possible.
“I’ve been a fool,” he said finally. “Looking at you and seeing only what society sees—the perfect, proper lady. But this…” He held up the drawing. “This shows me who you really are. Who we were together.”
“Perhaps we could find that again,” she whispered before she could stop herself. “If you wanted.”
His fingers tightened on hers. “I was scared of you. I’m so far from the perfect gentleman. And you, you seemed such a perfect lady.”
“Nobody is perfect, Lucien. But people can be perfect together. Or perfect for each other.”
The carriage was slowing as they approached their destination. She held her breath waiting to see what he said.
“Will you save me both waltzes tonight?” he asked, tucking the drawing carefully away.
“Always,” she replied, and for the first time since his return, her smile held no sadness, only hope.
Then his smile died. “I have something else to confess. It involves Farah and Rockwell.”
“I already know she was in Ireland with him and helped find you. Ashley, Rockwell’s sister, let it slip.”
He looked out the window, seeming lost in thought. “I can’t remember ever being Viscount Furoe, but I remember what it means to be a man. To be a good man. Farah risked her reputation coming to rescue me. I don’t know if I’d have made the transition home without her. She was less threatening than Rockwell somehow and she was kind to Ava-Marie and Caitria.”
She held her breath, her heart getting ready to shatter. He was in love with Farah.
He turned to face her. “She’s in love with Rockwell but the stupid man is running scared. She doesn’t want to marry him, believing he will leave her behind as he sails the world. So, I made her a promise. If it becomes common knowledge that she was in Ireland with Rockwell, and she does not wish to marry him, I will marry her to protect her reputation.”
He didn’t love her. It was merely a promise. Thank the lord.
“So, you see, I can’t openly court you until I know I will never have to make good on that promise. Since my return, I’m constantly reminded about what honor means to a gentleman.”
Her heart gave a kick. Farah would never take Lucien up on that offer, but she would not say that. He was trying to show her he could be a gentleman, even though he’d forgotten he ever was one.
“When will that be, do you think?” His smile was so sensual she wanted to grab him and kiss him.
“I have a plan to make Rockwell face his real feelings. But it might mean I have to look as though I’m interested in Farah. Jealousy is a powerful emotion. And it may hurt you.”
I’d be okay with anything if it meant you could focus on me, she wanted to scream. “Perhaps I can help too. If I make Rockwell believe your intentions are real.”
“We could do this together. The pair of them won’t realize what’s going on, but we will.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I shall pay Farah special attention tonight and you will warn Rockwell about the fact he has a rival for her affections.”
