The directness of her question caught him by surprise, but then, this new Courtney seemed more forthright than the society lady he’d been told about. He found he rather liked it.
“Honesty,” he said immediately. “Above all, honesty.” The irony of this response, given his own carefully guarded secret about Ava-Marie, wasn’t lost on him. Shame burned in his chest, but he pushed it aside. It wasn’t truly dishonesty, he told himself. And it wasn’t just his secret—it was Ava-Marie’s too. It was protection for his daughter, for his family name. “Someone who sees me as I am now, not as the man I was before. Someone who understands that I may never remember my past, and who doesn’t expect me to become someone I’m not. Someone who would be content to live a simple life on the estate and share the burden of my title and place in this world.”
“That seems reasonable,” she said, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“And kindness,” he continued, warming to the subject. “Someone who could love Ava-Marie as her own. Someone intelligent, who can challenge me, make me think.”
“And passion?” Courtney asked, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Surely that matters too?”
Heat crept up his neck. “Yes,” he admitted. “That too.” Ava had been as wild in bed as she had been outside of it.
She laughed, the sound carried away by the wind. “At least you’re honest about that.”
Not as honest as you deserve, he thought bitterly.
“What about you?” he asked instead. “What are you looking for in a husband? Mr. Axton Fancot seems quite attentive.”
Something flickered in her eyes—amusement, perhaps, or exasperation. “Axton is charming and kind, and yes, attentive. But…” She trailed off, looking out at the sea.
“But?” he prompted, surprised by the flicker of jealousy he felt at the mention of Fancot’s name.
“But I’m not looking for charm or attention,” she said slowly. “I want someone who sees beyond the proper Lady Courtney that society expects. Someone who understands that I have thoughts and desires of my own, that I’m more than just a suitable match or a convenient solution to a problem. And I want a husband who captures my heart.”
His heart was broken, and he doubted any woman could mend it.
“And passion, of course,” she added with a small smile, echoing his earlier admission.
“Of course,” he agreed, returning her smile despite the turmoil in his chest.
She turned to face him fully, her expression suddenly serious. “How do we know, Lucien? How do we know if we couldbuild something real together, when we’re both so different from who we were before?”
It was the question that had been haunting him since his return to London. Since the moment he’d realized that the elegant, reserved Lady Courtney might still hold feelings for him, despite everything that had happened.
“I don’t think we can know,” he said honestly. “Not with certainty. But perhaps we can discover it together.”
“How?” she asked, her voice barely audible above the sound of the waves.
Lucien shifted closer, drawn by the vulnerability in her eyes. “We have two weeks here, away from London’s prying eyes, away from society’s expectations. Let’s use that time to truly get to know each other as we are now. To talk, to laugh, to see if there’s still something between us worth building upon.”
“A trial period?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. “How pragmatic, Lord Furoe.”
“I prefer to think of it as thorough,” he countered, matching her tone. “No one builds a house without first examining the foundation.”
She laughed again, and the sound warmed him more effectively than the setting sun. “Very well. Two weeks to discover if we suit. But I have conditions.”
“Of course you do,” he said dryly, though his lips twitched with suppressed amusement. “Let me hear them.”
“Complete honesty,” she said, holding up one finger. “We must promise to speak our minds, even when it’s difficult. No hiding behind politeness or social niceties.”
He nodded, ignoring the guilty twist in his gut. He couldn’t promise complete honesty, not yet. Not about Ava-Marie. But he could be honest about everything else. “Agreed. What else?”
“No pressure,” she continued, raising a second finger. “If, at the end of these two weeks, either of us feels this isn’t right, we part as friends. No recriminations, no wounded pride.”
“That seems fair,” he agreed. “Anything else?”
A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes as she raised a third finger. “Passion. Desire. I can’t live without knowing you want me in your bed.”
Lucien’s breath caught in his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
