“Eventually,” she replied, her smile widening. “After you’d finished kissing me senseless.”
He laughed, the sound echoing in the clearing. “I’m beginning to think I was quite the rogue before my memory loss.”
“Only with me,” she corrected, enjoying the ease between them. “In public, you were the model of propriety. That was why no one suspected how passionately we felt about each other.”
A comfortable silence fell between them as they gazed out at the still waters of the pond. Birds called from the trees, and the occasional splash marked a fish rising to the surface.
“I caught nothing,” Lucien admitted, nodding toward his empty fishing basket. “Apparently my skills have not survived my memory loss.”
“You were never particularly patient with fishing,” Courtney told him. “You preferred hunting—something more active.”
He nodded, considering this. “That makes sense. I’ve found I prefer being in motion to sitting still. In Ireland, I could never stay indoors for long, even in poor weather. I needed to be working the land, feeling like I was accomplishing something tangible.”
“Is that what you want now?” she asked. “A life of activity and purpose?”
He turned to look at her, his expression thoughtful. “Yes, but not just physical labor. I want to restore this estate, to make it productive again. I want to provide security for my daughter, for my sisters—for any other children I might have, if God is kind, hopefully sons.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “For whoever shares my future.”
The implication hung between them, delicate as spun glass. Courtney’s heart quickened, but she maintained her composure.
“Do you have any feelings for me?” she pressed, needing to hear him articulate what seemed to be growing between them.
He reached for her hand, his fingers warm against hers. “I didn’t like Fancot paying you attention,” he said simply. “That must mean something. I am possessive about you, and I like you.”
“And is that enough?” she asked softly.
His eyes darkened. “There’s also desire,” he said, his voice dropping to a low timbre that sent shivers through her. “When I’m with you, I feel things I haven’t felt since…since before. Different than with Ava, but no less powerful.”
Courtney’s breath caught at his admission. “I feel it too,” she confessed.
His grip on her hand tightened slightly. “But is it enough for you? I can’t promise you the same love we apparently shared before. I don’t know if I’m capable of that kind of love again.”
The question was earnest, his vulnerability evident in the tension of his jaw, the searching look in his eyes. Courtneyconsidered her answer carefully, aware that her response could shape whatever future they might have together.
“I don’t need the same love,” she said finally. “I’m not the same woman, and you’re not the same man. What we build now will be different—but that doesn’t mean it can’t be equally meaningful, equally profound in its own way.”
“I want to be happy. I have to marry again, and I want that marriage to be happy. I think I’d be happy with you. So, you have to really think if this is a risk you’re willing to take. Will our marriage be happy if I can’t give you my heart and you come to resent me? That would be the worst outcome I could imagine.”
She took a step back. What an impossible position to be in. To marry him now without his heart or to walk away and give up on the possibility he could love her again. “The one thing we have always shared, and one of the reasons I fell in love with you and trusted you, was your honesty. That hasn’t changed.” She looked up to the sky and closed her eyes. “If I agree to marry you, I would never come to resent you because I chose this. I would live with the consequences of my choice. That is only fair.”
Relief flickered across his features. “You’re quite remarkable,” he said, pulling her back towards him, his free hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“It’s funny, if you think about it. You’re still in love with Ava, and I’m still in love with a Lucien who doesn’t exist. We’re both in love with ghosts.”
He did a double take at her words but didn’t deny he was still in love with his dead wife. “Would you have remarried if I’d not returned?” he asked, squeezing her hand.
“I think I would have. I’ve had five lonely years to consider what my future could be. What I want out of a marriage.”
“And what does that look like?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Respect,” she said immediately. “Trust. Companionship. Shared purpose.” She paused, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Andyes, physical attraction. But love is still important. Perhaps love can grow from these foundations. It doesn’t need to exist fully formed from the beginning. I saw it in my parents’ arranged marriage.”
Lucien studied her face, as if memorizing each feature. “I do desire you,” he said, his voice husky. “From the moment I saw you at the opera, there’s been something…undeniable between us.”
Impulsively, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He responded immediately, one hand cupping the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss. Unlike their exchange on the beach, this was unhurried, exploratory—a rediscovery rather than a claiming.
When they finally drew apart, both slightly breathless, the air between them felt charged with possibility.
“We should return to the house,” Lucien said reluctantly. “They’ll wonder where we’ve gone.”
