He reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. Inside was a banknote, written to her for the exact amount she and her brother had handed over to Malum.
She stared at it, feeling numb. And although her heart was sinking, she was also happy for him. “Thank you.”
He’d not sought her out because he loved her. He’d sought her out so he could cut the last tie between them.
He didn’t need her—or want her.
She tucked the envelope into her sleeve and forced herself to smile brightly. “I’m going to Paris,” she said.
“That’s wonderful. What you wanted.” But did the look in his eyes contradict his words?
Impossible.
Afraid she would give herself away with tears, she moved to turn away from him.
But he caught her arm. “Priscilla.”
One word. Her name.
She lifted her chin. “That’s me.”
His expression turned fierce. “Tell me you meant it. Tell me it was real.”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She’d told him she loved him, but she’d also…
Loved him.
In every way she could. “I meant it. All of it.”
His eyes blazed, and she moved to throw herself into his arms but then checked herself.
The park afforded little privacy. In fact, it all but buzzed with the excitement of the coming season.
He held out his hand, and she stared at it, noticing the familiar creases of his gloves, and that tiny tear near his wrist. “Walk with me,” he said again.
The lawn cushioned her slippers, and the air smelled of dew and dirt and grass and soot. It was London, after all. His thumb stroked the back of her wrist.
“Priscilla.”
“Yes.” She sucked in a breath and then exhaled. “Priscilla Charlotte Fellowes.”
“And you are not ten and seven.”
“I am six and twenty.”
Finally. She was Priscilla.
While pretending to be Allison, all she had wanted to do was be herself. The relief that finally came sent an effervescence coursing through her veins.
As they strolled side by side, Emerson asked question after question. It was as though he needed to reassure himself who she was. And Priscilla patiently answered them.
“And you went to Miss Primm’s following the incident involving Lord Lockley?”
“Yes.”
“Did you love him?”
“I was infatuated by his attentions and allowed him to court me against my brother’s advice. Perhaps that was part of his attraction.” A short laugh escaped her, directed at herself. And she swallowed hard, because the second half of the story wasn’t nearly as easy to answer. But she wouldn’t keep anything from him. He deserved her complete honesty. “I allowed him certain liberties that led him to believe I was willing to run away with him.”
