A flicker of discomfort moved across her expression, there and gone in a flash.
“I … don’t know,” she said after an agonizing moment. “Or, rather, I suppose neither of them truly feels like home.” She shook her head, and the silken ends of her hair danced across his shoulders. “I feel as much a stranger here in London as I did in Belgium, I’m afraid. But that’s all right, I suppose.”
This last was delivered unconvincingly, as though she was trying to comfort him more than herself.
It didn’t work. Her words drove through Hector like a knife, because he knew what it felt like not to have a home, but he also knew what it felt like to be given one. Ramsay had become his home, and their friendship had sustained him through many hard years. Now, he had Jonathan, too, who wanted Hector tostay—and who treated that desire as though it was obvious, not monumental.
And, at least for now, he had Clio.
He wrapped his arms more firmly around her, then drew her into his chest so that she couldn’t see the emotion playing out across his face.
“You will figure it out,” he said vaguely.
In his heart, however, he made a vow: he would find Clio her home …
Even if that meant leaving him behind. Even if that meant destroying him once and for all.
Clio knocked at the door to Hector’s study.
He looked up, saw her, and the sun rose in his expression.
“Good morning, princess,” he said, and she made a show of scowling at the nickname just to make him laugh. “Ach, don’t give me that look. What did you need?”
Clio crossed the room, pointedly not looking at the place before the fire where they’d made love, lest she turn the color of a ripe strawberry. It had been several days since their interlude in this room, and while she and Hector hadn’t come together again, there was an increased ease between them.
Clio cradled that ease like she might hold a newly hatched bird, cupping it to her chest and determined to protect it from the world.
“Good morning,” she returned cheerfully. Feeling bold, she pressed a kiss to his cheek—though she quickly looked away before she could see his reaction. When she dared to look back, however, he was smiling at her with what looked a great deal likefondness.
She didn’t think too hard aboutthateither, also because of the potential for blushing.
“I’ve come to see if you’re ready to go to the picnic,” she said. He didn’tlookready; he looked as though he was planning to spend yet another day hunched over his desk, working through the piles and piles of papers that his father had left behind.
When he blinked at her, she added, “The picnic in Hyde Park? With my brother? And his wife?”
Ah. Finally, there was a glimmer of recognition in his gaze—recognition and reluctance.
She slumped into the chair across from him. “You forgot.”
He winced. “I just got my days confused, princess.” Already, though, his eyes were wandering down to the paperwork before him.
“What has Matthew left you with this time?” she asked, reaching out a hand.
He pulled the papers away quickly.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said. “It’s just the usual nonsense. I’ll get it sorted.”
She put her hand back in her lap, trying not to reveal how this stung. That was her thought, she supposed. She was a wife—a woman. She was meant to look pretty and produce heirs, not to involve herself with things like business.
“I see,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “Are you going to dress for the picnic, then …”
She could already see the refusal in his grimace.
“Picnics hold no interest for me, Clio,” he said. “And I have far more important things to do. Give your family my regards.”
It was as clear a dismissal as she’d ever heard. She felt as though he’d licked his fingertips and snuffed out the candle flame of warmth between them with a pinch and a puff of smoke. He wasn’t even looking at her.
“Right,” she said. She looked down. If he weren’t going to look at her, well! She wouldn’t look at him, either. And she certainly wouldn’t let him see her disappointment. “Very well. I shall see you this evening.”
