Austin slid off the bed and dressed quietly. At the door, he paused, hand on the latch.
“Deena.”
She looked up from the bed, sheet pulled to her quivering chin.
“Whatever happens tomorrow,” he said, “know this: I don’t regret tonight. Not a single second.”
Deena didn’t respond. A stray tear fell across her cheek, and Austin’s heart clenched. But she was right, and this was wrong. He longed to stay with her, but instead he slipped away, closing the door softly until her silhouette disappeared.
The corridor was empty, lit only by a single wall sconce. Austin stood there for a long moment and rested his forehead against the cool wood of the door. He inhaled deeply, straightened his shoulders, and forced his legs to move.
The image of Deena followed him down the hall like a ghost until he reached his own chamber and stepped inside.
Austin stood in front of the elaborate mirror in his vast chamber.
“You damn fool,” he muttered to his reflection.
He felt defeated. He paced and searched his chamber for an answer until his eyes landed on his writing desk, which was lit up by a stuttering candle. He stopped in the middle of the room, and an undeniable idea struck him.
Austin crossed to the desk, sat, and pulled a fresh sheet of parchment towards him. The candle flame flickered as he uncapped the inkwell, dipped the quill, and began to write in a careful, deliberate hand.
Dear Mr. Whitman…
He addressed his solicitor.
I write regarding a matter of some delicacy and urgency.
There is an English lady currently residing at a convent near Paris. Her name is Penelope, and she is the daughter of the Marquess of Ravenshire. That is all I have at present. I require your immediate assistance in locating her…
Eighteen
“You look stunning, Lady Deena.” Elise smiled brightly at her.
Deena stood before the cheval mirror in her chamber, arms raised inelegantly as Elise dressed her.
“Thank you, Elise. You chose a wonderful dress for me.” Deena’s voice was low and rough with emotion.
The pale green gown felt too tight across her ribs, or perhaps it was her own breathing that refused to settle properly. She was unsure, and she did not care much about it either. She winced, not from the stays, but from the dull, gnawing ache that had settled behind her breastbone the moment she woke.
“Did the footman leave any letters for me?” she asked Elise quietly.
“No, my lady.”
Deena felt a tight knot in the pit of her stomach. Furthermore, she felt awful, soiled, and used. No amount of rose-water or lavender soap could wash away the scent of him. She could still feel the imprint of Austin’s hands on her waist, the slow drag of his mouth down her throat, and the way he’d whispered her name like it was a prayer. She could still taste him on the tip of her tongue, and the memory sent a traitorous pulse of heat low in her belly even now.
She hated herself for it, hated that she needed more of him.
Elise tugged the last lace tight and stepped back, tilting her head. “Are you feeling faint, Lady Deena?”
Deena forced a smile that felt like cracking porcelain. “Yes, I’m just tired. It was a long, restless night.”
The maid gave her an apologetic look. “I will start with your hair.”
Elise wasted no time; she grabbed a handful of ivory ribbons and motioned for Deena to sit.
Deena silently prayed that the day would end already as she sat on an embroidered ottoman in front of the mirror. Fear mixed with her growing desire for Austin. She planned to leave the game early and deliver her new article before the sun set on the horizon; she could only pray that it would buy them some time. Deena noticed that her maid tied her best satin ribbons in her hair.
“Elise, satin ribbons? I’m curious to know what the special occasion is?”
