Lucas swallowed hard. He had not been around for Simon and Meg’s desperate and difficult courtship. One that had broken up her prior engagement to Graham, one that had temporarily destroyed the friendship between the men. He’d heard about it, of course, in letters from a few of the others. Now he saw the truth of it in Simon’s stare. The pain of it. And the desperation Simon felt that he not make the same mistakes.
“It’s complicated,” Lucas murmured.
Simon shook his head. “If you don’t think it always is, then you should talk to each and every one of your friends who has been married recently. It’s worth it. You’re no coward, so fight.”
Simon released him and stepped away. Lucas nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
“See that you do. I’ll come call in a few days. Let me know if you need anything in the interim.”
Lucas turned away, back to his carriage, where he could see Diana sitting, waiting for him, though he did not think it was with happy anticipation. Simon’s words rung in his ears. His admonishment to fight for her. For a future he had not dared to envision for over a decade.
He had no idea if there was anything to fight for, if Diana’s changed behavior was any indication. But if there was, he had to decide if he could fight for it. Fight for her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Diana had expected Lucas to get into his carriage and immediately begin an expert interrogation of her. She had braced for it, for it seemed impossible to hide her feelings from him. They were too powerful. They boiled in her like witch’s brew and burned her from the inside out.
And yet he had not done that. Not for the entire ride from the Abernathes’ London home to his own. No, he’d only watched her. Silent yet focused, his dark gaze always following her every move, planning his reactions for the right moment.
She had been so foolish to let herself love a spy. She knew the very calculation and the manipulation that would follow were part of who this man was. She’d known it from the beginning, and yet she had believed in him. She’d slipped into a blissful confidence that it could be different. Tonight had slapped her in the face with the truth.
Everything between them had all been part of a deeper goal of his. She was a piece on his complicated chessboard. Perhaps that was all she’d ever been.
And yet she still loved him.
The carriage slowed as it entered his drive, and stopped. Still he said nothing as his footman helped her down. He didn’t even try to take her arm as they walked up to the house and into the foyer, where Jones took their wraps.
“I’m going upstairs,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes. Meet his eyes and the pain would follow. She knew that now.
He nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
“Why?” she asked before she could stop herself. Immediately she regretted it, for he leaned in and brushed his fingertips across her cheekbone. That gentle touch made her heart flutter, her body react, her anger dissipate for a brief moment.
“Do you really think I’m going to let you pretend that things didn’t change?” he asked. “We are not finished, Diana. I want to talk to you.”
She let out her breath in a burst and turned toward the stairs. She felt him watching her as he followed her up. But what could she do? Her emotions were so close to the surface, if she let them out she could lose control. This was not a man to lose control with.
He was always in control.
She opened her door and turned back to him. “Can’t we leave it be?” she asked. Her voice trembled.
“Fight,” he said softly.
She tilted her head, for the whispered word was no answer. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I can’t leave it be.”
She clenched her jaw in frustration and walked into her chamber. She threw herself into the chair at her dressing table and began to tug the pins from her hair. She had been so happy to have it put up—she’d felt like a princess when she looked at herself in Meg’s mirror all those hours ago. Now she recognized it for what it was. A mask. A costume.
As fabricated and false as any moment between her and Lucas, now poisoned by his conversation with Stalwood.
He shut her door and leaned against it, but made no move to come to her side or touch her. At least he gave her that. “Tell me.”
“Am I your foot soldier now, Your Grace?” she asked, tossing a pin on the table and watching it bounce off the surface and clatter to the floor below.
He recoiled. “What?”
She pivoted in her chair and looked at him. “That was an order, was it not? To report?”
