Lavinia flushed at the memory of his hands on her thighs, the way his lips had brushed against her skin, sending fire coursing through her veins. The way her body had responded to him, the way she had felt like she might lose herself entirely in him—it all haunted her now, replaying over and over in her mind.
But beyond the physical intensity of that moment, it was the way Peter had pulled back that stuck with her the most. He could have had her; she knew that. She would have agreed if he had asked. Her own body had betrayed her, giving in to him with an eagerness she had never known.
And yet he had stopped. He had walked away. Not because he did not want her—she had seen the desire in his eyes—but because he had chosen restraint. He had protected her. Again. Even when she had told him that she never needed it. But he was a gentleman.
Lavinia let out a soft sigh, turning onto her side as she pulled the covers a little closer. Her heart raced every time she thought ofhim, a rapid flutter that seemed to intensify with every passing moment. What had started as a confusing, irritating crush had transformed into something else entirely. Something deeper. Something terrifying.
This must be love.
She blinked, startled by the thought, but there was no denying it. She had tried to ignore it, to dismiss the way her heart skipped a beat when Peter entered the room, to brush off the warmth that spread through her when his eyes met hers. But there was no point in running from it anymore.
This was love. The real, all-consuming kind of love that she had heard whispers about in corners of ballrooms. This was the kind of love she had been longing for her whole life.
Lavinia smiled to herself, her fingers idly playing with the lacy edge of her bedsheet. She had always believed that love would come in a simpler form with a respectable man, someone her parents approved of—a steady, safe match. But Peter… Peter had disrupted all of that. He had turned her world upside down in ways she never could have predicted. And now she could not imagine it any other way.
But with that realization came the weight of uncertainty. She sat up slowly, her bare feet touching the cool floor as she walked to the window.
The guests milling about in the distance, preparing for their departure, were nothing more than blurry, misshapen figures.Her gaze drifted, searching for Peter, though she knew he would not be there. He must be preparing to leave, too.
What happens now?
The question niggled at her, filling her with both excitement and fear. They had shared something intimate, something that went beyond words. But what did it mean for the future? Did it mean anything to him at all?
Peter was a rake, after all. His reputation was not a mystery to her, and she knew he had no shortage of lovers in his past. But last night had been different. The way he had looked at her, the way he had spoken to her—it was as if something had shifted between them. He had been gentle with her, so careful not to cross a line, and yet the intensity of his desire for her had been palpable.
Lavinia could not help but think back to the look on his face when he had pulled her away from Lord Windham, how his eyes had darkened with something that went beyond mere protection. There had been anger, yes, but also something else. Something deeper. It was as though he could not bear the thought of her spending even one moment with another man.
Could it be that he feels something for me, too?
Her heart swelled with hope. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one more impossible than the last.
What if Peter truly cared for her? What if last night had not just been about desire, but about something more? She had seen glimpses of a different man beneath the rakish exterior—one who was kind, protective, and dare she say it, vulnerable. He had been so guarded, so determined to keep his distance, but now she was not so sure.
And what did their intimacy mean for her future?
Lavinia bit her lip, her fingers brushing the cool windowpane.
What if Peter loves me, too?
That thought made her heart pound even harder. It was foolish to hope for something that might never be. And yet she could not stop herself. Not now. Not after what they had shared. She had seen the look in his eyes last night, felt the way his hands had trembled slightly as they touched her. That was not just lust. It was something more.
Her gaze drifted back to the distant horizon, where the last of the carriages were being prepared for departure. Peter would be leaving soon, and with him, the chance to explore whatever it was that had blossomed between them.
The idea of him leaving, of walking away without knowing what might have been, filled her with a sense of urgency.
But what could she do? How could she possibly confront him about her feelings, about the future they might share? It wasn’tas simple as confessing her love and hoping for the best. The stakes were too high, the risks too great.
Still, the idea of doing nothing, of letting him slip away without so much as a word, seemed unbearable.
Lavinia pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. She had never felt this way before—so alive, so full of hope and fear all at once.
Peter had changed everything. He had made her see the world differently, made her realize that love was not something that could be planned or controlled. It was wild, unpredictable, and utterly consuming. And now that she had tasted it, she could not imagine going back to the life she had known before.
She needed to see him. She needed to talk to him, to find out what he felt, to know if there was a future for them, no matter how impossible it might seem.
She took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. Whatever happened, she could not let him leave without at least trying. Even if it ended in heartbreak, she needed to know. She owed herself that much.
With one final glance out the window, she turned and rang the bell for her maid, Abigail. The future was uncertain, but she could not hide from it any longer. She would face it, no matter what came next. Because love—real, undeniable love—was worth making oneself look a little foolish.
