*
Camille watched thedarkness of memory steal the light from his eyes. She knew how the past latched on to one’s mind and refused to let go. It poisoned joy, haunted hope.
He was waiting for her anger at being rejected; she saw it in his shifting gaze.
Hehadrejected her, and shewasangry, but not at him.
She’d let herself be swept away in the moment, knowing better. Emotion was too flimsy and changeable to rely on.
That flimsy sensation reared its ridiculous head now, determined to undermine her and prove her wrong. She wanted to continue her exploration of lips and skin and brush off the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. The resounding quiet in her brain as he’d touched her had been a relief from the constant thoughts and images, the constant regret. It was an epiphany so overwhelming, she would have willingly stayed in his arms forever and let her body take over.
But she couldn’t rest. There was too much relying on her skills and brain. Always on, always making up for what she’d been born lacking.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
The two words grated against her freshly secured mental armor. She looked up into his handsome face, wishing she could hate him. He represented everything she loathed, the youngembodiment of the man she’d despise long after she was dead and in the ground.
All she saw wasthisduke’s straightforward nature and self-deprecating smiles. Honesty may have been a flaw to the conniving matrons and debutantes of theton, but she respected the guts it took to state one’s mind at the risk of rejection. And, unlike that self-serving narcissist of a duke from her past, Renard had morals.
Guilt. Even as charming and kind as he was, he knew how inappropriate a connection between them would be. He was a member of the gentry, and she was... unsuitable. If he’d spouted poetic nonsense about love and passion, she’d have spat in his face.
At least, in this regard, she could assuage his conscience without betraying herself.
His lips parted, a third apology inevitable, when she held up a hand to stop him.
With her emotions back in check, she looked him in the eye, not feeling anything. “Do not concern yourself, Your Grace. You’ve hurt no feelings as there are none to harm. I asked you to kiss me and you did.” She stuck out her hand. “Let us call it a mutual exchange and leave it at that.”
His laugh was a huffed puff of white air between them. “Kissing is an exchange?”
“Isn’t it?”
He laughed again, some of his former humor returning. He took her hand, his eyes dancing.
The fingers curling around hers were warm. Camille still felt their heat on her chin, her lips. She dropped his hand and gave a terse nod. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Goodbye, Miss Forthright.”
She pivoted on her heel and crossed the street. At her doorway, she removed the key from the string around her neck,and opened the door, refusing to glance back at the man bathed in moonlight.
Tonight would be a night of adventure and memory, an unlikely dream she would take out and examine when the desire for whimsy struck, but nothing more. For this evening was but a fantasy.
Renard Louis, Duke of Lux, lived in a foreign world, full of manners and obligations, whereas her world was defined by rough freedom. Rich and poor, etiquette and slums, low and high—they were perfect opposites. Their meeting had been chance, an event not meant to be repeated. She’d close off her memories just as she closed and locked the door behind her. They would never see each other again.
It was simpler that way.
*
Tall, dark haired,and with a smattering of faint freckles across her cheeks, Scarlet had decided to attend the bar as herself today instead of donning one of her half a dozen disguises she wore aiding the Merry Men gang. She slid a shot across the bar, her mouth set in an amused line. “Did you walk into a wall?”
Camille arched a brow at the offered whiskey. “It’s ten in the morning.”
Scarlet shrugged, her swept-back hair looking ready to escape out its knot atop her head. “You looked like you could use it. That bump on your head looks awful.”
Camille touched her temple and winced. She’d been so preoccupied with her shoulder and wrist last night, she’d forgotten Flank’s lucky punch. And she’d been so concerned her mother would see her sorry state this morning that she’d left the flat early and come straight to the Cock ’n Hen.
Luckily, no one other than Scarlet and Manny, the owner, would be here this time of day. With its gleaming, mahogany countertops and oversized window overlooking the bustling harbor, the tavern was a world set apart and a haven for a woman who needed to avoid men with a score to settle.
“So whatdidhappen?” Scarlet asked.
