“No! What do you suppose my uncle will do to my aunt and cousin if I leave? He’ll take his fury out on them. I’m certain of it.”
Lucy thought of the way her aunt had tried to help her tonight, of the fear in her eyes when Uncle Jarvis had spoken to her so harshly. Then there was Eloisa, who’d become as dear to Lucy as the sister she’d always dreamed of having. What would become of her? Uncle Jarvis might drag them out of London, and whatever hopes Eloisa had of Lord Vale would be destroyed.
Eloisa had looked so pretty tonight, with her pink cheeks and bright eyes. She might pretend her heart wasn’t bleeding, but Lucy had seen the way her cousin looked at Lord Vale. The more Lucy saw them together, the more persuaded she was Lord Vale loved Eloisa in return. Eloisa had had precious little joy in her life. Didn’t she deserve her chance at happiness?
When she raised her gaze to Ciaran, tears were burning behind her eyes. “I can’t leave them, Ciaran. I w-won’t leave them.”
Before Lucy knew what was happening, Ciaran closed the tiny sliver of space between them. He wrapped a warm hand around the back of her neck and eased her head down onto his shoulder. “Hush. I know you don’t want to leave them, but it wouldn’t be for long. Just a few weeks, until your birthday. Vale will keep an eye on them until then. Your aunt and cousin want you to be safe, Lucy.”
Lucy curled her fingers into his coat. It wasn’t at all proper to let him hold her like this, particularly when they were alone in a dark carriage, but she didn’t draw away. She sagged against him and nestled her face into the hollow of his shoulder. “But where would I go?”
Ciaran didn’t answer right away, and Lucy felt his chest move beneath her cheek in a long sigh. His hand slid away from the back of her neck and that huge, warm palm stroked over her hair.
Dear God, it felt divine.Hefelt divine. She squirmed closer, melting into the strength surrounding her. Her senses reeled as the seductive scent of clean linen and something else filled her nose. She inhaled deeply, trying to place it.
Warm skin, clean linen, a faint hint of leather…
She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Ciaran smelled even better than he felt.
His soft breath stirred the wisps of hair at her temple, tickling her skin. “I’ll take you to my brother’s country seat in Buckinghamshire. Once you’re there, you’ll be under his protection. Even if your uncle or Godfrey find out where you are, there’s a good chance they wouldn’t dare to challenge the Marquess of Huntington.”
“I can’t flee to Buckinghamshire, Ciaran. Your brother and the rest of your family don’t even know me. I can’t simply appear on their doorstep and beg them to take me in.”
“You won’t have to. I’m coming with you, of course. How can you think I’d let you tear off to Buckinghamshire alone? I told you I’d protect you, Lucy, and I meant it.”
“You want me to leave London—to flee my uncle’s protection—withyou?” Lucy’s head was spinning. What he was suggesting didn’t make sense. “It’ll cause a scandal, Ciaran! Everyone will think we’ve eloped.”
Ciaran let out a short laugh. “Wewillhave eloped. Whatever scandal there is will be short-lived, because as soon as you’re of age, I’ll marry you.”
Lucy went utterly still, a strangled breath trapped in her throat. She should have pushed away from him then. She should have raised her head from his chest at once and put some distance between them. Instead, her first impulse was to tighten her arms around him.
Her second impulse…God help her, but her second impulse was to leap into his lap and tell him she’d marry him. Somehow, all her promises to herself, her decision never to marry seemed to dissolve like dew in the morning sun. “You want to m-marry me?”
But of course, hedidn’t want to. He was offering his hand, yes, but not because he loved her. Not in the way a husband should love a wife. They were simply friends, nothing more. His strong arms around her, the solid warmth of his chest under her cheek had confused her, made her wish for things she knew could never be.
If he’d been any other man, or if she’d loved him any less, she might have agreed to marry him. But he was Ciaran, and she loved him far too much to let him give up everything he wanted for her.
Dear God, how selfish she was. She never should have allowed him to remain in London with her. He felt responsible for her now, unable to leave her behind. It would hurt her to see him go, but it would hurt her more to see him sacrifice his dream of returning to Scotland, just for her.
Lucy swallowed the lump in her throat. “I can’t marry you, Ciaran.”
She lifted her head from his chest and began to gently disentangle herself from his embrace. For a breathless moment his fingers tightened in her hair, as if he wanted to keep her against him, but then he sucked in a breath and released her. She pressed herself into the corner of the carriage, putting a few precious inches between their bodies, and tried to gather her wits.
“Don’t do this, Lucy.” Ciaran’s tone was gruff, but he held out his hand to her. “Stop this, and let me help you.”
Lucy didn’t take his hand or move toward him, but it was as if he’d wrapped her in his arms once again. Warmth flooded her, and it felt as if her heart were melting in her chest. “I told you before I never intend to marry. You teased me for it at the time, but you see, it was the truth. I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Not even for me?” His voice was low and hoarse, filled with hurt. “You won’t change your mind even for me?”
Oh, she couldn’t bear it, that break in his voice.
Lucy did move then. She leapt straight into Ciaran’s arms. “How dear you are,” she whispered, cradling his face in her hands. Then, without a second thought, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. “How dear you are, Ciaran.”
He seemed to freeze against her, but then his fingers wrapped gently around her wrists. He didn’t move her hands away from him, but he leaned back a little so he could look into her eyes. “I’d do anything for you, Lucy.” Again, his voice was gruff, but the lines of his face had softened, and one corner of his lips quirked in that half-smile she’d come to treasure.
They stared at each other without speaking, long silent moments ticking between them. Ciaran didn’t pull away again, and Lucy kept her hands on his face. His skin was warm, and the light prickle of his emerging beard tickled her palms.
Her gaze roamed over his face, coming back again and again to his mouth. A faint smile curved her lips. One had only to look at that obstinate jaw, that stubborn lower lip to see how determined a man he was. She’d seen those lips pressed together with irritation more times than she could count.
