She hesitated, but when he didn’t reach to take the letter back she shook her head and broke the wax seal. She read a few lines, then glanced up at him. “She begs your pardon for not writing back at once. She and her husband were in Kent, and have just returned.”
“I thought so. Go on.”
She looked down, and Ciaran watched as her gaze moved farther and farther down the page. It was a short letter—one side only in Isla’s neat script—but its effect on Lucy was profound.
Her breath grew short, and she pressed one hand hard against her lips. When she reached the last line the letter fluttered from her slack fingers and drifted to the floor.
Her gaze met Ciaran’s. “It’s—it’s about the first Countess of Godfrey.”
“Alice Trentham.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. “You know about her?”
“I found out tonight. Lord Henley’s country estate is in the same neighborhood as Godfrey’s. Henley repeated the story to Vale, and Vale told me. That’s why we came for you tonight, Lucy. I was worried.”
Worried. No, he hadn’t been worried. He’d been bloody terrified, panicked he’d be too late. That he’d arrive in Portman Square and find Jarvis and Godfrey had gotten there first, and taken Lucy away.
“She, ah…the Countess of Godfrey. She died very young.” Lucy’s hands were trembling.
“She did. Far too young. I won’t let that happen to you, Lucy.” Ciaran leaned forward and steadied her hands in his. “We’ll go to Buckinghamshire and marry at my brother’s estate the day after your birthday.”
Lucy drew her hands away and rose unsteadily from the chair. Ciaran’s gaze followed her as she wandered the room, and somehow, even before she said a word, he knew.
She’s going to refuse me again.
When she turned to face him, her expression was bleak. “I’ll go with you to Buckinghamshire, but I can’t marry you, Ciaran.”
“If you come to Buckinghamshire with me and we don’t marry, your reputation will be ruined.” Ciaran spoke through gritted teeth. He was holding onto his control by the thinnest thread.
Lucy shook her head. “I’m the Earl of Bellamy’s daughter, Ciaran. My reputation was ruined long ago.”
“Stop it, Lucy.” Ciaran shot to his feet, his hands clenching into fists. “Stop saying that. You’renotmad. You’re smart, and sweet and funny, and beautiful—”
“Don’t.” She held up a trembling hand. “Don’t make this harder for me. Please, Ciaran.”
But Ciaran didn’t stop. He couldn’t. “I care about you, Lucy. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Lucy smiled faintly, but her dark eyes were sad. “People don’t marry their best friends, Ciaran.”
Her voice was soft, but it cut through him, puncturing his chest, slashing across his heart. He couldn’t explain why it hurt so much, but her words silenced him at once. For long, aching moments they simply stood there, staring at each other across a deep, empty chasm—far deeper and emptier than anything Ciaran would have believed could open between them.
Lucy was the first to break the silence. “I—I’m tired.”
He nodded, reaching to take her arm, but his hand dropped to his side before he touched her. He led her back toward the entryway, the dull thud of his shoes echoing in his head as they approached the door.
Travers was waiting for them there. “The coach is in the drive, sir.”
“Thank you, Travers.”
“I wish you a safe journey, sir.” Travers bowed, and then Ciaran and Lucy were alone in the shadowed hallway.
Ciaran reached for the door, but before he could open it, Lucy stopped him with a hesitant touch on his arm. “Wait, Ciaran.”
He turned to face her, but said nothing.
“Are you…” Her voice was shaking, and tears once again filled her eyes. “Are you angry with me?”
Hewasangry, but it wasn’t the anger that was tearing him apart. The anger was only floating on the surface of something much deeper, and much more painful.
