He stared at her, his skin going cold. “It changes bloodyeverything. Jesus, Lucy. Last night, you…I would never…do you think I would have come to your bed if I didn’t believe you’d changed your mind about marrying me? Do you think I’m the sort of man who’d steal a lady’s innocence and then abandon her? I’m not a villain.”
She was quiet for a moment, her dark eyes unreadable. Then she asked, “Is that why you came to my bed? To lure me into marrying you?”
Lure? Hurt and anger swelled in Ciaran’s chest, but he sucked in a quick breath to calm himself. He must be misunderstanding her, because he couldn’t believe his Lucy could really be accusing him of trying to manipulate her into marriage.
No, something was wrong. That bland expression on her face was too practiced, too careful. There was something else going on here. She was hiding something from him.
“I took you to my bed for one reason, Lucy.” He took her hand and gently laced his fingers with hers. “Because I wanted you. I still want you, and I think you want me, too.”
“I do. I—I did. I can hardly deny that while we’re still lying in bed together.”
She let out a little laugh, but there was something hard and raw about it, and the sound tore at Ciaran’s chest. Did shewantto deny it? He shook his head, a strange, dark foreboding curling into a tight ball inside his chest. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”
Lucy’s face softened. She gripped his hand hard, her fingers curling into his palm. “What happened is we made love, and it was…it was special, Ciaran, but I haven’t changed my mind about marriage.” Her voice cracked a little, and her gaze dropped to their joined hands. “You haven’t changed yours, either. Your future is in Scotland. I gave myself to you because I wanted you. You didn’t steal anything from me, and I won’t steal your future from you.”
He shook his head to try and make sense of his chaotic thoughts. He tried to grasp them, to catch them on his fingertips and line them up in the proper order, but his mind and his heart were in turmoil.
How could she think she was stealing anything from him?
She hadn’t stolen a thing.
She’dgivenhim something. Something that felt like…everything.
“You’re not taking anything away from me. How can you think that? Don’t you see? Iwantto marry you. My God, Lucy, you’re my dearest friend.”
He wanted to take her into his arms then, to explain, to make her understand what he was trying to say—to makebothof them understand—but she recoiled from his touch. Ciaran froze, his heart rushing into his throat. She’d never done that before—never shrunk away from him as if she couldn’t bear for him to touch her.
“And you’re mine, but I told you last night, Ciaran. Best friends don’t marry each other.”
The words cut through Ciaran. Hurt and anger poured from the wound, drowning him in pain and ugliness. “They do if one of them has ruined the other.”
Lucy heard the coldness in his voice and she went still. “Is that what you think happened last night, Ciaran? That you ruined me?”
“It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference what I think. You’ve fled your uncle’s protection, Lucy. Everyone will assume I’ve ruined you.” A harsh laugh fell from Ciaran’s lips. “And they’ll be right, won’t they?”
An angry flush darkened Lucy’s face, and she grabbed at the tangle of blankets and dragged them up to her chin. “Still trying to save me, Ciaran? Ever the hero. This is no different than the prizefight, or that morning on the beach, is it?”
“No! That isn’t what this is about. I—it’s…” Ciaran dragged a hand through his hair. What was it about? God, he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. “You’re myfriend, Lucy. I could never hurt you.”
Ciaran saw at once, without understanding that this had been the wrong thing to say. Lucy flinched at his words, her grip on the blankets going so tight her knuckles went white. “I never needed you to save me. I didn’t need it then, and I don’t need it now.”
He leapt from the bed, suddenly so furious he couldn’t stay still a moment longer. He snatched up his breeches and tugged them over his hips, not bothering to fasten his falls. “I warned you this would happen. That morning on the beach, I told you men and women couldn’t be friends, and damned if I wasn’t right all along.”
She glared at him over the edge of the coverlet. “No, you weren’t! You said a man can’t be friends with a woman without someone shrieking at him to marry her. Well, the only one shrieking about marriage here isyou.”
Ciaran threw his hands up in the air, at his wit’s end. “Christ, you’re stubborn! You were a stubborn friend, and you’re an even more stubborn lover.”
“I’m not being stubborn. I’m trying to…” She broke off on a sharp breath. When she spoke again, she was nearly pleading. “You think you want to marry me now, but marriage isn’t a holiday in Brighton, Ciaran, or an afternoon at Brighton Racetrack. It isn’t a few hours this time, or a few weeks. It’s your entire life. You don’t understand what you’re promising.”
“No, Lucy. It’syouwho doesn’t understand. I know exactly what it means to promise a woman my entire life.”
Lucy stiffened. “I—I don’t understand what you mean.”
Ciaran hesitated. He’d never once mentioned his former betrothed to Lucy. Never once breathed her name, but the words were there now, waiting to be spoken. “I made that promise once before, when I became betrothed to Isobel Campbell.”
It wasn’t until Ciaran heard himself say Isobel’s name aloud that he understood hewantedto tell Lucy about her—had wanted it for some time.
Isobel Campbell. His childhood friend, and the lady he was meant to marry. The lady who’d abandoned him when he needed her most. Ciaran went still, bracing himself for a painful wave of memories from his past. Memories of another lifetime, of a love and a promise he’d thought would last forever.
