Me.He cleared his throat. “A megrim.”
“Naturally.” For a moment, there was nothing but birdsong between them, then she said, “Why can I not know my own mind? It should be an easy enough decision. Companion or wife. And Mr. Tilbury is a fine man.”
Remmy growled, his hands clenching and unclenching. “Be careful with your words, sweetheart. Every time Tilbunny so much as accidentally brushes against you, I want to punch his smug face.”
She looked at him, her expression entirely blank. “I’m not sure what to do with that.”
“If he is what you choose… I’ll check my impulse to stab his eye with a fork and pop it out like an olive. But I’d prefer you make a different choice.”
“Please do not re-enactKing Learwith a Surrey vicar whom I might marry.”
“No promises.”
“Are you… jealous?”
What would she do if he told her he loved her? Right here where he’d told her the first time. Hug him and pat him on the head and send him away? Absolutely not risking that again. But he had to do something to make her feelbetter. Each downturn of her lips was like a knife between his ribs.
“I wish,” she said, “I had your confidence. You do not care what others think about you, and that… opens up the world for you. My own world is very closed. Because I care too much what others think.”
He sighed. “It’s a lie.”
She froze, peeked over her shoulder at him. “What’s a lie?”
“The whole thing. Me being a rake. Or—” God. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a farce, an exaggeration. I needed to drum up interest in my theatre, and I entered into a bet with a friend, and it led to a bit of a reputation, and I… exaggerated it a bit. And it’s worked. So far. Everyone loves to gawk at a rake, especially when he’s been named by the Belle.” He held his arms wide, then dropped them heavy to his sides. “I do care what others think. I actively cultivate their thoughts, and I must be larger than I am, more confident, because I… am not that man at all. I’m not brilliant like Kit or brave like the twins. The only thing I’ve ever been slightly good at is music and the Folly.”
“Youaregood at those things. But you’re good at people, too.”
He rolled his eyes.
“It’s true. You make them feel special, as if they’re in on some grand joke with you. You always made me feel less lonely. Like you do now.” She toyed with the end of a ribbon on her gown.
He wanted to kiss her. Hope gave him reason to. Instead he said, “I’m scared. Terrified I might give everything I am for the Folly, and it will still fail.”
“It won’t. It cannot. It’s your destiny.”
She was his destiny.
After a moment’s silence, he said, “I’m like one of those brittle leaves you’re always drawing. They look excellentat a distance, whole and sturdy. But close up, they are fragile and crumbling.”
“I think those leaves are beautiful. I wouldn’t keep drawing them otherwise. When the skin—or tissue or whatever you wish to call it—of the leaf begins to die, it reveals its skeleton, and even when the brittle skin crumbles, the skeleton can remain, the strongest architecture, and elegant even in the midst of disintegration. Even if the theatre fails, Remmy, you remain.”
“A skeleton?”
“Strong.” She tugged on his sleeve, and he caught a glimpse of her sly smile. “Besides, I’ve heard you’re far from skeletal. You’re quite proud of yourarchitecture, aren’t you? You must be or you would not go about half dressed all the time.”
“Not all the time, but… it’s damn freeing. Peeling off clothes is like unwrapping everyone’s expectations, all the rules, responsibilities. It’s letting go of all of that and being yourself only for a brief space of time.”
Her cheeks heated into roses to rival her hair. “I cannot say I’ve ever felt free. As you describe it. And perhaps that is why I cannot make my decision. I am quite suffocated by clothing. No air to think.” Her eyes glistened, and he reached for her, but before he could even brush his fingertips against her skin, she took off through the woods.
“Tessa?” He followed quickly with long steps over roots and rocks. “Slow down! You’ll trip!”
She didn’t slow. She sprinted for the lake as fast as the terrain allowed.
And he ducked a shoe that came spiraling toward his head.
“Tessa!”
She bent over, hopping on one foot as she took off the other shoe and tossed it behind her.He almost tripped over that one. Then she was running barefoot, skirts raised, stockings flashing white in the summer-green world.
