She dismounted and handed the reins to her groom, informing him to meet her at the edge of the park. Julian was surprised by the order, giving him far more time to converse than he thought she would want.
“You look well,” he said, careful to not be so formal as to use her title, but not so impertinent to use her given name.
“As do you.” She smiled and swung her riding crop. “Will you walk me to the entrance?”
“Of course,” he said, and they fell into step. He could feel her examination of him, the smile that played upon her lips as she did so.
“I lied,” she said.
“Oh?” Julian turned to meet her gaze, which was nothing short of triumphant.
“You don’t look well. You look simply awful.”
He nodded, aware that he’d lost weight in the past few weeks, as he spent the hours he couldn’t sleep walking the length of London. Perhaps it was dangerous to make himself a target of the underbelly of London, but while he felt watched at times, he also felt that those pickpockets and cutthroats pitied him. As if they could sense his moral turmoil and his—if he dared say it—heartbreak.
Because he had finally come to realize that he had been ready to pitch himself head over heels into Ophelia’s world. He had loved being in Paris with her and her friends. The group of them had fit, even though he was new. The other men were doting sorts, proud of their accomplished and unusual wives. None of them required the chest pounding that often occurred when meeting a group of men. They were all so happy. Content. And he wanted to be among them.
Paris made it seem as if he could step into her world, her family, this bosom of warmth and support. The kind he’d never had. And at the center of it all was this charismatic, driven, intelligent, beautiful woman. She was a culmination and epicenter of an incredible group of people, and she led them.
The biggest miracle of all was that she wantedhim. Broke, broken, and old. But she wanted to hear his stories, learn his perspectives. As if she wanted to live his life vicariously through him. And when she’d wanted one small, private bit, he’d shunned her for no other reason than he was appalled someone might ask for it. She had wanted to know him. To see him without all of the “adventurer” labels slapped all over his life. She’d wanted to know what love had looked like to him, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Or even defend himself. His denial ate at him, gnawing like a mouse worrying a burlap sack, waiting for its contents to spill out.
“Do I look so tragic?” Julian asked, looking at Delphine.
She examined him again after her teasing, and her expression shifted from glee to cynicism. “You do. But I’m guessing it’s not caused by our parting.”
Julian licked his lips, hoping to come up with a happy turn of phrase that would soften the blow. “Ah. No.”
“Thought not,” Delphine murmured.
They walked in silence for a moment.
“I did miss your company,” Julian said, wanting to offer her something.
Delphine laughed, a brittle, almost sarcastic sound. “I’m sure you did.”
“Your friendship. Your eye for art, your appreciation of music.” Julian watched her as he clarified.
Her lips thinned. “We were better as friends, weren’t we?”
“I think so.”
She listed away from him, swinging her horse crop in her hand.
“What is it?” A leftover ember of affection smoldered in him. An echo of what she had wanted from him.
“It’s a pity. I rather liked you. More than friendship. At least, for a while.” She gave him a whisper of a smile.
“You would have tired of me in no time.”
“That’s probably true.”
June was almost upon them, and the park was crowded, even though it was not quite the fashionable hour yet. Julian didn’t like the crowds that came with the fashionable hour.
“It’s Miss Bridewell, isn’t it?”
Denying the claim flashed through his mind. But it was pointless. Delphine was an astute reader of people. “Yes.”
“But she was to marry Lord Fairport.”
