Chapter Six
The next night, as Courtney descended the stairs of her home, her gown and hair perfect, it was a different Lucien who greeted her.
The way he looked at her, the way he kissed the knuckles of her gloved hand, the way he handed her into the carriage for their ride to the ball, all screamed flirtation.
The carriage swayed gently as it made its way through London’s darkened streets.
Courtney’s heart fluttered at Lucien’s proximity; his thigh pressed warmly against hers.
Something had changed in him since last night at the opera.
The way he looked at her now held an intensity she remembered from before—before Ireland, before his memory loss, before everything changed.
“You look very beautiful tonight.”
She could feel her face blush. “Thank you. You look very handsome too.”
His hand moved to his jacket pocket, and she saw him withdraw a familiar parchment.
Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized it in the passing glow of the streetlamps.
The drawing. Her drawing. Heat flooded her face as she remembered that intimate morning, the way the early sunlight had played across his bare chest as she’d sketched him, both of them still warm and languid from their lovemaking.
“I found this,” he said softly, “hidden in my wardrobe behind a loose board.” His voice held a note of curiosity rather than accusation. “You signed it.”
“I—yes.” Her voice trembled slightly. “It was the morning before you left for Ireland. We had…” She broke off, unable to continue.
“Were we lovers?” The direct question, spoken in that slight Irish lilt he’d acquired, made her shiver.
“Once,” she whispered. “Just once. That night. We were to be married anyway, and you were leaving, and I—” She stopped, gathering her courage. “I didn’t want to risk you dying without having known me completely. And afterwards, I never regretted that choice.”
His thumb traced the edge of the paper, and she could see him studying the drawing in the intermittent light. “It’s quite…intimate.”
“I drew you without your permission,” she said softly, lost in the memory.
“But you loved it. You said it was proof of how I saw you and of our love for each other.” A tear slipped down her cheek.
“When you didn’t return… I have worried that someone might have found it.
But Lauren never mentioned it. I didn’t know if you’d kept it at all. ”
“I did keep it.” He turned to look at her then, and she saw something flare in his eyes—not memory but understanding. “That’s why you never married. Not just because you mourned me, but because we had…” He trailed off, clearly trying to find the right words.
“Because I had given myself to you,” she finished quietly.
“Yes. How could I marry another when my heart—and my body—belonged to you?” More tears fell, but she didn’t try to hide them.
“But I don’t want you to feel obligated.
I want to marry for love. And after watching Tiffany and Wolf, I suddenly realized that if a man loved me, he wouldn’t care.
I had started to allow men to court me. I’m getting to an age where I can’t wait much longer if I don’t wish to be alone for the rest of my life. And I don’t.”
His hand found hers in the darkness, his callused fingers threading through hers. “The woman who drew this,” he said slowly, “who gave herself to me that night…she wasn’t the proper society lady everyone describes. She was passionate. Brave. Willing to risk everything for love.”
“I was different with you,” she admitted. “You made me feel safe enough to be myself. To want things. To take them. To share my dreams and longings with you. I want that again.”
The carriage hit a rough patch of road, pressing them closer together.
Courtney felt the familiar heat of his body, so achingly similar to that last morning together.
But this wasn’t her Lucien, not really. This was a new man, one who looked at her drawing with fresh eyes, seeing not the memory of their passion but the promise of what might still be possible.
“I’ve been a fool,” he said finally. “Looking at you and seeing only what society sees—the perfect, proper lady. But this…” He held up the drawing. “This shows me who you really are. Who we were together.”
“Perhaps we could find that again,” she whispered before she could stop herself. “If you wanted.”
His fingers tightened on hers. “I was scared of you. I’m so far from the perfect gentleman. And you, you seemed such a perfect lady.”
“Nobody is perfect, Lucien. But people can be perfect together. Or perfect for each other.”
The carriage was slowing as they approached their destination. She held her breath waiting to see what he said.
“Will you save me both waltzes tonight?” he asked, tucking the drawing carefully away.
“Always,” she replied, and for the first time since his return, her smile held no sadness, only hope.
Then his smile died. “I have something else to confess. It involves Farah and Rockwell.”
“I already know she was in Ireland with him and helped find you. Ashley, Rockwell’s sister, let it slip.”
He looked out the window, seeming lost in thought.
“I can’t remember ever being Viscount Furoe, but I remember what it means to be a man.
To be a good man. Farah risked her reputation coming to rescue me.
I don’t know if I’d have made the transition home without her.
She was less threatening than Rockwell somehow and she was kind to Ava-Marie and Caitria. ”
She held her breath, her heart getting ready to shatter. He was in love with Farah.
He turned to face her. “She’s in love with Rockwell but the stupid man is running scared.
She doesn’t want to marry him, believing he will leave her behind as he sails the world.
So, I made her a promise. If it becomes common knowledge that she was in Ireland with Rockwell, and she does not wish to marry him, I will marry her to protect her reputation. ”
He didn’t love her. It was merely a promise. Thank the lord.
“So, you see, I can’t openly court you until I know I will never have to make good on that promise. Since my return, I’m constantly reminded about what honor means to a gentleman.”
Her heart gave a kick. Farah would never take Lucien up on that offer, but she would not say that. He was trying to show her he could be a gentleman, even though he’d forgotten he ever was one.
“When will that be, do you think?” His smile was so sensual she wanted to grab him and kiss him.
“I have a plan to make Rockwell face his real feelings. But it might mean I have to look as though I’m interested in Farah. Jealousy is a powerful emotion. And it may hurt you.”
I’d be okay with anything if it meant you could focus on me, she wanted to scream. “Perhaps I can help too. If I make Rockwell believe your intentions are real.”
“We could do this together. The pair of them won’t realize what’s going on, but we will.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I shall pay Farah special attention tonight and you will warn Rockwell about the fact he has a rival for her affections.”
Courtney’s resolve wavered slightly as she prayed this plan didn’t backfire on them both.
*
Backfire? It bloody well more than backfired… Courtney had never experienced a more mortifying moment in all her life.
One moment, she had been sharing secret smiles with Lucien across the ballroom, both reveling in their clever scheme to push Rockwell and Farah together. The next, her world had crumbled as Lucien announced his engagement to Farah before the entire ton.
A lady friend of Rockwell’s, who had seen him and Farah in Ireland, realized the lie Rockwell had told her.
In Ireland, he’d tried to pass Farah off as his sister Ashley.
The lie was exposed when the lady turned up at the ball…
and met the real Ashley! Now everyone knew Farah had been in Ireland with Rockwell and Lucien.
The whispers had started immediately, rustling through the crowd like wind through autumn leaves. And while Courtney understood Lucian had no choice and was protecting her friend, her insides clenched as she analyzed how this could turn out.
“Wasn’t he engaged to Lady Courtney before his disappearance?”
“Poor dear, jilted by the same man.”
“How utterly humiliating.”
She maintained her composure with remarkable fortitude, smiling placidly as if the announcement was of no consequence whatsoever.
Even as her pride splintered in her chest, she had nodded graciously, accepting condolences with a practiced laugh and dismissive wave of her fan.
Please, please Rockwell, do the right thing…
“How extraordinary,” she’d murmured to Lady Worthington, who had practically sprinted across the ballroom to offer her sympathies. “I wish them every happiness.”
Courtney could stand it no longer and followed Lucien as he strode from the ballroom, her heart still reeling from the public humiliation of his engagement announcement. She found him on the moonlit terrace, his hands braced against the stone balustrade, his shoulders rigid with tension.
“Lucien,” she began softly, approaching him with careful steps. “We need to talk about what just happened.”
He didn’t turn around. “I’ve ruined everything. My life. My family’s life and now Farah’s and your life. If not for me, Rockwell would never have gone to Ireland and Farah would never have been on that damn boat.”
“I’m proud of you for doing the right thing.
Maybe it’s for the best. You make a new life, and I can make one, too, without burdens from our past. There is someone else I was considering.
I’ll be all right. And you will be all right, because you don’t love either me or Farah. It’s Farah I’m worried about.”
“Someone else?” How could he sound so hurt when they hardly knew each other and he’d just proposed to another woman?