Chapter Eleven
“I did,” he answered honestly, staring out at the horizon. “She was my anchor when I had nothing else. And when she died…” His throat tightened. “When she died, I grieved for her. For the mother of my child, for the woman who’d made me feel alive.”
He glanced at Courtney, saw the gentle sympathy in her eyes, and continued, “But looking back now, knowing what I know about who I was before…” He shook his head.
“It was a different kind of love than what we apparently had. Simpler in some ways but also built on a foundation of emptiness where my memories should have been. She didn’t care who I was but only what I could do for her.
She just wanted out of her horrible life of destitution, and I can’t blame her for that. ”
“I can’t imagine how disorienting this situation is for you,” Courtney said, her voice soft with genuine compassion.
“The hardest part was learning she kept things from me,” he admitted carefully. “Not just about who I might have been, but about our life together. Small things at first, that grew larger over time.”
Lucien let out a bitter laugh. “The irony is, I still don’t know all of it.
There are still pieces of the puzzle that don’t quite fit.
” He thought of the truth he could never share.
That he’d never actually married Ava, that Ava-Marie was illegitimate and he felt the familiar twist of shame and fear in his gut.
Courtney seemed to sense there was more he wasn’t saying. “Is that why it’s hard for you to trust now? Because she wasn’t completely honest with you?”
Her perception startled him. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “How can you trust your own judgment when it’s been proven fallible? How can you trust others, when the one person you relied on completely wasn’t entirely forthcoming?”
“People have different reasons for keeping things to themselves,” Courtney said gently. “Not all of them malicious.”
“No,” he agreed, meeting her gaze. “They’re not.”
The unspoken question hung between them: But how do I know I can trust you? It wasn’t fair to her, he knew. She’d given him no reason to doubt her sincerity. But the wounds Ava had left were still raw, still bleeding whenever he prodded them.
“What are you looking for now, Lucien?” Courtney asked, drawing her shawl more tightly around her shoulders as the evening breeze picked up. “In a wife, I mean. I know you have no choice but to marry, due to your family’s finances, but surely you want to be happy?”
The directness of her question caught him by surprise, but then, this new Courtney seemed more forthright than the society lady he’d been told about. He found he rather liked it.
“Honesty,” he said immediately. “Above all, honesty.” The irony of this response, given his own carefully guarded secret about Ava-Marie, wasn’t lost on him.
Shame burned in his chest, but he pushed it aside.
It wasn’t truly dishonesty, he told himself.
And it wasn’t just his secret—it was Ava-Marie’s too.
It was protection for his daughter, for his family name.
“Someone who sees me as I am now, not as the man I was before. Someone who understands that I may never remember my past, and who doesn’t expect me to become someone I’m not.
Someone who would be content to live a simple life on the estate and share the burden of my title and place in this world. ”
“That seems reasonable,” she said, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“And kindness,” he continued, warming to the subject. “Someone who could love Ava-Marie as her own. Someone intelligent, who can challenge me, make me think.”
“And passion?” Courtney asked, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Surely that matters too?”
Heat crept up his neck. “Yes,” he admitted. “That too.” Ava had been as wild in bed as she had been outside of it.
She laughed, the sound carried away by the wind. “At least you’re honest about that.”
Not as honest as you deserve, he thought bitterly.
“What about you?” he asked instead. “What are you looking for in a husband? Mr. Axton Fancot seems quite attentive.”
Something flickered in her eyes—amusement, perhaps, or exasperation. “Axton is charming and kind, and yes, attentive. But…” She trailed off, looking out at the sea.
“But?” he prompted, surprised by the flicker of jealousy he felt at the mention of Fancot’s name.
“But I’m not looking for charm or attention,” she said slowly.
“I want someone who sees beyond the proper Lady Courtney that society expects. Someone who understands that I have thoughts and desires of my own, that I’m more than just a suitable match or a convenient solution to a problem.
And I want a husband who captures my heart. ”
His heart was broken, and he doubted any woman could mend it.
“And passion, of course,” she added with a small smile, echoing his earlier admission.
“Of course,” he agreed, returning her smile despite the turmoil in his chest.
She turned to face him fully, her expression suddenly serious. “How do we know, Lucien? How do we know if we could build something real together, when we’re both so different from who we were before?”
It was the question that had been haunting him since his return to London. Since the moment he’d realized that the elegant, reserved Lady Courtney might still hold feelings for him, despite everything that had happened.
“I don’t think we can know,” he said honestly. “Not with certainty. But perhaps we can discover it together.”
“How?” she asked, her voice barely audible above the sound of the waves.
Lucien shifted closer, drawn by the vulnerability in her eyes.
“We have two weeks here, away from London’s prying eyes, away from society’s expectations.
Let’s use that time to truly get to know each other as we are now.
To talk, to laugh, to see if there’s still something between us worth building upon. ”
“A trial period?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. “How pragmatic, Lord Furoe.”
“I prefer to think of it as thorough,” he countered, matching her tone. “No one builds a house without first examining the foundation.”
She laughed again, and the sound warmed him more effectively than the setting sun. “Very well. Two weeks to discover if we suit. But I have conditions.”
“Of course you do,” he said dryly, though his lips twitched with suppressed amusement. “Let me hear them.”
“Complete honesty,” she said, holding up one finger. “We must promise to speak our minds, even when it’s difficult. No hiding behind politeness or social niceties.”
He nodded, ignoring the guilty twist in his gut. He couldn’t promise complete honesty, not yet. Not about Ava-Marie. But he could be honest about everything else. “Agreed. What else?”
“No pressure,” she continued, raising a second finger. “If, at the end of these two weeks, either of us feels this isn’t right, we part as friends. No recriminations, no wounded pride.”
“That seems fair,” he agreed. “Anything else?”
A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes as she raised a third finger. “Passion. Desire. I can’t live without knowing you want me in your bed.”
Lucien’s breath caught in his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” she said, a becoming blush spreading across her cheeks despite her bold words. “How can we possibly determine if we suit without testing passion? It’s a matter of scientific inquiry.”
He laughed, surprised and delighted by this unexpected side of her. “Scientific inquiry, is it? Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of science.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “How would you propose we conduct this experiment?”
Her blush deepened, but she met his gaze steadily. “When it feels right. Not forced, not planned. Just…right. We indulge. It’s not as if you can ruin me twice.”
Something shifted between them, a tension that hadn’t been there before, or perhaps it had always been there but hadn’t been acknowledged. Lucien suddenly found himself acutely aware of the fading light, the isolation of the beach, the way her lips parted slightly as she waited for his response.
“Agreed,” he said softly. “All three conditions.”
He could have kissed her then. Part of him wanted to, wanted to bridge the small distance between them and discover if her lips were as soft as they looked, if she would respond with the same surprising boldness she’d shown in making her request.
But it wouldn’t be right. Not yet. Not with the weight of his secret about Ava and Ava-Marie still haunting him.
Instead, he rose to his feet, offering her his hand. “We should head back. The tide will be coming in soon, and dinner will be waiting.”
She took his hand, allowing him to help her up, but didn’t immediately release him. “Lucien,” she said quietly, “I meant what I said about honesty. Whatever happened in Ireland, whatever secrets you’re still keeping, I won’t judge you for them. When you’re ready to share, I’ll listen.”
The simple offer, made with such genuine compassion, nearly undid him.
For a moment, he was tempted to confess everything about Ava’s greater deceptions that he’d discovered after her death, about his fear that he might never be capable of the kind of love Courtney deserved.
But the truth about Ava-Marie’s birth remained locked away, a secret he’d never reveal.
Instead, he squeezed her hand gently. “Thank you,” he said, the words inadequate for the emotions churning inside him. And to take her mind off of secrets, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
He ran the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip.
Courtney drew in a deep breath, surprised at her body’s sudden, feminine reaction to his attentions.
Her stomach clenched into a tight, silken fist and desire bloomed.
His lips worked tenderly over hers. It was as if a strong ocean tide was pulling at her—she knew she wanted to swim, but she was scared she’d drown in the undertow.
And she still didn’t know if this man was her savior or a man who could break her heart.
Her mistake was to look into his clear green eyes, for they trapped her with pure heat.
Unable to resist, she leaned in, and her tongue slipped out to touch his.
At the small sigh that unintentionally escaped from her, the normally cool and contained Lucien disappeared, and with a groan filled with longing, he pulled her deep into an embrace and his lips firmly but gently took hers in a kiss that was—oh, goodness—familiar and different at the same time.
It thrilled and frightened her. Frightened her because she was consumed with want and need and hunger .
. . and this was a man who didn’t remember her.
His hands were wrapped tightly in her hair, holding her head exactly right for his invasion.
His body pressed into hers, and she welcomed the heat he generated.
She felt something hard and long pressing against her stomach; she knew they were going too fast, but his mouth was creating such amazing sensations that she simply pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and whimpering for more.
He gave her more. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth in a dance that demanded she follow. She dueled for dominance, her tongue entering his mouth like a queen at the head of her army. He welcomed the invasion, and another groan echoed deep in his throat as he ground his hardness against her.
This was heaven. She never wanted the kiss to end, but when his clever fingers found her hardened nipple, her knees gave out and she sagged in his arms.
Only then did he break the kiss. He took a deep breath and with his forehead touching hers, he murmured in a voice like smooth brandy, “I’m sorry. I got a bit carried away.”
She thought that a good thing. He desired her. “I guess we can cross off passion and desire as something to test.”
“Or maybe it needs a thorough evaluation while you are visiting.” He set her on her feet and took her hand. “Come. We need to get home before it gets too dark.”
As they made their way back up the cliff path, the setting sun casting long shadows before them, Courtney found herself wondering what the next two weeks might bring.
Could he learn to trust again, to open his heart?
Because unless he could, Courtney saw no possibility of a future together.
Could they build something true and lasting, or would he forever hide himself behind this fortress of fear?
She didn’t know. But for the first time since his arrival back to England, she found herself hoping—truly hoping—that he could find a way forward. But would two weeks be enough time?