Chapter 14 #3
“By convincing you that you are extraordinary,” he replied, stepping closer. “You are unlike any other woman I have ever met.”
Her lips curved in faint mockery. “Because I am the diamond?”
“Devil take it,” he muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I do not care what title the queen bestowed upon you. I care about you.”
The confession escaped before his better judgment could restrain it, but even as the words hung between them, he knew they were true.
He did care for her—more deeply than was wise.
She stirred something in him he could not name—something equal parts admiration and torment.
He was halfway in love with her already, though he dared not speak it aloud.
She wasn’t ready. And perhaps neither was he.
“I care about you, too,” she murmured, and those simple words stole the air from his lungs.
He took a steadying breath and placed his hand gently on her sleeve. “Then trust me, Charlotte,” he said. “You may wear a mask for the world to see, but the woman beneath it—the one you hide—is the one I wish everyone could see.”
“It is safer for me to hide behind a mask.”
He studied her, his thumb brushing unconsciously against the fine fabric of her gown. “In any given moment, we have two choices,” he said. “To step forward into growth or to retreat into safety. You’ve been retreating for far too long.”
She dabbed at her eyes with his handkerchief, her voice trembling. “I don’t even know if I can remove the mask anymore. It has become a part of me.”
“No,” he countered, his voice roughened by emotion. “It hasn’t. You’ve let other people’s opinions of you define who you think you are. But they don’t get to decide your worth.”
Charlotte gave a weak smile. “You make it sound so simple.”
He shook his head and let his hand slide down her arm until his fingers found hers again.
Their hands fit together naturally, as though they had been waiting for this moment all along.
“It isn’t simple,” he said. “But living a lie—pretending to be someone you’re not—is far more exhausting, is it not? ”
She looked down at their joined hands, her thumb brushing lightly over his. “Even if I wanted to make a change, I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Start here,” he encouraged. “Start by being true to yourself. You can’t change the past. It’s already written. But the future…” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “The future is yours to shape. You only need to believe it.”
Before Charlotte could respond, a familiar voice cut in.
“I do hope I am interrupting.”
Luca stiffened and turned, his pulse jolting. Lady Alcott stood a few paces away, her gloved hands clasped loosely before her, an unmistakable gleam of amusement in her eyes. How in the blazes had he not heard her approach?
Charlotte snatched her hand from his, the warmth between them vanishing instantly, and took a hasty step back. Her cheeks were still flushed, her composure only half-reassembled. “Jane… we were merely discussing…”
“The weather?” Lady Alcott suggested, one perfectly arched brow rising.
Charlotte forced a laugh that sounded altogether too high-pitched to be convincing. “Yes. The weather.”
Luca suppressed a smile. Of all the lies Charlotte could tell, that was the one she reached for?
Lady Alcott did not look persuaded. “I see,” she said slowly, her gaze sweeping over both of them before landing squarely on Luca. “I was merely curious if Lord Luca would like to join us for dinner this evening.”
Luca inclined his head in a bow. “I would be honored, my lady.” His tone was steady, though inwardly, he was grateful for the invitation. It would give him another chance to speak to Charlotte.
“Wonderful.” Lady Alcott smiled, though there was mischief glinting in her eyes. “I shall inform the cook. I must assume you’ll need to return home to change.”
“I do,” Luca replied.
“Then we mustn’t keep you,” she simply said, her tone polite but pointed.
Luca recognized a dismissal when he heard one. “Excuse me,” he offered, bowing once more before turning to leave.
As he walked back along the gravel path towards the house, he resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder.
He could still feel Charlotte’s gaze on him—or perhaps it was only his imagination, wishful thinking.
His thoughts churned as he reached the gate.
He’d meant to tell her about Mr. Dawlish and the man’s connection to the Duke of Brackenford, but the moment had slipped away.
And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
For the briefest moment before Jane’s interruption, Charlotte had looked at him as though she saw something more than a sparring partner or an inconvenient ally. There had been vulnerability in her eyes, yes—but also something dangerously close to trust.
He would tell her about Mr. Dawlish tonight, he resolved. But first, he needed to steady himself. Because if Charlotte Winslow looked at him like that again, no amount of reason or restraint would be enough to keep his heart from betraying him.