Chapter 8 #3
After a few breaths, she looked over and found that he lay staring up at the ceiling, having thrown his palms over his face as if to block out the world.
Seeing this, she worried she had done something wrong, that she had failed some secret test. Afraid to speak, she watched his chest rise and fall until at last he lowered his hands and turned toward her.
His eyes were tormented, even in the hush of the firelight.
“Forgive me,” he said, voice raw. “I have no excuse for what just happened. I do not know what came over me.”
She propped herself up on one elbow. “It seemed to me that what came over you was, in fact, me. And if that was a sin, I am equally guilty.”
Lucien said nothing. His face, so full of pleasure just a few minutes ago, now bore the weight of guilt. She could not bear to see it. Reaching out, she cupped his cheek, her touch light as a feather.
“Lady Blackfen once told me that a young, virile beast like you would submit to his animal spirits in the vicinity of a young woman,” she said softly, her voice laced with a hint of teasing to ease the tension.
She did not add the rest of the countess’s words, the part about the right woman, the one he would claim and mate with for a lifetime.
That felt too intimate, too vulnerable, even now.
Lucien blinked, his eyes widening slightly. He turned towards her, though his expression remained guilty. “My mother said that? About me?”
Verity nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the seriousness of the moment. “She has a way with words, does she not? But Lucien, you must not torment yourself. What happened between us was not some base impulse alone. It was mutual. Desired.”
He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the hearthrug where they lay entwined.
“I should apologize. I intended to fight this, from the depths of my soul. Yet I find that I cannot. If I were given the same opportunity again, Verity, I fear this would happen once more. You drive me wild. I do not know what to do about it. I am a terrible person for what I have done to you. Claiming … your virtue.”
His words hung in the air, raw and honest, and Verity’s heart ached for him.
She reached for his hand, clasping it firmly in hers, their fingers interlacing as if to anchor them both.
“You are not a terrible person, Lucien. I was a willing participant. This is not your fault. If anything, it is ours together. And I do not regret it.”
He looked at her, his eyes searching hers, as if seeking some hidden truth.
For a long moment, silence enveloped them, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant hoot of an owl outside.
Slowly, the tension in his grip eased, though the storm in his gaze did not fully dissipate.
He squeezed her hand in reassurance, a gesture of appreciation, perhaps, or surrender.
“You are far too kind,” he murmured. “Far too generous with a man who has just compromised you beyond repair.”
Verity shook her head. “Compromised? Lucien, we are both adults. And in this moment, I feel more alive than I ever have. Do not diminish that.”
He released her hand gently and rose to his feet, his movements graceful despite the evident turmoil within him.
He crossed to the desk, retrieving a handkerchief from a drawer, its fine linen embroidered with his initials.
Returning to her side, he knelt once more, his touch tender as he helped her clean the evidence of their passion from her skin.
The intimacy of the act made her cheeks flush anew, but she did not pull away.
As he worked, he began to speak, his voice low and measured.
“We must discuss what comes next, Verity. This cannot be ignored. I will not allow you to suffer the consequences alone. Marriage is the only honorable path, though I know it is not what you envisioned for yourself. I will arrange for a license. We can?—”
His words trailed off abruptly as he glanced toward the window, his body freezing in place.
Verity followed his gaze, sitting up to peer out into the fading light.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the woods that bordered the estate.
The trees stood sentinel, their leaves rustling in the evening breeze, but nothing seemed amiss to her eyes. Yet Lucien’s face had paled.
“Lucien? What is it?”
He turned back to her, his expression a mask of apology and urgency. “Forgive me, Verity. Please. I promise we will discuss what has happened in the morning. But I must see to something right away. It cannot wait.”
Before she could utter a word in response, he had risen, snatching up his discarded clothing with haste.
He dressed in a blur of motion, his shirt half-tucked, his boots pulled on without care for the stockings.
Then he was at the door, pausing only to call out in a sharp voice that echoed through the hall. “Hounds!”
The sound of paws scrambling on the polished floors followed, and then he was gone.