Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
LUCIEN
I make it several steps before my better nature, such as it is, kicks in. I’m trying to be a good guy here and give Tamsyn the space she just asked for. It’s not too much to ask. Doesn’t she deserve that from me? Yeah. She does.
So I go instead to my study to divert myself. I’ll catch up on some work for the Vanderbilt deal for a couple of hours. Believe it or not, the finance world doesn’t care about my personal crisis, and billions are riding on this thing closing in a few days.
I put in a call to the lawyers, then one to my brother. I already phoned Roman earlier to bring him up to speed on Ravenna’s resurrection, but we also have business to discuss, since we run the family company together.
I’m starving after all that. So I head to the kitchen and make short work of the grilled swordfish dinner that Chef left for me in the fridge. My good behavior continues as I trudge upstairs and hit the shower, letting the hot water work some of the kinks out of my shoulders. I’m freaking saintly with the good deeds. Until I remember that the last time I was in the shower was with Tamsyn, and my entire body clenches with longing and need.
Fuck my life.
Was it only last night that we showered together? How can a million years pass in the span of twenty-four hours? When will I get a grip on my growing obsession with her? Soon? Ever?
I get out and towel off, then throw on my T-shirt and knit shorts the way I do every other night of my life. Then it’s back downstairs for my nightly scotch. I’ve got my drink in hand as I roam the house, clicking off lights and double-checking locks, and I actually go so far as to congratulate myself on my unexpected success. Look at me. Tamsyn asked for space, and I gave her space. Well done, man. I feel fully entitled to a Nobel Prize in discipline. I hit the stairs again, planning to retire for the night with full honors. My plan is to go to bed alone and stay there. Swear to God.
But then a little devil whispers into my ear that I should look out the window at the cottage and make sure she’s okay. Just to make sure there’s no, I don’t know, smoke pouring from the windows or any other sign of distress. Maybe she needs an extra pillow or a few more rolls of toilet paper. Someone should check, and I’m the only one left on the grounds to do it.
So I head to one of the front windows, still sipping and still determined to stay right here where I belong. Until I see the golden glow of lights from her shaded windows and the telltale blue flicker of the television.
Not exactly flares at sea or the Bat-Signal. But I still feel irrevocably drawn to her.
So much for my good behavior.
I set my drink down, open the big door and head across the lawn to her. Which was surely a foregone conclusion anyway, despite my best intentions. The next thing I know, I’m tapping on her door and praying for a plausible excuse to pop into my mind. Oh, hey. Just wanted to make sure you had enough toothpaste and mouthwash . Something like that. But there’s nothing.
The door swings open and there she is. My…what? My joy and peace? My comfort? My girlfriend? Why do those words feel comically insignificant compared to the way my heart pounds when I see her? With her makeup gone, her feet bare and her body in a short and virginal white cotton summer nightgown that shows her pretty pink nipples through the triangle cups, she has zero idea that she brings my sunshine with her when she comes and takes it away again when she leaves.
And I plan to keep it that way.
It takes a great deal of effort for me to drag my attention back up to her eyes, but I eventually manage it. “Hey.”
She gives me a wry half-smile. “Lucien. What a complete shock to see you again tonight after I said I’d see you tomorrow.”
I shrug, unrepentant if it gets me what I want. “I’m nothing if not true to form. Neither one of us really expected me to stay away from you the whole night. Can I come in?”
“That doesn’t seem like a good idea,” she says even though she looks tempted.
“I’ll just stay for a minute.” I edge past her and glance at the TV, where the frozen image of a couple in a steamy clinch fills the screen. “Is that a carriage?”
“It is.”
I go straight to the sofa and install myself before she can object further. “Great. I love carriages.”
“You never mentioned you were a Bridgerton fan,” she says, following me and sitting way down at the other end of the sofa.
“ Bridgerton . Huge fan. Love it. Watch it every chance I get.”
A glimmer of amusement from her. “This from the guy who I’m guessing never watches TV and would probably only watch European soccer and, I don’t know, Martin Scorsese movies if he did.”
I laugh because she’s not wrong. Matter of fact, either choice sounds delightful.
She narrows her eyes at me. “So who’s your favorite Bridgerton character?”
“Smedley Whitkins,” I say without missing a beat.
She bursts into laughter that lights up not just her brown eyes but this whole cottage and my world and my soul . I want to laugh with her but I can’t, because that’s when it hits me. That’s when I know . I don’t have much of a heart left after what I’ve been through with my marriage. But the damaged remnants love Tamsyn. Love her. She’s so smart. So funny. So kind and good. So fucking sexy.
And she gets me. The parts of her that I let her see, anyway.
Her laughter tapers off, probably killed by my silent intensity as I resolve to keep my newfound realization to myself and keep things light for now. It’s too much, far too soon. I barely got her to agree to stay as it is. I’m not about to say or do anything to scare her off. Instead, we stare at each other for a long beat or two, during which we come to the unstated but mutual conclusion that I’m not leaving and she’s not kicking me out.
“So,” she finally says, her color high as she clears her throat. “How did it go with the detective?”
“What? Oh, the detective.” I glance away, determined to get my brain back online as quickly as possible. “Fine, I guess. She left right after you did.”
“She seems nice.”
“She also seems pretty sharp. I’m hoping she’ll help us figure out what’s going on. I’ve already reached out to my private investigators. I want some answers.” I shoot her a pointed glance. “And I don’t want to talk about that part of my life any more tonight.”
“Aye, cap.”
I decide to ignore the sarcasm. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Oh, I, ah…” She tries to look upbeat and smile but fails miserably. “Tomorrow is my dad’s birthday. So I want to go to his grave. Maybe bring some flowers.”
Whoa. I didn’t see that coming. “Oh. Where’s the grave?”
“Brooklyn. My old neighborhood in Bushwick.”
The thought of her making this sad and solitary journey back to Brooklyn does not thrill me, and I’m sure my expression reflects it.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she says, frowning.
“Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”
“During all our downtime in the last day or so, you mean?”
“Point taken. Is my driver taking you?”
A startled laugh. “First of all, I had no idea you had a driver, but I’m somehow not surprised. Second, no . Of course not. That’s too much trouble.”
“So you’re taking one of the cars?” I say, thinking that the Range Rover makes the most sense for her. It’s nice and sturdy, and all traffic into the city involves maniacs and people with death wishes.
“ No . I’m taking the train.”
“The train? I can have someone take you. Hell, it might make more sense to send you in the helicopter.”
“The helicopter ? You have a helicopter ?”
I laugh at her stupefaction. “Of course we have a helicopter. Although I don’t know where the nearest landing site in Brooklyn would be. We can figure it out, though.”
She gapes at me. “That is the most wasteful and ridiculous suggestion I’ve ever heard in my life. Why are you acting as though I’ve announced plans to ride a tricycle through the nearest war zone?”
Well, she’s got me there.
I admit I may be overreacting, but I don’t like any part of this plan. Not the idea of her going on this emotional mission by herself when I’ve got meetings with Ravenna’s doctors tomorrow and can’t go with her. Certainly not the idea of her disappearing into the depths of our transit system. I know that millions of people successfully ride the trains every day, but I don’t give a fuck about them. I only care about her . And I don’t know how to navigate the trains. What I do know is how to entrust her to a driver who’s worked for me for years in a car that’s safe enough to withstand the local traffic.
The funniest thing about this whole situation is that I see myself thinking these thoughts. I know I’ve gone off the rails. But I don’t care. I live in a world where women can be there one moment and gone the next. It was a shock but not a hardship when Ravenna disappeared. It was a relief on some levels. I’ll admit that. And my mother’s sudden death when I was thirteen, of course. But if Tamsyn disappeared?
I’m positive I would not survive.
But she’s still staring at me as though I’ve started braying like a donkey. I don’t blame her. “Tamsyn…”
“You do understand that I’ve been taking the train by myself since way before you arrived on the scene a few weeks ago, right?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want you going by yourself.”
“Because…?”
It’s just late enough and I’m just tired enough and have had enough to drink to let my guard down. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Why is that so hard to understand?”
“Lucien. What could happen?”
“Probably nothing,” I say, deciding that now is not the time to mention my biggest concerns. Namely that something will happen to her or she’ll escape into her old life in her old neighborhood and use it as the final reason to say goodbye to Ackerley and me. I know she has doubts about me, and God knows her life there had to be much simpler than this whole clusterfuck. I take a deep breath to slow myself down, but the words refuse to stay inside me. “But my mother died in the city.”
Now she looks stricken. “Oh my God. I had no idea.”
“I’m not getting into that now. Just understand that you’re precious to me. So I’m keeping you safe. No matter what.”
The words hang in the air. My heart pounds. Hard.
She softens, those big brown eyes luminous as she looks at me. “I’ll take precious. But I also want to be independent.”
“Trampling your independence is not my goal. But your day will be emotional. You need someone with you.” No, not someone . She needs me . With that, my decision is made. “I’ll come with you. I’ll just reschedule?—”
She quickly holds up a hand. “Lucien. It’s fine. I need some time to myself anyway.”
I stiffen. “Are you trying to escape? Is that what’s going on?”
The way she cringes makes me wonder if I’m onto something. “Am I free to go or not?”
“You think you’re a prisoner ?”
“You’re kind of acting like it,” she says, scowling. “I’m trying to take a breather and pay my respects to my father on his birthday. I can handle it.”
But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. “How many times have you accused me of putting up emotional brick walls? Seems like you’re the one pushing me away this time. Trying to be strong all by yourself. I’ve got big shoulders. Why don’t you lean on them?”
She hesitates, and I know I’ve got her.
Time for me to press my advantage. “It’ll be like I’m not there. I’ll stay out of your way.”
“As if,” she says, scoffing before staring at me long and hard. “Just so you know, I need time away sometimes. You don’t have to freak out about it. If I can keep it together when your wife comes back from the dead, you can be gracious about giving me breathing room.”
That gets me. What can I say? When she’s right, she’s right. Not that I plan to admit it. “I’m not freaking out. I just hope the GPS knows how to get to Bushwick from here.”
“Why can’t we just take the subway? It’ll be quicker anyway?”
“Not a chance,” I say darkly. “I don’t know anything about the subway, and I plan to maintain the illusion of a powerful man of the world for as long as possible.”