Forty
Jonathan couldn’t sleep. He stepped into the courtyard, breathing in the faint scent of jasmine growing up the back wall. A hush had fallen over the neighborhood. No children playing. No creak of carts or oxen huffing as they carried heavy loads up the steep streets.
All the windows were dark in the villa, and only a sliver of light peeked between the shutters in Dr. Li’s house across the service alley.
After such a grueling week, he should have collapsed from exhaustion, but the bedchamber upstairs was suffocating. Too many nights spent under the stars. He always had trouble adjusting after a dig, but this felt different.
He missed Evangeline murmuring in her sleep, like her mind was too busy generating thoughts to store them. A few times she had called his name and he’d answered before realizing she was still asleep.
Heaviness settled in his gut. At supper, Margrave told him about her uncle’s plans to take his family home on the next ship bound for England.
It was time for Jonathan to return home, too, but he would travel over land and sail across the Channel from Calais.
He couldn’t bear being close to Evangeline for weeks while she looked through him.
He had hurt her enough already. It would be easier for her to heal without crossing paths with him, and he feared she would confine herself to her cabin for the entire voyage if he was on the same ship.
Forcefully, he exhaled and raked his fingers through his hair.
Maybe he needed to go somewhere far away to heal himself.
Remaining in Athens wasn’t an option. Revolution was on the horizon.
He still needed to tell Dom about Menar’s warning, but he’d disappeared after encountering Wedmore and Margrave at the villa and hadn’t returned.
Jonathan walked to the fountain, closing his eyes as a breeze blew cool mist on his face. He wouldn’t miss the heat.
“Tell me something true,” a soft voice said.
“Hellfire!” He spun around. “Evangeline, you scared the devil out of me.”
Her white night rail stood out in the dark, but he couldn’t see her face from her position just outside of her bedchamber.
“The stealthy spy frightened by a lady in her night clothes?” Her laugh was humorless. “Perhaps I’ll report you to Uncle Charles, and you’ll be banished from the Consul.”
“Please do,” Jonathan said. “I’ve wanted out since my first assignment. Margrave doesn’t believe it, but it’s true.”
She walked from the shadows. Her hair was down, curling softly around her face. “Was that a topic of conversation over supper?”
“No, he said I didn’t truly want to leave the Consul before Farrin sent me after your uncle. Tonight, we discussed how he would’ve killed me if he’d known the nature of my orders.”
She scoffed. “Margrave the brave, always talking nonsense. He’s really gentle beneath the bluster.”
Jonathan didn’t correct her. The Margrave each of them knew was vastly different—or perhaps Jonathan and his fellow Regent’s man had never lowered their masks.
He sat on the ledge of the fountain, welcoming the cool splash of water dampening his white lawn shirt. “Are you speaking to me again?”
“I’m undecided.” She came closer and stopped just beyond his reach. “You avoided my request. Tell me something true.”
“I have—” He snapped his mouth shut. He had revealed everything. His past and present. His true career aspirations. But he understood what she wanted.
The heaviness was back, cementing his legs to the fountain’s ledge. He bent forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. His gaze fell to the stone under his boots. The weight cracked something inside, and his vision blurred.
“I’m lonely,” he muttered.
Her faint exhale filled the quiet.
“I’ve been alone for a decade, and the suffering is unbearable sometimes.”
“Jonathan.”
“I cannot stay at Ivymere. It’s too empty, too… I don’t know. Somber? There’s no life there anymore.”
She pulled her wrapper tight across her body.
“The house is staffed, but no one speaks to me if they can avoid it.”
She came to sit on the ledge next to him.
“You’ll get wet,” he said.
Shaking her head, she swiveled toward him. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”
“Eight years. The land steward oversees the estate.”
“What about when you were betrothed to Miss Thorne?”
“I stayed in London. In the town house.”
“I see.” She shrugged the wrap from her shoulders, and it settled around her waist. Closing her eyes, she tipped her face toward the stars. “This feels good. I preferred the cold nights in the mountains.”
He longed to reach for her hand, but he held still. “I prefer wherever you are.”
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, staring up at the sky. “Did you tell her you loved her, too?”
“No.” He studied her profile, trying to read her reaction, but it was too dark.
“Why not?”
He hesitated. Would she judge him for being honest? She must know most marriages were simply convenient arrangements. He took a chance and held her hand. She allowed him to lace their fingers, turning to face him.
“Because she wasn’t you,” he said.
Her fingers twitched, a brief involuntary squeeze of his hand.
“She didn’t love me either. I wasn’t Ben Hillary. She and I never fit together, and we realized it too late. I think we were drawn to each other because we wanted children and a home, and we couldn’t foresee a future where we would each find our perfect matches.”
Only the sound of the fountain bubbling and his own heartbeat filled the silence.
“A-am I your perfect match?”
“You are the only one for me. The only one forever. I love your mind and kindness. And I love how you challenge me, partner with me.” He held her gaze, needing her to see his sincerity. “If I never see you again, I’ll lose half of myself.”
“Oh,” she said on a wisp of breath and leaned toward him.
He stayed perfectly still, his pulse racing. Her tongue swept across her lips.
“You should kiss me this time.”
He closed the distance between them and cupped her face. “I love you,” he whispered.
When their lips touched, hers tasted faintly of mint. The courtyard faded away—the fountain, jasmine, the stars above. There was nothing left, only her. And she was everything.
He moaned under his breath as her fingers curled around his shirt. Her touch was warm through the thin fabric. When she slanted her head, he deepened the kiss, taking what she freely gave.
Hot blood seared his veins, and he drew her closer. He broke the kiss but cradled her against his chest. Their breathing was ragged; her heart pounded as hard as his.
She slid her hand to his cheek, her forehead to his. “I love you, too,” she murmured. “I don’t want to be apart any longer.”
“Then marry me.”
He sensed her smile.
“Yes.”
“Truly, just like that?” He drew back. “Should I bend a knee first?”
She shook her head. “I prefer directness. It’s more efficient.”
He laughed and pulled her back into his arms.