Chapter Twelve
“I WASN’T EXPECTING you until much later.” Valentin’s hands caressed Mickey’s shoulders, his worried eyes shifting from his face to his attire. “Are you quite all right?”
“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Perfectly fine.” As Valentin ushered him in, Mickey’s fingers twitched at his side, restless and matching the frenetic pace of his pulse as if they had a life of their own.
“Are you sure?”
Mickey wiped a clammy palm on his trouser leg.
“Yes, quite. Except I need to—” He marched towards Valentin and then away again.
And then marched back up to him to put a hand on the Frenchman’s lapel.
He closed his fingers around it. “Listen. I…I must…I want to kiss you. Now, right now, before it is too late. Before—” Before you commit a foolish act, before you are arrested.
“Before you travel back to Verdille and we are no more. When that day comes, and it’s coming very soon, I don’t want to regret a single thing.
Time will not pause for me to muster the courage to tell you how much I…
I care for you, nor will it dally until I find an unspoiled moment to say the perfect thing.
It will move on—indifferent to our little affair and relentless—and…
and by the time we realise we’ve left something unsaid, the chance will be gone.
So, forgive me, Valentin, I’m fully aware I’m making an utter ass of myself, and I care not. ”
He sucked in a deep breath. “I care not what you are or who you are or whether you are even who you pretend to be.” He wrapped the lapel even tighter in his fist. “But I know I shall miss you terribly when you are no longer here, and I’m sorry I’m too occupied with my affairs here, but also too cowardly, to follow you to France. And I want to kiss you as you kiss me.”
In the ensuing echoey stillness, Valentin took a step back, gently uncurling Mickey’s fingers from his coat. And then he widened the gap another pace. And then he turned away altogether, away from Mickey to face the window.
An eternity of silence pressed down on Mickey, his chest tightening with each empty passing second.
“London,” Valentin breathed at last.” My dear, sweet London. And you accuse me of being full of romantic flummery.”
Very slowly, he turned around to face Mickey, his expression grave, that of a man caught in the ripple of something he hadn’t asked for or anticipated and certainly wasn’t ready for. But then, what casual bed partner could ever be ready for a declaration so…unwarranted?
Mickey’s breath came quicker, trying to escape through the cracks in his chest. He had a dreadful feeling he might cry.
“I’m afraid you cannot say those things, London,” Valentin said softly. “Not to me. You cannot speak of caring or missing or…or things left unsaid. Not in that sincere tone.”
Mickey forced a shaky exhale and swallowed hard, the motion sticking in his throat.
Desperately, he tried to empty his mind of all his hopes and dreams. “Forgive me. I…I…you are making that clear. I…dammit…I have mistaken your flattery and silken tongue for something else. I’ll go.
” He dug his nails into his palms. “I…I thought we—”
It seemed Mickey had more in common with a blushing ingenue after all. A hot tear dribbled down his cheek.
In two swift strides Valentin was by his side. “Please do not weep for me, Mickey. I am not a worthy recipient of your tears.”
“Why? Because you are a thief and not a vicomte? That you eat countryman’s food and sup…sup on cheap ale and have no need for servants?” Mickey clenched his eyes shut, willing the sting to fade. “You think I don’t know all that you hide, yet I still want you regardless?”
“As I want you. If you weren’t so divine, I would never have declared my feelings for you. I should have kept you at arm’s length. We have had these precious few weeks, and if you cannot travel with me to France, then that must be enough.”
“But why do you have to go at all? And you could always return.”
Valentin grabbed Mickey’s face and held it between both palms. “I cannot.” His beautiful eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
“My dear love. I’m hiding far more than you could imagine, and you would not want me if you knew.
You and Tommy have not worked hard to escape a grubby life of wrongdoing only to be sucked back into it. I will not allow that for you.”
This was it. If Valentin admitted he schemed to steal the parure, then Mickey could scare him off it. “Nothing you are hiding could scare me,” he declared. “I know you are a thief. And how could you bring me down? You seem to glide through society untouchable.”
Valentin let loose a gravelly laugh. “Fortune has smiled on me for many years.” His thumb brushed across Mickey’s wet cheek.
“Listen. I’m hiding a secret. Very soon, I shall commit a theft with consequences far greater than petty pilfering from reticules, pinching snuff boxes, and palming sleeve buttons.
And…and I may get caught. An association with me will not be in your favour. ”
And there it was. Everything they’d suspected. The proof Valentin planned to steal the Ashington parure. Mickey’s guess had been correct all along.
“A bigger theft,” he said miserably. “You have plans to acquire something important.”
“Yes.” Valentin pushed a hand through Mickey’s hair.
“On New Year’s Eve, I shall steal something important.
A theft I’ve prepared half my life for. A life built on untruths and deceit, on money gleaned from selling all those snuff boxes and fencing sleeve buttons.
A life built on spun sugar and thin air, fabricated so that I might stroll into Talybridge’s grand ballroom, rub shoulders with the high ton as if I belong, and take something precious from that odious marquess.
And I may be caught. I want you far from that.
It will…an association with me will not end well for you. ”
Mickey clawed at Valentin’s coat, hot tears clinging onto his eyelids.
Every fibre of his being begged him to warn his lover that he’d be risking everything, only to open an empty safe.
That the priceless parure would already be securely stowed in Ashington’s pocket within minutes of the damned ball starting. Maybe before Valentin even arrived.
“Valentin,” he pleaded, “I beg you, do not risk your life for…a bauble, a mere trinket, no matter how precious. The ball will be teeming with servants and guests. Anyone could spy you.”
“A…bauble?”
“Yes, a bauble.” Did Mickey really have to spell it out?
The whole of the ton had seen the blasted thing dragging around Miss Amelia’s neck.
What else would Mickey assume he was planning to steal?
Ignoring Valentin’s puzzled expression, he pushed on even more.
“Surely, there are other prizes carrying far less danger than that damned parure?”
There followed an extended pause, during which Valentin’s brow furrowed even more. And then he burst into laughter.
“The parure?” he exclaimed. “You’re worried I’m trying to pilfer that garish old thing?”
Mickey’s mouth fell open. “Aren’t you?”
“God, no.”
“What? Why not? It’s said to be priceless.”
Valentin lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I daresay, though that makes it no less ugly. And not even I would be bold enough to pilfer jewels as dazzling as those from around a woman’s neck and in full view of the ton. Especially a woman whom half the ton are ogling.”
It shan’t be around her neck, Mickey nearly blurted, then stopped himself. But it didn’t matter; the parure wasn’t Valentin’s goal. As he gasped with relief, another thought struck him.
“If not the parure, then what are you intending to steal that’s so important and valuable?”
“Never you mind.” Valentin’s thumb gently stroked away Mickey’s remaining tears.
“For this prize, my safety is a risk I’m prepared to take.
But not yours. You are far too precious to me to be a part of it.
You must distance yourself from me at the ball, for your own good.
And the day after, I shall return France. To Verdille.”
Mickey expected as much, but to hear the words spoken from Valentin’s lips was almost too much. “So, these few days before the end of the year, they are truly a farewell?”
“Yes, Mickey. If I am to live, I must flee.”
“But you are not stealing the parure.”
“No. It is worthless in comparison to my prize.”
Mickey didn’t understand. What could be more valuable—and more dangerous to steal—than the parure? An echo of Rollo’s words assailed him.
“You are pinching Miss Amelia herself?”
Valentin laughed. “Hardly. Have you not noticed? I prefer men.” He kissed one of Mickey’s wet eyelids, as if Mickey were something to be treasured.
“And one man in particular.” He kissed the other.
Mickey didn’t know how he’d ever rouse himself from his bed once this man left.
“I told you. Everything people believe they know of me is built on lies. I have one goal. I will not cease until I have achieved it, and now I am so very close.”
“Is Verdille even real?” Please tell me it is. Mickey didn’t think he could bear it if it wasn’t. “Is that built on a lie too? Is…were we built on lies?”
Valentin crushed him in his arms, pressing his mouth to Mickey’s temple.
“Verdille is as real as your fog-draped streets, as the spire of St Paul’s looming over them all, and your crooked, smelly houses that lean in upon one another.
And…though I have tried to resist, it is as real as my desire for you.
That is the most real thing I know and is why I must protect you from my wrongdoings. ”