1939912059 (R) (42 page)

One of her hands patted his arm, smoothing her hand against it. “You have more muscle than what I remember.”

He almost bit her. “I worked with scythes in Russia for almost fifteen years. Every spring, summer and fall I was in the fields with my laborers. I own a lot of land in Russia. Prior to that, I invested and sailed merchant ships to the West Indies. Despite owning well over ten ships, I was moving crates and barrels like any other man.”

She hesitated. “Were you at all happy? Despite us being apart?”

What a question. “I would be lying if I told you my life had been glorious without you. It took a few years to define what happy meant, but once I found it, yes, I was happy. I had my mother’s family and they helped me through a lot. I got to travel the world and grow my own fortune. I was happy. As happy as a man can be without the love of his life.” He glanced down at her, noting that her head was wistfully leaning against his shoulder. “What about you? Were you happy?”

She sighed. “As happy as a woman can be without the love of her life. I managed.”

He savagely tightened his hold and carried her down the corridor, eventually veering into his bedchamber. He slammed the door shut with his booted foot. Striding her over to the bed, he laid her on it, tucking her head against the pillows to ensure she was comfortable. “Allow me a moment to get decent.”

She hesitated. “And then what?”

“We go out for those ices and sit in a paddle boat like you wanted. We have ‘fun’.”

“And after that?”

“We come back here, make love, eat and lounge.”

A breath escaped her. “Are you wanting me to stay the night?”

He leaned in close, his nose touching hers. “I am wanting more than that. I am asking you to move in with me. My house is five times the size of that thing you call a townhouse. With Maybelle now married, it means when she returns from her travels, we will be hosting events and having great-grandchildren running about. They will all need room.” He kissed her lips, straightened and stepped back.

She sat up, her pearls rustling, as she blindly tilted herself toward his voice. “Are we getting married?”

He bit back a smile, trudged toward his dressing mirror and side table. “Do you want us to?”

“Are you wanting to?”

He grinned, knowing this could go on all day. “Are you?”

“I almost married Hughes,” she whined.

“I know.” He sighed. “We should probably wait for our granddaughter to come back before we marry. What do you think?”

She perked. “So we will marry?”

“Was there any doubt, my dear? Why the hell do you think I came back?”

She flopped back onto the bed and grinned, despite the blindfold. “We had better both live to a hundred and fifty. Otherwise, I will feel cheated.” Her grin faded. She was quiet for a long moment. “When do I get to see your face?”

“Eventually. Soon. Maybe tonight.” He snatched up one of several velvet masks and strategically tied it over the puckered skin that disfigured his forehead almost down to his jaw. The garnet ring he had carried with him since Paris, gleamed up at him from the sideboard.

Although he had thought about purchasing a different ring, it was fitting that they not try to erase everything that had been. He glanced toward her, knowing she couldn’t see anything yet, and shoved it into his waistcoat pocket.

Clearing his throat, he swept back his hair with tonic and leaned over toward the wardrobe, flinging it open. He fingered his way through several morning coats and dragged one off the hooks. He shrugged it on and walked over to her, leaning over the bed.

She tilted toward him.

He smirked. “I need my cravat back,
ma biche
.” He reached around her, his fingers working around the knots, and paused, realizing her full lips had parted and that her breaths were uneven. He slowly continued to unknot the silk. “Are you wanting to go with me to Russia for a small while? While we wait for Maybelle to come back?”

She grabbed his arms. “Might we?”

He grinned. “I will take that to be a yes.” He dragged down the loosened cravat and searched those stunning blue eyes. They appeared so much brighter than what he remembered.

Leaning away, he rose from the bed and went back to the mirror. He kissed the cravat that was now scented with jasmine and wrapped it around his neck. He didn’t care that it was wrinkled. He wanted it around his neck knowing it had been around her eyes. He tied it tightly into place and tucked it into his waistcoat.

Grabbing up a towel, he sipped it into a porcelain basin, dashing soap against it and walked over to her and wagged his fingers. “We should clean you up.”

She rolled her eyes, leaned over and snatched the towel. “I will do it myself, thank you.”

He grinned and seated himself on the edge of the bed, watching her gather her skirts and tilt her head as she rubbed the towel down her thighs, between them and around them.

Still grinning, he casually leaned back, to get a better view between her thighs.

The towel smacked his face. He rumbled out a laugh and jumped to his feet, whipping the towel across the room. He turned toward her and snapped out a hand. “I will pay for those ices and the paddle boat, madame. From what Mrs. Berkley tells me, your little school was not as financially successful as you were hoping it would be.”

She puckered her lips. Slipping her hand into his, she eased off the bed, her skirts falling back down to her ankles and set her chin. “Unlike Mrs. Berkley, I have always tried to use my profession to help people. Not just myself.”

He pressed his lips against her hand. “In my opinion, Mrs. Berkley is your evil twin.”

She tilted her head tauntingly. “I will not argue with you in that. She most certainly is evil.”

He laughed.

The Boating Lake at Regent’s Park

Late afternoon

With her lace parasol tucked against her shoulder, which shaded her from the fading sun, she dreamily watched from her seat on the bow of the small paddleboat as Gérard leaned back, pulling the wooden oars with him. His muscled arms bulked through his morning coat as he continued to drop the oars up and out of the water, moving them across the water.

A wool cap had been pulled forward onto his head, shading his blue eyes and the mask he wore. A warm breeze fluttered her skirts against his outstretched leather boots.

The silence around them was only interrupted on occasion by chirping birds and other boats rowing across the lake.

It had been a glorious day. The sort of day they should have had
every day
in their youth.

She twirled her parasol. “Gérard?”

He captured her gaze, still rowing. “Yes,
ma biche
?”

She let out a breathy, disbelieving sigh. “Thank you for coming back into my life.”

He paused from his rowing, letting the gliding boat slow to the middle of the lake. He quickly set the oars upward, to keep them from falling into the water and leaned toward her. “Thank you for letting me come back into your life,” he rumbled out.

She excitedly twirled her parasol again. “The sun will be fading soon.”

“I know.”

“How about we row our way back to shore?”

“No. Not yet.”

“But I was hoping to show you something up in my garret.”

He lowered his chin. “Your garret?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“And what is up in your garret?” he drawled. “Aside from rafters?”

She bit back a smile. “If I tell you that, it would ruin the surprise. Might we please row our way back to shore? Because I really think you ought to see it. You will never be the same.”

“In that case…I ought to hurry up.” He puffed out a breath and yanked off one glove, setting it onto the seat beside him, then the other. He cracked his knuckles and eyed her. He cracked his knuckles again. “Give me two breaths.”

She blinked. “Two breaths for what?”

He adjusted his cravat and then dug into his waistcoat. Leaning in as close as the boat would allow without tipping them over, he held her gaze and turned his wrist upward to reveal a garnet ring that gleamed in the sunlight between his fingers. “Will you marry me and become the duchess you have always been?”

She dragged in an astounded breath and leaned toward the ring, realizing it was the same ring he had given her the night he had originally proposed. He had held onto it. Tears stung her eyes as she set the parasol beside her. She jumped toward him and grabbed his face, kissing him.

The boat swayed violently beneath them, making them both freeze as water sprayed.

Gérard quickly leaned far backward, his boots thudding into the sides of the wooden boat in an attempt to use his weight to balance the boat.

A bubble of a laugh escaped her as the boat continued to rock. “If we fall in, we deserve it.”

The boat eventually stilled.

He puffed out a breath, sitting back up again and held up the ring. “No more kissing until we leave the boat.” He wagged his other hand at her. “Your hand, if you please.”

She bit back a smile, removed her glove and regally held it out.

He slid the garnet ring onto her finger and then kissed it, his lips grazing the ring and knuckle. “I pronounce us husband and wife. The church can do the rest once our granddaughter gets back.”

She held up the ring, letting it glint in the sun. “Gérard?”

He set his forearms on his knees. “Yes,
ma biche
?”

She tapped at the garnet. “Pretty though it is, its existence has always plagued me. You had no money at the time you gave this to me. Where did this ring come from?”

He adjusted his cap twice and winced. “Sade. He lent me money to buy it.”

She choked and eyed it. “Do we really want Sade, the
marquis
of pain, sitting on my finger representing our love? Given everything we have been through?”

He blinked rapidly. “No.”

She breezed her hand back to him.

He sighed, yanked off the ring and tossed it over his shoulder. A
plunk
resounded within the water.

“We begin again,” she announced, setting her chin. “Without a revolution. Without Sade.”

“And without brandy,” he drawled, pointing at her.

“Amen.” She plucked up her parasol and set it back on her shoulder. “Happiness hardly needs a ring. Besides, this butcher girl already has her pearls and her diamonds.”

He smirked. “Shall we wander toward your garret, butcher girl?”

“Yes. We should,
Monsieur Highwayman
. Please honor me and row.”

Gérard grinned and grabbed up the oars, taking them back to shore.

“Offer me a hint.”

“No.”

“A mere one.”

Thérèse tsked. “We are almost there. Be patient.”

“Patience is for people who did not have to wait thirty fucking years to be happy.”

“Cease with that language. I think you can survive thirty seconds.”

He rolled his eyes. “I
suppose
.”

Following Thérèse up the narrow stairwell leading up into the garret, Gérard held up the lantern to ensure they had enough light. She unlatched the small wooden door at the top of the stairwell and ducked into the space beyond it.

He quickly followed, also ducking.

Thérèse gestured toward their surroundings. “The fortune I made as an actress all went to this. I never quite recovered financially after it. It is yours.”

“Mine? How so?”

Straightening in the large space of the sloped wooden rafters that was tightly packed with countless trunks, furniture, mirrors, vases, crystal chandeliers and—

He held up the lantern and paused, his eyes widening. He dragged in an astounded breath as light fell upon a row of neatly stacked paintings set against an ornate dresser that had once belonged to his mother. He slowly approached a painting he thought he would never see again.

Tears burned his eyes as he knelt and set the lantern before it.

The regal, shadowed face of a smiling, demure young woman with black hair and blue eyes greeted him. It was his mother. The one who had taught him that altruism and generosity was an art form. It was a likeness he thought he had lost the right to along with everything else.