One Week As Lovers (Somerhart 3)

That kernel grew into a flame that singed his heart. No one had tried to protect him from anything in so many years. In the end, not even his own father had looked out for him. “I am happy.”

“You most certainly are not.”

“On the contrary, I’m well known as one of the happiest gentlemen in the ton.”

She tucked her chin in. “By people who scarcely know you at all, I take it?”

“I…” Lancaster didn’t know what to say. How could she see what others could not? How could she know that he was profoundly empty inside? He watched the sun reach out across the dark blue water. “Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind,” he murmured to the sea, some maudlin bit of Scottish poetry that had stuck in his head.

“What?” The clipped word radiated Cynthia’s impatience.

He snapped from his reverie and met her eyes. “Who is ever happy? You’re not happy. How could you be, with the specter of Lord Richmond hanging over you?”

She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze clear and steady. “That’s true. But I will be happy someday. And Nick…I’m happy now, when I’m with you. I always was.”

His heart swelled. He blinked hard several times as the truth of her words hit him. Since the moment he’d discovered she was alive, he’d felt peaceful. Happy. As if he’d come home.

Perhaps it would’ve been better if his parents hadn’t trundled him off to London to recover. He should’ve come home to Cantry Manor so that he could recall who he was.

Cynthia slowly lowered herself to sit beside him on the wide boulder. She twitched her skirts a few times and then grew quiet, joining him in his study of the sea.

“Why did you stop? In the passageway?” she whispered.

The cold of the stone had begun to seep into his thighs, but she felt warm next to him. He wanted to drag her back to that passageway and finish what he’d started. He wanted to take her upstairs and bind her wrists and show her why he’d stopped. But more than that, he wanted to go back in time and be what she deserved.

“I was free here,” he said. “You and I, we were free. But I am the viscount now. The head of a family drowning in debt. What I want no longer signifies and it never will.”

“Nick—”

He shook his head. “But you will have what you want someday. You’ll sail to America and meet a young American man and be charmed by his industriousness and drive. You’ll fall in love. And when you marry him, you’ll regret me.”

“That’s nonsense. To speak of unknown people in some future time.”

“It’s not nonsense, and I won’t ruin you.” When she started to interrupt again, Lancaster held up a hand to stop her. Miraculously, she closed her mouth. “Cynthia, your virtue is like a jewel.”

“A jewel?” she sputtered while he nodded.

“Yes, a precious jewel. Or a flower. Yes, it’s a flower. A fragile and priceless gift to be given only to your husband. A flower can only be plucked once, after all.” He’d finally managed to penetrate her stubbornness. Cynthia fell silent, her brow furrowed in thought.

“You would not hand a flower to a…Actually, perhaps it is more of a jewel. Because you would not place a priceless jewel in the hand of a passing friend. You’d keep that jewel safe and hidden until your marriage.”

“Because my husband must like jewels?”

“Precisely.” Lancaster nodded again and slapped his hands against his thighs. “Right then.” He pushed to his feet and rolled his shoulders. “Keep that hood up, just in case. Now let’s find your treasure.”

Chapter 10

A jewel? Her virtue was a jewel?

Cynthia watched Nick’s back as he descended the trail in front of her. She hadn’t known what to say to that ridiculousness, and she still didn’t. He’d seemed quite pleased with his platitudes.

But his words were in vain. That flower had been plucked long before.

Or, if it was a jewel, she’d snuck it carelessly into the pocket of a man who certainly hadn’t considered it precious. Perhaps her jewel had been made of shoddy paste.

A laugh snuck up on her and escaped loudly enough to draw Nick’s attention. Coughing into her hand, Cyn waved him on, determined not to hurt his feelings. If he thought his less-than-poetic speech had been profound, there was no point in setting him aright.

He was a sweet, thoughtful man. It was no wonder she’d once loved him.