Nothing here would ever change, and until she married, she’d never escape it. She’d have to smile and nod, dance and forget. Forget, once more, how to feel. How to love.
She pushed the thought away.
The prince had ordered torches lit, and the manicured lawns of Carlton House were bright and colorful. From the terrace, Lucia watched with envy as the couples strolled together on the lawns below.
Most were drifting inside as the dancing was about to begin. What she wouldn’t give to stroll in the garden, hand in hand, like the young lovers before her, to think of nothing but a happy future together or when another kiss could be stolen.
But she couldn’t stay outside all night musing on a future that would never be. It was cold and she had no wrap, since her mother subscribed to the latest fashion that wraps, even on the coldest days, were unstylish.
She peered inside the ballroom and saw Francesca and Ethan entering the lavish room where the prince was holding court. She smiled at the surprise as she’d expected them to still be in residence at Winterbourne Hall. Her spirits rose, and she turned, bumping into a man dressed in black.
She looked up and gasped.
It was Alex.
Lucia almost fell back from the shock. “Y-you—”
She stumbled over her words and then her feet. Alex reached out and steadied her, but the frisson of his touch made her jump. He released her immediately.
“I’ve been waiting for you. Watching you,” he said.
His voice caressed her, sending shivers down her spine. Lucia stared at him hungrily. His hair was still long, and he’d tied it back with a black ribbon. The eyes were the same, gray and molten, and sinfully seductive. He was all in black, save his shirt and cravat, and he was so much bigger than she remembered. So imposing. He overpowered her senses, affecting her as if they’d never been separated. All the hours of convincing herself she was no longer in love with him were for naught. Lord, her feelings hadn’t changed in the slightest.
“I need to talk to you,” he said. She stared at him, watching his lips move, remembering the feel of them on her mouth, the hollow of her neck, the valley between her breasts. Suddenly, despite the biting night air, she was too warm.
“I behaved badly in Calais,” he continued. “I wanted to apologize and—”
Her eyes narrowed when he mentioned Calais. Calais, where she’d declared her love. Calais, where he’d turned his back on her, left her. Lucia’s head cleared.
“Apologize?” she repeated.
“Yes.” His voice was wary now, and he glanced around cautiously.
She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”
“No,” he said slowly.
“You’ve been in England since January.” Her voice was cold, formal. “It is now April. How long has it taken you to formulate this apology?”
But instead of looking ashamed, she saw anger flash across his face. Before she could react, he grasped her arms.
“I thought you were married, Lucia. I came as soon as Ethan told me you’d called off the engagement.”
Lucia was trembling. His hands were gentle and familiar. His touch flooded her with memories. Then, as if straight from one of her dreams, he said, “I love you.”
She frowned. Why had his voice sounded so choked . . . so reluctant?
“What?” she said.
“I said—” He waved an impatient hand and scowled. “You heard me, Lucia.”
Lucia wanted to hit herself. How could she be so stupid? This was no dream, but the same old Alex. She shook his arm off and pushed him away.
“Yes, I heard you,” she hissed. “Barely. But I must confess that I am truly astonished. It was my understanding that only fools fell in love.”
He glared at her, and she blinked innocently. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
“Lucia, I am trying to tell you—”
