He could do good with this. It was a chance to truly change. He searched for some shred of grief, of soul-dark mourning. Found none. Found, mostly, regret that he and his father had never even attempted to know one another. Strangers with the same nose.
“I must write to Alex. Tell her everything has changed. She can return home now.”
“Where the hell is she?”
Still, Keats looked at the house.
“Inthere?”
“Leave it alone. Leave her alone.” Keats headed toward the cottage he shared with Sacks, Griff rushing after him.
“You’ve been here?” Griff asked, recoiling as they entered.
“It’s not that bad.” It was currently empty. Sacks always took the ladies to London. Keats had nothing to pack, nothing here he’d need back in London, where he’d be a marquess, not a stable hand.
He needed to write to Alex. He’d sneak into the big house, find some paper.
And Lucy?
God, Lucy. He felt like she’d shown him every bit of her soul. He’d pulled back his thick skin to show her his, as well. Yet she still did not know who he was. What would happen if she did? What if he told her? What then?
Marriage?
Why not? She was a walking scandal, certainly, a farmer’s daughter, but also a viscount’s granddaughter. And hell—did he even care about any of that?
He wanted to stay with her, to keep her at his side. He didn’t want ladies from the demimonde and willing widows, larks and whisky, or duels at dawn anymore. He wantedher. She was likea good bottle of whisky one never wanted to end. The whisky always ended, but Lucy wouldn’t. She’d go on being brave and clever and damned arousing from now until eternity, and he’d go on being utterly enthralled.
And undeserving. Naturally. But she made him want to deserve her.
Seven
The coach lurched to a stop, and after a pause, the door swung open. Lucy stepped down, and behind her, Alex helped Mrs. Clefton to the ground. A short and easy trip; the moon still shone high above Hawthorne House, a gold button in a navy wool sky.
And need for Keats still pulsed between her legs. Such a clever man. He had entirely banished her fears with a sinful stroke of his tongue.
“Alex?” She sounded steady, not at all ruled by lascivious thoughts. Excellent.
“Yes?” Alex stood several steps closer to the door than Lucy, her arm around Mrs. Clefton’s waist.
“Take our new guest to Mrs. Beckett. You know what happens next.”
Alex nodded. She’d not an ounce of nervousness during the journey, and she’d been able to put Mrs. Clefton at ease despite Alex’s Mayfair lilt and Mrs. Clefton’s East End Cockney. Alex would be a perfect replacement for Lucy, able to connect with and comfort women from every walk of life.
Mrs. Beckett appeared in the doorway, and Lucy raised a hand in acknowledgment before turning toward the stables. Sheslipped in while the other hands were busy with the coach and horses. Keats was not among them. Perhaps he was at Mr. Sacks’s cottage. Her feet turned in that direction before her mind had fully decided to do so. His faith in her earlier that evening… it had sung in her soul, kept her calm, made her want to reciprocate.
The cottage sat on the edge of the woods, its thatch roof blending with the spindly branches rising over the rooftops. She knocked on the door, her hood pulled low, hiding her face in shadows. It did not take long for the door to open.
Keats blinked at her in the dark, holding a candle between them to light up a sliver of the night. “Lucy?”
She pushed her hood back. “How did you know?”
“I’ll always know.” He stepped out of the cottage and so close to her she could smell the hay on his skin, feel the heat of his hard body.
“It was an easy trip. Everyone returned home quickly and safely. And I… I wanted to thank you.” Her boots were dark shadows peeking out from the hem of her skirt. “For helping calm me earlier.”
His hand against her jaw, a touch as light as air, brought her head up. He curved over her, around her, his fingertips tracing the arch of her ear now, smoothing a lock of hair behind it. “You didn’t need me.” He looked over her head and down the path at her back, toward the house and drive and stables where Mr. Sacks would be busy, but not for long. “I’m glad you came. There’s something I need to tell you.” He retreated into the shadows cast by the cottage. “Lucy, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
She covered her heart with her hand, as if attempting to stop the bleeding from some mortal wound. But it could not be stopped, and life pumped out of her faster and faster with the horrid quick beating of her heart.
