Page 92 of The Exile's Curse

He couldn’t guarantee that, of course, but she knew he would do as much as humanly possible to keep his word. If he said he would do something, it got done. He'd always been that way. "Thank you."

"It would be helpful," he said with another smile, "if you locked your door."

"I was expecting Allita back," she said. "And I didn't intend to fall asleep. I didn't think I’d beableto sleep."

"So excited by the prospect of marrying me that you can't sleep. Just as it should be." He smiled, but something lurked in the depths of his eyes that told her he didn't find it entirely amusing.

"I'm sorry," she said. "This is not how you hoped your marriage would be, I'm sure."

Did his fingers tighten fractionally on hers?

"Not entirely, no," he said. "I had rather expected my family would be in attendance, and that there'd be a wedding night, at least."

His thumb stroked over her knuckles. Paused on the signet ring. The caress shivered over her skin. And she knew she wanted him again.

"We could have that," she said softly.

His thumb went still, all of him tensing. "Sorry?"

"A wedding night. Or nights, I guess. I mean, they're going to expect us to sleep in the same room together. And we were...compatible the other night."

"If that's what you call merely compatible, Chloe, then I pity the men who you've actually had a good time with," he said, his voice roughened.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't fish for compliments, my lord."

"But you so rarely give them. Makes the angling worth it." He smiled again, and for a moment, it felt like tumbling back through time. Like they were best friends once more. "But go on. We're compatible, we will be sharing a room. You’re proposing that we take advantage while we can?"

Heat choked her throat. "Yes. Clearly there is something between us. Which is unfortunate given what else lies in our past. You know as well as I do what that history means."

"I do," he said, though she wondered if it were more question than acknowledgment.

Safer to believe it was the latter. "But we are not in Lumia. And the Andalyssians will regard us as married."

"We will, in fact,bemarried," he pointed out. "Or else I let someone paint me with dye for no good reason."

He was right. They would be married. But she couldn’t let herself believe it. Or it might become too hard later, when they divorced. So she ignored that part. And ignored the insane urge to demand that he remove his jacket and shirt and show her the marks on his chest. But she twined her fingers more tightly through his. "We can have a wedding night. After all, you're doing this to save my career. I owe you." Easier, perhaps, to let herself believe she was doing this for him rather than to indulge her own desire.

His brows drew down. "You don’t owe me anything. Definitely not sex. You can invite me into your bed because you want me there, regardless of how you might feel about me otherwise. I am happy to be of service, as I said before. But I don't need you to fuck me out of obligation. If I wanted that, I could have married one of any number of Illvyan aristos who only wanted my title years ago."

Her stomach tightened at the thought that he might have married while she was away. "That's not what I meant, exactly. But is that why you're not married? You want a love match?"

He looked away with a shrug. And she was tempted to use his power to see if his answer, whatever it was to be, was true. But no. She'd told him never to use his power on her. She might have accidentally used the thread of it she’d gained already, but she wouldn't turn it against him.

“Talk to me,” she said softly and touched his face, turning him back to her.

His eyes held hers for a long moment, and she thought he was going to refuse.

"When I was younger, I thought so," he said eventually. "Truth be told, my career leaves little time for romance. And there seemed no particular hurry until my father died and the title became mine."

"Then you will be searching for love again?" she asked. “After, I mean?” She didn’t know why she was asking. Or what she wanted his answer to be. Her blood rushed loud in her ears as those green eyes locked with hers again.

"This is a peculiar conversation to have with the woman who is marrying me tomorrow," he said, mouth quirking. "Perhaps we should worry about that instead of you thinking about my next wedding already."

She laughed, relieved. There was no good answer he could have given her. And she was scared to know which option she would find worse, him moving on after they divorced or him giving up on love as she had. "True, my lord."

"Perhaps you could call me Lucien?" he asked. "At least when we're alone."

"All right. Lucien." The syllables slipped too easily off her tongue, though they still felt somewhat strange. Like turning back the clock to the time when uttering his name had been easy, as had their friendship. Not so easy now. Or simple.

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