Page 83 of His Arranged Duchess
“What is real and what is not?” he answered slowly. “We are real.Weare. You and I, always. Forever.”
A lump formed in Frances’s throat, and she could not decide whether it was because of what Timon had said, or Eleanor’s guileless, foolish love for him, or, even worse, because of her own stupidity. She closed the book.
Drawing in a deep breath, Frances extended her hand, holding the book over the flames. Months of writing and dreaming hung there in her hand, shaking ever so slightly. The flames beneath seemed to lick higher.
It’s time,she told herself, squeezing her eyes closed.Let it go.
The book fell. It landed in the center of the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. The flames licked greedily around it, keen for more paper to eat.
Her eyes flew open, and Frances drew in a shuddering breath. She seized the poker, knocking the book out onto the hearth. Several pieces of burning wood came with it, smouldering, and Frances seized her book and held it tightly to her chest.
The book was only faintly warm from its brief time in the fire, the edges moderately singed. It stank of woodsmoke, and something told Frances that the smell was going to linger.
Then a gentle knock came at the adjoining door, and she stiffened.
“Frances?”
“Go away, Lucien. When did you get home? The carriage can’t have gotten back to pick you up that quickly.”
“I walked part of the way and took a cab the rest. Frances, open the door. I want to talk to you.”
She gave a short laugh. “No, thank you.”
He gave a long, tired sigh, and there came a creaking sound which she thought was him leaning against the door.
“You say that I kept the truth from you, but I don’t recall you rushing to tell meyoursecret,” he said quietly.
Frances clenched her jaw. “My secret could ruin my reputation irrevocably. It could destroy my mother, and will affect Uncle Cass.”
“Mine would destroy my brother’s reputation. I was considered an accidental manslayer, but he would’ve been considered a murderer.”
“He is dead, Lucien.”
“Do you think that means I don’t care about him anymore?”
Frances bit the inside of her cheek, sinking down onto the floor in a crumple of fine skirts.
“You demanded that I trust you,” she whispered, “while you never trusted me even a little. I have nothing else to say to you, Lucien, beyond what I said at the opera. You could not have made it plainer what you think of me, and that is very little. You are not a monster, and I imagine you are passably fond of me. I thought perhaps that would be enough, but I am not sure that it will be.”
“Frances, please.”
“You wanted a bride of convenience. Well, you have one.”
He sighed again, and suddenly she could imagine him clearly, standing there with his forehead resting against the wood of the door, pale and exhausted.
“Gray tells me you plan to move into another room. I wish you would stay here. The door can remain locked. I will not disturb you. I haven’t disturbed you so far, have I?”
She gave a short laugh at that. “You have disturbed me more than you can imagine. It seems that I have not had a moment’s peace since you came into my life. The worst part of it all is that I do not regret any of it. But I am not a glutton for punishment, Lucien, and enough is enough. You and I require space between us. Perhaps in time we might come to some sort of arrangement, but for now, it must end. You understand, don’t you?”
“I told Benjamin that I would not tolerate any further meddling. I have put him in his place, Frances.”
She rose slowly to her feet. Her legs were aching. She still clutched the book to her chest. It seemed almost laughable that only minutes ago she had planned to destroy it.
“I don’t begrudge you your friend,” she responded. “He cares for you, at least. And I don’t resent him for what he said. Somebody had to tell me, sooner or later, and it was certainly not going to be you.”
“Frances…”
“You wanted to seduce me, but wanted no more connection than that. And it turns out that I… that I am not content with that. Goodbye, Lucien.”
