Page 69 of The Secret Life of a Lady
‘The greater good? Dear God, man.’ Drake shook his head. ‘It’s no wonder she rejected you. I’m surprised she let you live. Well, what are you going to do?’
Killian turned his horse and urged him to walk. ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m telling you this. I wanted your advice.’
Drake fell into step with Killian, their horses plodding along; no doubt the beasts were grateful for a slower pace. The leather saddles creaked in a quiet rhythm as the afternoon sun warmed Killian’s back.
‘Run. That’s my advice. Run as far and fast as you can from any woman who inspires an emotion as dangerous as love.’
Killian groaned. ‘This is not helpful.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have asked. I’m the last person who should give advice about love.’ Drake traced a finger over his scar. ‘I would rather cut out my heart and eat it raw before letting another woman into my life.’
‘Sheer poetry, Drake.’
‘Thank you. Do you really want my advice? Are you ready for it?’
Killian raised an eyebrow at his friend. ‘I’m scared to hear it, I think.’
‘You should be. You have always held yourself to the highest standard. It’s why your peers hold such regard for you. But it’s also why you will never truly be happy. No man could live up to the expectations you place upon yourself.’
‘The least I can do for my parents is live a life of honour.’ Killian needed to prove that he was still worthy, even if it meant giving up his happiness.
‘There is no honour in the love of a woman. But neither is there honour in a marriage built on duty and guilt.’ Drake stared at Killian. His jaw clenched. ‘If you believe in the lie of love, and are willing to risk your soul for it, maybe you’ll find happiness. I doubt it, but I suppose it’s possible.’
Killian looked into Drake’s eyes and saw the yawning blackness of despair. His heart bled for his friend, and his concern grew. ‘My parents’ love was not a lie. It was action. It was sacrifice.It was joy. And yes, it was also pain. But that only made it more real.’
Drake shrugged. ‘Well, there’s your answer, then. I can’t imagine your parents would want you to sacrifice the kind of love you saw between them for a blue-blooded miss you will grow to hate. I don’t think your Miss Simmons is worth the risk, but it’s not about what I think. It’s about what you believe. Even if what you believe is wrong.’
Hannah’s face filled Killian’s mind, and his heart stretched painfully. ‘I know Hannah is worth every risk. She fights like an avenging angel, faces off against insurmountable odds without a hint of hesitation, shows more courage than any soldier I’ve known, and could best us both with a blade or a gun. She’s insufferably stubborn and wickedly bright. I may be wrong about everything else, but I’m not wrong about her.’ His conviction grew stronger with every word.
‘Calm down. If she is as skilled and deadly as you describe, Miss Simmons will likely destroy you. A pity, that, because I won’t be able to gloat about being right.’ The corner of Drake’s mouth ticked up in the ghost of a smile.
‘I would rather be destroyed by her than live with anyone else.’ As Killian spoke the words, he realised something.
I am an idiot.
His parents lived a life that exemplified the most honourable emotion, the highest ideal, the only thing that mattered. Love. They would have wanted him to marry whomever he loved, regardless of her pedigree. But even if they disapproved, it would have changed nothing. He loved Hannah. How could he imagine joining himself with anyone who wasn’t her? It would be turning away from the sunlight to live in unending gloom.
‘Thank you, Drake. Your advice has been invaluable. One day, I hope to return the favour.’
Drake snorted. ‘I would rather be boiled in oil and spread on toast than listen to your advice on love.’
Hannah had taken up permanent residence in Killian’s heart. Now, he just needed to convince her to move into his house and rule there as his duchess.
Killian spurred his horse into a canter. ‘Make haste, Drake. I have a ball to attend, a lord to arrest, a waltz to dance, and a proposal to make.’
17
Hannah scanned the ballroom and resisted tugging up her dress. She didn’t remember the neckline dipping so scandalously low at the modiste’s. She brushed her hand against her skirt, taking comfort in the hard outline of her dagger. Hannah lived on the fringes of the crowd, never capturing the centre of attention. But tonight, she was trapped in the crosshairs of society’s notice. It was distinctly uncomfortable.
‘Don’t look now, but I think the Earl of Plynth is heading this way, and his eyes are glued on you, Hannah,’ Ivy spoke behind a glass of ratafia.
‘Oh, dear. He’s a notorious rake and a terrible dancer. Mind your slippers. He will tread all over your toes.’ Millie hissed before popping a strawberry into her mouth.
‘You’ll be missing your boots tonight,’ Ivy agreed. ‘Although, those heeled slippers are lovely, Hannah.’
Hannah grimaced. ‘Not lovely enough to be worth the blisters.’
They had positioned themselves in front of the refreshmenttable, hoping to avoid the eligible gentlemen looking for a distraction from quiet country evenings. The Everly Ball was a highly anticipated event. Everyone who was anyone jumped at the chance to wear their finest and preen in front of each other after weeks of absence from London’s feverish social calendar. Hannah, Ivy, and Millie were happy to watch the show but had no interest in being participants.
