Page 13 of The Meaning of Love
His voice quiet, his tone undemanding, he asked, “So what are we going to do about that?”
He waited, knowing she would understand that he wasn’t talking of the kiss per se but of what it portended, the underlying connection evidenced by all they’d experienced during the exchange.
There were times in any negotiation when patience was the order of the day. He felt vindicated when, after a lengthy silence, she stirred and asked, “What do you suggest?”
He moved to stand beside her, shoulder to shoulder as if examining the garden outside. This was the tricky part; for half the night, he’d worked on formulating what amounted to a proposal. “You know our past as well as I do—in parting as we did eight years ago, we left a great deal between us unresolved. We had feelings for each other, a connection, albeit youthful and half formed, yet it was there, and we left it lying in abeyance when, given our respective ages, we did what we had to and walked away.” He lightly shrugged. “We couldn’t have done otherwise at that point. No one could have predicted how our lives would play out, much less what would become of such a youthful connection. Regardless, we both know that what existed between us then amounted to a romance that never got a chance to bloom.”
He waited, and after a moment, she tipped her head his way. “That’s our past—not our present.”
“True. But that kiss suggests that, for good or ill, something of our long-ago feelings for each other remains extant, alive and surprisingly strong. What exactly that attachment might be—what it might amount to, how strong it might prove—at this point, neither you nor I can guess.”
He drew in a measured breath and continued, “Yet here we are, and apparently, in however many Seasons, you haven’t found any other gentleman who suits you, and I haven’t any other candidate in mind for the position of my wife. Others wiser than us might say that perhaps some influence of our past connection lingers, affecting our thoughts and keeping us from forming suitable links with others. Perhaps that’s true. Or perhaps the romance that seeded between us all those years ago is the one we, together, should pursue. Either way—whether to lay our past to rest once and for all so that we can move on to find other partners or to allow our nascent romance to bloom and grow—I believe we should take the opportunity this unexpected situation has handed us and use the rest of the Season, the necessary time we’ll need to spend pretending to be an affianced couple, to give whatever existed between us eight years ago a chance to rekindle, develop, and grow or, alternatively, to fade away.”
She’d turned to watch his face as he’d spoken.
He met her eyes. “We turned our backs on what might have been once. Given the opportunity that’s fallen our way, we would be less than wise to do so again.”
She searched his eyes, then said, “In Ireland, were you by any chance a negotiator?”
He blinked. That was what she took from his carefully prepared speech? “As a matter of fact, I was.”
She nodded. “It shows.”
He looked at her, noting her self-confidence, the assurance she hadn’t possessed back then. “Well? As far as I can see, testing the waters will cost us nothing but time, time both of us are committed to spending together regardless.” Inspired, he added, “Are you up for the challenge of putting what was between us to the test and learning what could be?”
Melissa softly snorted. She recognized his strategy, but she couldn’t fault his tactics. No more than he could she walk away from the prospect of learning, once and for all, what could have evolved between them. She’d harbored so many dreams back then, ones in which he’d featured; might they—could they—come true?
He was correct in that they hadn’t planned this, yet Fate had thrust the chance upon them, and they’d be fools not to seize it.
That said, she saw the risks clearly, chief among those the risk to her heart. Yet there was simply no overlooking the fact that she interacted with him in a wholly different way than she interacted with any other gentleman. There was some sort of direct connection she shared with him and no one else. She’d recognized that link and appreciated its uniqueness eight years ago, and not only was it still there, but like them, it seemed to have matured.
At this point, she trusted in that—in the existence of that link—more than she trusted in much else.
Could she walk away from learning what it meant?
She drew in a breath and raised her head. “Perhaps it’s wooing the wrong way around—after the betrothal rather than before—but yes, I agree.” She looked up and met his gaze. “Let’s take the time, give ourselves the chance, and see what eventuates.”
She saw satisfaction leap, a flash of silver in his gray eyes. “However”—narrowing her eyes, she held his gaze—“if our connection doesn’t live up to expectations, I will cry off in May. June at the latest.”
Unable to hold back his smile, Julian promptly agreed. “It’s the first week of March. Let’s give ourselves until the first week of May before revisiting the question and deciding yea or nay.”
She nodded. “That will leave us time to plan the necessary steps for dissolving our engagement.”
“If that’s what we decide.”
“Indeed.”
He held out his hand, and after a fleeting hesitation, she placed her fingers in his. He raised them to his lips and, capturing her gaze, pressed a lingering kiss on her knuckles.
Her eyes widened a touch.
He wanted nothing more than to draw her to him and kiss her witless, but…forcing himself to lower her hand, he said, “I’d better go and see your father. I take it he’s expecting me?”
Retrieving her hand, she threw him a reproving look and turned toward the door. “We’llgo and see him. Believe me when I say he’ll be expecting both of us.”
He grinned at her back and, wryly amused, dutifully followed her from the room.
Later that afternoon, at the height of the fashionable hour, with Melissa beside him, Julian tooled his curricle through the Grosvenor Gate and into Hyde Park.
