Page 52 of When the Viscount Seduces
“Well, you are two of those things anyway,” Jo said with a light laugh. “The third—propriety—is a tad overrated. Why wouldn’t she want you just as you are?”
He stared at her. “What are you suggesting?”
She shrugged. “That you could be the husband she deserves—and perhaps wants.”
“Has she said something?” Lazarus’s breath arrested as he waited, desperately, for her response.
“No, but I don’t think you should see yourself as someone she wouldn’t want.”
He exhaled. “She has appropriate suitors—men who fitall threeparts of the description I gave you.”
She moved closer to him, her gaze fixing on him with an urgent intensity. “But what about whatyouwant?”
He wanted Gwen. But he couldn’t have her, not in the way he’d always had women. She was the kind of woman one married.
“Those are some pretty deep furrows on your forehead,” Jo said. “I can see you are thinking very hard. Perhaps you are conflicted. Is there any chance you might be in love with her?”
The idea of it had flitted about his mind, but Lazarus hadn’t wanted to think about it. Love meant a deeper connection, commitment, whether you wanted it or not. Because when you loved someone, they held a part of you that you could never get back. And if you lost them, that part of you was gone forever.
Lazarus realized, whether he wanted it or not, hewasin love with Gwen. And he was already fighting against the pain of losing her along with some small part of himself, a part he’d only just discovered. Because of her. “There is a good chance,” he whispered, afraid to say it, but unable to keep it inside.
“Then fight for her.” Jo looked at him expectantly. “At least tell her how you feel and give her the chance to tell you if she feels the same.”
“She cannot. Feel the same, I mean.” She would never love a rogue like him. He was not at all the kind of man she wanted to marry.
“Why not? She was kissing you back, if I recall. And I think she even said it was her idea.”
“Wanting to kiss a rogue isn’t the same as loving one.” Honestly, Lazarus couldn’t believe Jo was being this obtuse.
Jo made a face at him and speared him with an icy glare. “Itcouldbe. You are being horribly obtuse.”
This made him laugh. “I was just thinking the same about you.”
“I am on the outside observing you and Gwen. If you don’t want my advice, fine. But I think if you don’t fight for her or at least tell her how you feel, you will regret it to the grave.”
Lazarus sobered. Regret was an emotion he understood. He would always wish he had more time with his father, that he’d told the man who’d been his champion and his hero how much he loved him and how grateful he was for his support and love.
“I’ll think about it.” His mind churned with what to say. And how to react when she inevitably told him he was a wonderful kisser, but not the sort of man she could marry.
“Think fast, or you will lose the opportunity. Gwen is a lovely person. She may surprise you in how she feels.”
“Are you sure you don’t know something?” he asked.
“I swear I do not. Only that she seems to like you a great deal. I see the potential for more, even if you don’t.”
Lazarus nodded. “Thank you.” He bade her good night and left the Siren’s Call, hailing a hack to take him home to Bruton Street.
Should he call on Gwen tomorrow? He envisioned opening his heart to her, and a cold sweat broke out along his neck.
He had appointments tomorrow, so perhaps the park instead. He would go and see if she was there. If he revealed himself in a public place, it would likely be less awkward. Or would it be more awkward?
Lazarus wiped his hand over his face. He needed to work on his bloody speech. He’d been unable to focus since yesterday. Really, since the salon the other night.
As soon as he arrived home, a footman gave him a letter that had arrived that evening while he was out. Lazarus recognized the handwriting—it was from Gwen.
Waiting until he was in his chamber, he tore it open. There was a reading exercise. Before it, she wrote:
Dear Lazarus,
