“I’ll try,” he repeated.
He did not make love to her that night. It was she who approached him in the morning, with a shy hand and her eyes closed, uncertain whether he would respond. He was on top of her very swiftly, coaxing her to look at him, and when she did, his face was his own again and etched with tender greed. She wrapped her legs around his hips and urged him closer.
Though oblivious of the fact, Mr. Matthews had become their guardian of decent conduct, with his presence preventing them from spending their days in bed. Good manners demanded they share meals with him at the regular times, which forced structure upon their newly married life.
Matthews always joined them looking very well groomed and dressed and made conversation about the happenings in London. It was how she learned that her sister Mina’s engagement had been announced in “the very best spot” in the Times, which shocked her. She hadn’t cared to inform her family about her whereabouts after her father’s betrayal, but hearing the engagement news from a third party hurt. She missed her siblings. She missed her friends. Mr. Matthews turned into the harbinger of realities she did not yet care for, and she’d breathe a sigh of relief to see him return to London.
“Mr. Matthews is so well informed about society gossip,” she told Lucian when she lay sprawled across his chest later.
“He’s aristocracy,” Lucian said. “He makes a point of being interested in society.”
She was aghast. “He’s a lord?”
“No, youngest son of a baron, but fallen on hard times. Secretly, he thinks my current position in the world is an abomination.”
She nestled more closely against him. “You could be kinder to him,” she suggested.
“I’m as kind as I can be. I suspect he’s done some bad gambling in my absence.”
“I admit I’m slightly relieved to see him leave,” she confessed. “I can’t shake the feeling that he has been scrutinizing me ever since he arrived.” She smiled. “He probably thinks you are a barbaric ravisher and I suffer in your clutches.”
Unexpectedly, her banter hit a mark deep inside him—she felt him flinch beneath her palm. She glanced up and found his expression was tense.
“I would never hurt you that way,” he said. “You must know that.”
She gave him a confused smile. “I know.”
The tension in him didn’t ease. She cradled his jaw in her small hand. “You are my dark knight,” she said. “My cruel prince. And I’m not nearly as scared of you as you would like me to be.”
“I don’t want you scared at all,” he said, annoyed. “If I’m too demanding—tell me so. I can’t read minds.”
“Is something the matter?”
“No.”
She felt his fingers in her hair, stroking absently while something turned and twisted inside his chest.
“My mother,” he finally said. “Sometimes,” he tried again, “sometimes I can’t be certain whether she much liked the man who fathered me.”
She pressed a tender kiss to his ribs. “She loved you very much,” she said.
“How would you know?” His tone was defensive. She still heard the flimsy, reluctant flicker of hope, and her heart ached for him.
“Because you said she loved the sun most of all,” she murmured. “And she named you Lucian.”
His eyes narrowed to dark slits.
“Lucian means light, or light bringer,” she said gently. “Don’t you know that?”
He lay perfectly quiet for a moment.
“I suppose,” he said. “I just never …” He gave a hoarse laugh. “My sister’s name, Sorcha … it means light, too. She definitely loved wee Sorcha. Christ. I just never made the connection.” His chest shook with a silent chuckle. “You’re brilliant,” he then said, his eyes shiny with unfamiliar mirth. “I’m a dunce.”
Her smile faded, because he wasn’t a dunce, he was wickedly clever. That he hadn’t seen the connection was owed to how he instinctively felt about himself. Unlovable. The realization made her breathless with protective anger.
He pulled her up to bring their mouths level and kissed her. “Thanks,” he murmured against her lips, so softly she barely caught it.
“My mind is funny like that,” she said. Flitting around and cobbling seemingly unfitting things together only to blurt them out loud. Lucian’s arms locked around her and squeezed hard enough to make her squeak. “Your mind’s bloody brilliant,” he repeated firmly, and now it made her glow as warmly as a good loving. Almost as good as an I love you. He still had not said the three words, but he had given up Rutland for her, and she clung—yes, clung—to that as a token of his love.