‘I had money before. My father’s estate filled my dowry.’
Right. ‘Well, now it’s bigger.’
She nodded. Why didn’t she speak?
‘I mean, it’s May, right? You’re in the middle of the Season?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you engaged? Did you find someone to marry?’
She carefully set aside her teacup, making pains—he guessed—to show that there was no engagement ring on her finger. ‘I have not selected a husband. Why should I? I am content here with my sister, and I look forward to my niece or nephew.’
That made sense. Indeed, many unwed sisters lived such a life on their relative’s generosity. ‘You are happy then?’
Her lips curved and her gaze grew abstract. ‘I am happy.’ Then her eyes sharpened. ‘Are you? Do you have plans?’
‘God, no. I thought I was dead. It’s disconcerting to have survived.’
‘Hmmm.’
Damnation, she knew how to be inscrutable when she wanted. She stood, as regal as a queen, and he could do nothing but gaze in amazement at her. She’d always been lovely, but now she had a maturity that had been lacking before. A strength in herself that made her stunningly beautiful. She would age into a goddess.
And then, while he was still caught up in his fantasy of her as Juno or Athena, she abruptly bent down and pressed her mouth to his.
Never, in his entire life, had he been surprised by a kiss. That was because he was the one who orchestrated the dance. Always. Except with Lucy. She’d never said what he expected, never done as he thought she would. She was kissing him, and he scrambled to catch up.
Her lips touched his, warm and wet from her tea. And when her tongue stroked across his flesh, he felt a roar in his blood that hadn’t been there since he’d left England. But it was back now, and it wanted her.
He pressed into her kiss, trying to deepen what she’d started. She allowed it for a moment, but only a moment. It was as if she sank into him long enough for her to remember him and for him to realise her presence with him.
Then she pulled back.
He caught her arm, but only barely. So when he tried to hold her close, she slipped away. And then she stood there, waiting while her breath steadied, and his heart kept pounding.
‘Lucy—’ he began.
‘Do you remember our time on the ship? Just before you left?’
How could he forget? How many times had he relived the taste of her? The feel of her coming apart beneath his mouth?
‘Yes,’ he rasped.
‘Now you know how it feels to begin something, to open to something you want, and then have it disappear. For nineteen months!’
He winced. ‘I had to prove myself.’
‘And have you? Do you feel like a worthy man now? Do you know what you want?’
He paused before answering. He knew the question had more significance than it appeared. There was a finality behind her eyes that told him so much rested upon his answer.
He sat up and thought about everything he had done, everything he was. He knew not to count the money. Coin was the least measure of a man, but it was the way the world counted. If he chose to look at himself by the world’s standards, he would fall short.
Instead, he chose to look at himself the way Lucy measured a man. Or perhaps the way he now thought of other people.
He held to his responsibilities, for good or for ill. He cared for his family and for the children of strangers. He could be foolish with money, but he was gaining ground there. He balanced accounts, he calculated what was necessary and what was excess. He’d made mistakes there, but he owned them. And he apologised when he was in the wrong.
‘I am a good man,’ he realised. The words were spoken in a whisper at first, but then he looked straight at her and spoke with strength. ‘I am a good man.’