An Offer From a Gentleman

“I can live with you hating me,” he said to the closed door. “I just can’t live without you.”

'Tonight I am transformed," she whispered. "Tomorrow I shall disappear."

Then we must pack a lifetime into this very night."

The words were oh-so-familiar, and it was only a second before she was transported back nine years to the masquerade ball. “The private terrace, you say?” she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes. “And how, pray tell, would you know of a private terrace?”

His lips brushed against hers. “I have my ways,” he murmured.

“And I,” she returned, smiling slyly, “have my secrets.”

Her lips parted and her eyes grew round. “Do you think Lady Whistledown will write about me?”

“God, I hope not,” he muttered.

Her face fell.

“Well, I suppose she might. Why on earth would you want her to?”

“I’ve been reading her column for years. I always dreamed of seeing my name there.”

Sophie’s eyes never wavered off of Araminta’s face as she said, “That was for not loving your daughters equally.”

Posy began to bawl.

“There’s a special place in hell for mothers like you,” Sophie said, her voice dangerously low.

“Were you ever going to tell me that we’d met before?”

Sophie knew that protest was useless, so she let out a long-suffering sigh—exaggerated, just to delight the children—and
turned around so that Hyacinth could fasten a scarf over her eyes.

“Can you see?” Nicholas demanded.

“No,” Sophie lied.

He turned to Hyacinth with a grimace. “She can see.”

How could he tell?

“Add a second scarf,” he said. “This one is too sheer.”

“The indignity,” Sophie muttered, but nonetheless, she leaned down slightly so that Hyacinth could tie another scarf over her eyes.

“Humor me,” he said, “and let me believe the afternoon ended without your telling me this will never happen again.”

“But—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “You’re not humoring me.”

“But—”

“Don’t I deserve this one little fantasy?”

At last, he broke through. She smiled.

“Good,” he said. “That’s more like it.”

Her lips quivered, then, amazingly, her smile grew.

“Excellent,” he murmured. “Now then, I’m going to leave. And you have only one task while I go. You will stay right here, and you will keep smiling. Because it breaks my heart to see any other expression on your face.”

“You won’t be able to see me,” she pointed out.

He touched her chin. “I’ll know.”

And then, before her expression could change from that enchanting combination of shock and adoration, he left.

She was here, with him, and she felt like heaven. The soft scent of her hair, the slight taste of salt on her skin—she was, he thought, born to rest in the shelter of his arms. And he was born to hold her.