“I don’t want anyone to see me like this—”
“No one will.”
“They will once the dance is over. I can’t hide my face in your chest forever.”
“I’m steering us to the other end of the room. When we get there, we’ll duck out onto the terrace, and then you can go to your room via the back stairs. I’ll show you. No one will see you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Her breath caught on one final sob.
She listened to the melody she knew too well.
Who wouldn’t love “Moon River”? Signature song of the filmBreakfast at Tiffany’s.
It was her mother’s favorite song. Aunt Delilah told her she’d played it on a loop when she was giving birth. Until things went wrong.
Ceci felt the force of Clarke’s breath against her cheek. It sounded like wind held captive by steel. She shut her eyes, and an image of the Man in the Iron Mask imprisoned and behind bars flashed before her.
And then he spoke.
His words slipped between those bars and shot straight to her heart.
“We’re almost there, Ceci. Don’t worry. I’ll be your huckleberry.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Clarke
Clarke couldn’t sleep, unable to shake that feeling of holding Ceci in his arms, the weight of her leaning into him when she was crying.
They’d escaped to the terrace and he’d led her to her room via the back stairs. No one had seen her. Just as he’d promised.
What was that heavy yet breezy feeling in his chest when she’d looked at him with gratitude before closing the door to her room?
Sighing, he wandered down the corridor, until he heard something. It was coming from the fencing room. He peered in. He expected to see one of his brothers. Not her. She had her back to him. And when she turned around, she was standing directly under the light. She wore a pale-lavender nightgown with a light wrap the same color. The material was sheer,but not sheer enough, he thought, wishing it were transparent.
Her eyes widened. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” he said. “You okay?”
“Yes, why? Oh, earlier. Yeah, I’m fine.” She turned to the blades. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to find an entire room devoted to fencing, given your brothers’ names.”
Chuckling, he entered the room. “Yeah. No surprise there.”
Should he just come clean? Now? That he was the Man in the Iron Mask? She had to know those three musketeers she’d met at that ball were his three brothers.
She peered at him. Usually when she did that, her eyes glinted and were piercing, but now they looked soft, even velvety.
His eyes drifted down, imagining the curve of her breasts and her nipples.
Pugnacious. That was the word that came to mind when he thought of her nipples. His gaze wandered further.
I wonder if she tastes like vanilla. She might. If ever there was a woman who should, it would be her. Because to the outside world, she’s so … not … vanilla.
Why this made him smile, he couldn’t say. Not only couldn’t he say, he couldn’t stop. He was still smiling when his eyes met hers.
