Work, blasted heart.
Work, blasted lungs.
Work, blasted brain.
Work, blasted…heart.
The air left his lungs in a rush. Not loudly. Not in a way that anyone who wasn’t mere inches from him would have noticed. But Miss Shroud—he couldn’t think of her by any other name—was mere inches away, and her eyes left his mouth and caught his glance.
Concern touched her eyes. “What is it?”
His heart.
He couldn’t speak. His mouth was not working, but…his heart? Itwas. He studied the outlines of Miss Shroud’s face: her thick lashes, that pert little nose, and that mouth, which was always smiling and teasing. Even now.
This kiss had been a terrible mistake.
He lowered her slowly to the ground and pressed his forehead to hers. With shaking hands, he pushed the hair thathe’d so thoroughly mussed away from her cheeks. He was in love with the woman in front of him, and he didn’t know a single thing about her. “Tell me your name.”
She stiffened and pulled her forehead away from his. The sense of loss was instantaneous. She furrowed her eyebrows. “You know my name.”
He shook his head. “Not your real one.”
She scanned his face as if she were looking for something. He had no idea what. She placed one hand on his cheek. “It’s Lucy.”
He closed his eyes tightly and wished he hadn’t had to hear that name on her lips. “You can’t be Lucy. My fiancée's name is Lucy.”
“Matthew.” She spoke his name slowly, as if she were just as confused by this conversation as he was. “I know. I am your fiancée.”
She was what? He shook his head softly. Had he proposed while they were kissing? He wouldn’t have put it past himself, but he was quite certain his mouth had been much too busy to get out that many words. “No,” he said just as slowly, so she would be certain to understand. “My fiancée is probably headed here right now, looking for me with my mother. I saw her at the millinery.”
She tipped her head to one side, a slow smile starting to form on her lips. “You saw your fiancée at the millinery?”
“Yes.”
She reached for her locket. He hoped she was removing it from her neck, but that wasn’t what she did. Instead, she flicked her thumb on the clasp and opened it. “Is this who you mean?”
Matthew froze. Inside was not a picture of a man at all, but a miniature painting of young Lucy Bateman. “Why do you have a picture of my fiancée around your neck?”
She put a hand to her hip. “Who, exactly, do you think I am?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked your name.”
“Butwhodo you think I am? Why am I here? You know I didn’t come at my father’s bidding.”
“Do you work for my mother? Or perhaps my fiancée’s family? I assume you were with my mother when she came to Fenswallow, and decided to come here and force my stupid heart to fall in love with you so you could gain a title.”
“Matthew.”
“I forbid you from using my name until I know yours. No more games.”
“Itoldyou mine.” She pulled the locket over her head and held it out for him to inspect. “This is my sister, Helena Bateman. You met her once in a churchyard while she was pretending to be me. But you aren’t engaged to Helena. You, Matthew Harrison, are engaged to me.”
Understanding was finally starting to dawn, but it couldn’t be true, could it? He couldn’t be so lucky as to not only love the woman in front of him, but to be engaged to her as well. He’d never been that fortunate. “Lucy?”
She nodded.
“You are my Lucy?” The name tasted like a discovery on his lips. Like he was the first person in the world to ever use it.
