And when he kissed her she didn’t think, she simply felt, and it was better than to have to deal with the anger, the sadness, the despair.
She buried her face in his chest.
“Let me make you happy,” Luc said. “Let me take you away.”
It almost did not matter that Hector did not love her. Except it did. It absolutely did. But to heap on top of heartbreak the humiliation of having been twice passed over for Valérie, twice fooled. Loisail was poisonous; it made her sick. She wished to be far from it, and when Luc spoke, she listened. She really listened this time.
“You asked me if I ever wanted to get away. If you want us to go, we can go.”
“I do want to go away,” she told him. “Far from everyone, until I remember nothing from this city.”
She thought that for all his swagger and his posturing, Luc could be kind, and perhaps he was right, he could make her happy. And she wanted, more than anything in that moment, for someone to come and save her. For a hero to vanquish her fears and set the world right, and he looked the part of a knight in a book, he spoke the part.
“Then that is what we shall do,” he said.
Nina nodded.
“You’ll marry me, then?” His hand rose, coming to rest lightly against her cheek, and he smiled.
“I’ll marry you,” she said.
Chapter 18
HE CUT HIMSELF SHAVING ANDuttered a loud blasphemy at the mirror, sending his razor spinning against the tiles with a flicker of his eyes.
Hector enjoyed certainty. He followed a rigorous schedule; he paid attention to the tick of the clock, marking the proper hours for appointments and activities. Lately, though, he found himself terribly uncertain, and the feeling was not improving. That morning he felt as if he were sinking into quicksand.
More than a week had passed since Valérie visited him at the Royal, plunging him into a miasma. He had wondered what he might feel if he ever spoke with her again. He had not imagined it would be disgust. But that was exactly what he had experienced. He could not help but believe that his past, his youthful love, was tarnished by her actions.
She had broken so many of his dreams, and it seemed to him that now she burned the last, sweet remains of his affection.
However, there was something liberating in the moment. He was like the man who is given a reprieve by the executioner.
And then she had swung the ax again, threatening to snatch Nina away.
Not that he could claim Nina was his in any way; it was ridiculous to imagine she might be carried off like a stolen brooch.
It was Thursday, and Hector had to go to the Royal. He was scrupulous in his punctuality. Mornings were not to be wasted. Yet he’d risen late.
Which was why he was in a bad mood that day. He made the blade spin in a whirl of silver and then stilled it. He leaned down to pick it up, washed it, finished shaving.
He concluded his preparations but stopped at the door.
Nina had not sent a letter, and the sensation that all was amiss, that Valérie had said or performed a new act of cruelty, was intensifying.
She is under no obligation to see me,he thought.And I cannot saunter into her home.
Perhaps he could send her a note. A simple, pleasant greeting. It would not be too bold. This thought revived him, and he set off to work, penned the note, and asked a boy at the theater to deliver it.
Unfortunately, the boy returned within the hour, looking mortified. “The lady said you should have your note back,” he told Hector.
“She said what?” Hector asked.
“She sent it back.”
He wanted to barge into her home, beg for an explanation, and he forced himself to remain calm. It would have been unseemly, and she would be put off by such rudeness. He sent another note the week after, and the answer was the same. Miss Beaulieu was not accepting his correspondence. What on earth had happened?
One day later, although it was a morning when Hector should have ventured toward the theater, he grabbed his coat and had a carriage take him to Three Bridges Quarter. There he waited in front of Nina’s address, though not for long.
