Dash it all. A charity ball in which Jonathan had few connections and no interest was the last place he would normally wish to be. Yet knowing she’d be there had drawn him from his parlor and forced him into decidedly uncomfortable evening clothes.
Jonathan did not merely admire Nora Eden. Did not merely enjoy her company or feel protective of her happiness. Somewhere amidst conversations and opera boxes and quietwalks, affection had rooted itself so deeply inside him that the idea of losing her felt unbearable.
The realization arrived not with thunderous certainty but with the quiet, devastating inevitability of something that had been true for far longer than he wished to admit. And standing beside her whilst the cool night air stirred the dark curls near her temple, Jonathan found himself unable to imagine why any man would willingly accept anything less than a lifetime at her side.
Jonathan was hardly immune to beauty, nor had he spent his life wandering about untouched by desire—a few brief flirtations encouraged by hopeful acquaintances, even a courtship or two that had survived just long enough to make it clear how ill-equipped he was for the enterprise. Business was straightforward. Predictable. Buildings and contracts made sense in ways people did not, and somewhere over the years Jonathan had gradually accepted that marriage was not meant for him.
Yet standing beside Miss Eden now, the whole notion seemed absurd. The care he felt for her had spread quietly through him until it touched every part of his life, altering his days so gradually that he’d failed to notice the transformation until this very moment.
And now that he finally recognized it, Jonathan wasn’t capable of feigning mere friendship.
“I love you, Miss Eden.”
Chapter 35
The lady gave a start, jerking her arm out of his and whirling about to stare at him. “Pardon?”
“I want more than your friendship.” For all that the declaration ought to have set his pulse racing, Jonathan’s muscles relaxed as that rightness settled into him. A smile curved the edge of his lips as a myriad of words entered his thoughts, each begging to be shared, which only made him grin all the more. Love was making him a fool.
“I think of you as my friend, of course, but I constantly wonder when I will see you next and eagerly accept invitations to the most inane events as long as you are there.” Nodding toward the bustling ballroom, Jonathan huffed. “I didn’t attend more than three gatherings last Season, but since meeting you, I am out more often than I am at home—all because I would rather suffer through this ridiculousness than spend an evening without you. I wish to be by your side the rest of my days.”
A corner of Jonathan’s mouth curved upward despite himself. “I realize this is not the most sensible setting for such a declaration. Nor perhaps the most sensible timing considering the matters we have just discussed. But after hearing you insist we were nothing more than friends…”
Jonathan shook his head and said in a wry tone, “I discovered that I dislike the notion rather intensely, and I cannot allow it to remain unchallenged.”
Cool night air stirred through the courtyard whilst music drifted from the ballroom in soft strains, yet Jonathan scarcely noticed anything but the lady before him. The way her eyes widened impossibly far. The delicate rise and fall of her breath. The flush along her cheeks and the graceful line of her throat.
And to Jonathan’s own astonishment, warmth and light spread through him. He had expected awkwardness perhaps. Panic certainly. Yet he felt lighter than he had in months, and the admission sat comfortably inside him, fitting into his heart with such ease that he couldn’t comprehend why he hadn’t recognized the truth before.
“What say you?” he asked.
Miss Eden stared at him for a long moment before a single word escaped her lips: “No.”
*
The answer ripped free, tearing through her like a serrated knife, as every aching, hopeful part of her yearned to surge forward and embrace Mr. Hatcher. His declaration moved through her with agonizing sweetness, settling into all the hollow places of her heart as though they had been crafted precisely to fill them, a jeweler’s most precious pieces sliding into the case created for them.
Though not the first time someone had spoken to her of love, no one had done so with such simplicity and certainty. Jonathan Hatcher spoke with all the truth of his heart, laying it bare without forethought. No flowered words or grand affectations.
But her certainty crumbled beneath her feet, leaving her with doubts about her discernment, doubts about her feelings, and even doubts about her doubts.
Regardless, Nora would ruin him. Scandals never remained in tidy confines. Like locusts, they spread through families, friendships, and acquaintances, eating away until there was nothing left. Investors would flee. Contracts would disappear. His good name would be dragged through drawing rooms and newspaper columns until his reputation was in tatters.
Perhaps this business with Papa was all a misunderstanding.Perhaps.
“I am honored that you think so highly of me.” Nora’s voice wobbled, but she forced herself to remain still whilst every desperate part of her begged to embrace him. “But I do not wish to court anyone. Everyone knows I have no interest in marriage, and I never gave any indication that I wish for more than friendship.”
For one terrible instant, surprise dawned on his face as clear and bright as a summer’s morn. Not outrage. Not anguish. Simple bewilderment.
Mr. Hatcher’s eyes fixed upon her, capturing her with that intensity that never failed to discompose her, and Nora’s pulse quickened. Turning away before he could see more than she wished, she mumbled an excuse and gathered her skirts, stepping toward the safety of the ballroom before her resolve crumbled entirely.
But a gentle hand closed around her arm, stopping her in place.
“Miss Eden.”
Something in his tone stopped her more surely than his touch, and Nora turned slowly as he let his arm fall to his side. Even in the dim half-lit courtyard, she could see how intently hewatched her, his expression held in check by an effort that made the restraint more revealing, not less.
“You are a wretched liar,” he whispered.
