She could barely speak through the lump in her throat. “I will carry the Lord Admiral with me wherever I go, I promise. And I will write about his adventures.”
Avery brightened. By the time she bade her family goodbye and climbed into the carriage with Lucien, she was feeling a strange mixture of gratitude, nerves, and anticipation.
She could not stem a flutter of hope that she might recapture what she and Lucien had shared in those charged moments before they had been interrupted in her bedchamber and afterward, when he’d confided to her about the shattering of his family. She had known from the look on his face what he’d expected—for her to be repulsed by what he’d done, to reject him as he had rejected himself. He had looked so confused when she had not, seemed younger, somehow.
As the carriage jounced down the drive, she asked, “You and Avery seemed to have a serious conversation. May I ask what it was about?”
“We reached a gentleman’s agreement and a gentleman never betrays what was said in confidence.”
She took his hand in hers, her heart swelling, feeling certain that the armor he’d worn for years had cracked, just a little.
Maybe, just maybe, that crack might let her shine a spark of light into Lucien Harcourt’s darkness. And maybe she could begin to seek light of her own as well.
Of course Arkwrightwould show up on Raven’s Court’s doorstep the moment he heard that the newlyweds were in their London residence, Lucien thought with more than a little relief. As his friend lavished them with congratulations, he had to admit he had rarely been more grateful to see his friend’s face.
Everything had changed since the night Lucien had found the rascally stowaway under Grace’s bed. He felt as if he was walking on uncertain ground and might, at any moment, plunge through. To…what? He couldn’t fathom. He only knew he disliked the sensation immensely.
Going to his club would be just what he needed to recapture some of his old, familiar life—that was, if Arkwright would be sensible again and stop grinning at him like he had stolen sweets.
“You’ll forgive us, my dear, if Arkwright and I go to the club.”
“Surround myself with a pack of dull men in their cups when we can spend the afternoon showing the lovely new Lady Everdene off to the ton? Unthinkable!” Arkwright’s boundless enthusiasm reminded him of the retrievers that were always scampering up whenever the friendly bastard passed by. “I’ve come to spirit you newlyweds away to Hyde Park.”
Lucien would have loved to clap a hand over Arkwright’s mouth, but there was nothing for it. Not when Grace’s whole face lit up. It was go to Hyde Park or behave like a cad.
It would be a miracle if he didn’t end up strangling his friend.
They left the carriage in care of the coachman to stroll along the Serpentine, Grace’s skirts swaying like a bluebell, her face beneath her bonnet drawing Lucien’s gaze again and again.
She watched the families on the shoreline of the man-made lake, a smile dimpling her cheek as little girls tossed crumbs to the swans, and boys sailed toy boats beneath the indulgent gaze of proud fathers or mothers. Arkwright walked to the vendor and purchased a stale bun, presenting it to Grace with a flourish so she could join the fun. Lucien knew damned well what Arkwright was doing as he watched Grace join the throng of children.
“You’re an arse,” Lucien muttered.
“Yes. Well, how else am I to find out what’s been going on? You have been glaring until I expect the lake to start boiling at any moment.”
Lucien watched Grace laugh in delight as a toddler took three steps, then clapped his hands so enthusiastically he plopped down on his rump.
“Out with it, my friend,” Arkwright prodded. “How is married life?”
Stray curls were teasing the velvety skin of Grace’s neck. Just watching them made him want to press his lips there. It was unnerving, the sudden, irresistible urges he felt whenever he was near her. Even when he was not, his famed concentration was shaken. “It is not what I expected.”
“How so?”
“Someone shouted my name as we exited the church after the wedding. They flung a brick and struck Grace.”
“Bloody hell…”
“It tore her skirt and landed on her foot. Could have been far worse. There was a note attached to the brick. A warning.”
Concern furrowed Arkwright’s brow. “Any idea who was behind it?”
“None. I insisted we leave at once for Everdene.”
“Not the most romantic wedding night.”
“That had to be postponed under the circumstances.”
Arkwright stared. “You didn’t bed her? The way you were looking at her that day at The Willows, I’d have thought you’d barely wait until the ring was on her finger.”
