Page 59 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

“I think you are a mercenary,” Edmund corrected flatly.

“I am a realist,” she countered. “I did not leave the man, Edmund. I left the version of you that came home from your father’s funeral.”

Edmund froze, his chest tightening.

“You were already someone else,” Cecily continued, her voice dropping into a softer, almost intimate register. “You were grief-shrunk. You were drowning in duty. You were already halfway to becoming the careful, joyless, rigid creature standing in front of me right now. I fell in love with a man who read poetry aloud in Roman cafés, a man who laughed easily and recklessly, a man who did not yet know the crushing weight of what he was going to inherit.”

She tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “That man simply wasn’t there anymore to be loved.”

“So you packed your trunks and left without a word,” Edmund said, his voice entirely dead.

“I am not sorry,” Cecily stated plainly. “I am only mistaken about how long it would take you to come back to yourself.”

“I am myself.”

“You are stubborn,” Cecily corrected, a dazzling smile breaking across her face. It was the specific, irresistible smile that had once unraveled him completely in the Latin Quarter. “You are being stubborn out of grief, not out of any genuine lack of feeling. I have been thinking about our last conversation in Paris for months.”

She stood up slowly, closing the distance between them. The intoxicating scent of crushed cloves and vanilla washed over him.

“I have to admit,” Cecily murmured, her dark eyes sparkling with genuine amusement, “the whole theater of this Season has a certain undeniable charm. You playing the impoverished secretary. The handsome friend playing the earl. It is very much like the old days, Edmund. You always did love a brilliant prank.”

Edmund stared at her, a staggering realization washing over his mind. She didn’t understand. She genuinely believed this entire catastrophic deception was nothing more than a playful rebellion against his title. She saw the wreckage of his life and thought it was an elaborate joke designed for her entertainment.

“But the joke is old now,” Cecily whispered, taking another step closer. “And it is not funny anymore. The ton is tedious, and this country is entirely too damp. We should go.”

“Go?” Edmund repeated, his voice hollow.

“Paris,” she said, reaching out to trace the lapel of his brown coat. “The continent. The life we had before all this suffocating duty and damage swallowed you whole. I am still here, Edmund. That is what matters.”

Edmund looked down at her. He searched his own chest, waiting for the familiar, agonizing pang of longing, the desperate hunger that had driven him across Europe.

He found absolutely nothing.

The space where she had once lived inside him was empty.

“No,” Edmund said.

Cecily blinked, her smile faltering slightly. She took a small step toward him, her hand sliding up toward his shoulder.

Edmund stepped back, physically removing himself from her reach. “No, Cecily.”

A sharp click sounded behind her.

The drawing room door swung open. The young housemaid stood on the threshold, looking flushed and entirely flustered by the sudden breach of protocol.

“My lord… Mr. Marsh… sir,” the maid stammered. “An unexpected caller…”

Corinna stood in the doorway.

She was wearing her dark wool walking coat, her own maid hovering nervously a few paces behind her. The cold street air still clung to her clothes, her cheeks flushed with a high, brilliant color. She had not gone to the Serpentine. She had marched directly to the lion’s den.

Edmund’s heart stopped dead in his chest.

Corinna did not speak. Her sharp gray eyes swept the room. She took in the intimate proximity. She took in Cecily’s hand, hovering in the space near Edmund’s shoulder. She took in Cecily’s proprietary, familiar stance, and Edmund’s breathless, frozen posture.

The color drained from Corinna’s cheeks, leaving her pale and perfectly composed. The vulnerability that had cracked open in the garden last night snapped shut, locking away the woman he loved behind an impenetrable fortress of quiet dignity.

Without uttering a single word, Corinna turned on her heel and walked out.