Page 35 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

They journeyed on in silence, partly because Mickey preferred it when Rollo focused on the road and wasn’t nattering, but partly because his mind replayed Rollo’s conversation with Miss Amelia Chesterton. Time does not wait.

If it wasn’t for her uncommon beauty, Miss Chesterton would be entirely inconsequential in the eyes of the ton. Even with it, she was considered no more worthy than an ornament, by virtue of being of the fairer sex. Nothing but a pawn in her father’s and a marquess’s machinations, destined to pick snowdrops and embroider kittens on cushions until God decided her time on this earth was up. And yet, here she was, a person whose opinions were neither sought nor welcomed, but fully formed regardless. And she had somehow managed to crystallise every single one of Mickey’s own jumbled mess of emotions into a few simple sentences.

Five days remaining. Time does not wait. So what if Mickey made a cake of himself? So what if Valentin’s gilded tongue was nothing but sentiment over substance? Mickey had been dancing around his own truth for far too long. There were things he needed to do and say, and if he never did, he’d regret it forever.

He only realised that Rollo repeated his name several times over when he received an elbow in the ribs. The horses drew to a halt behind a post-chaise being loaded with traveller’s trunks. “Your head is in the clouds, old chap. I asked where you wished me to drop you off? I’m heading this way, to Old Bond Street—Papa is taking me for a new coat fitting so that I may sparkle at the New Year ball. And then I shall be calling into Ackermann’s on the Strand.”

“Why on earth are you going there?”

Rollo may have said already if only Mickey had paid attention. As far as he could recall, Ackermann’s was a repository for art supplies, a dull place where idle ladies pored over insipid watercolour brushes and the like.

“Oh, Fitz wants something,” Rollo replied vaguely. “For his atrocious daubs.” They started up again. “Where shall I drop you off?”

“Albany.” As the world around him buzzed, as Rollo wittered on about his new coat, and as a whistle blew and a barrow boy shouted, a rope of certainty weaved itself into the fabric of Mickey’s mind. Time does not wait. “Drop me off at Albany, my sweet sugar plum. I have a man to kiss.”

Chapter Twelve

“I WASN’T EXPECTING you until much later.” Valentin’s hands caressed Mickey’s shoulders, his worried eyes shifting from his face to his attire. “Are you quite all right?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Perfectly fine.” As Valentin ushered him in, Mickey’s fingers twitched at his side, restless and matching the frenetic pace of his pulse as if they had a life of their own.

“Are you sure?”

Mickey wiped a clammy palm on his trouser leg. “Yes, quite. Except I need to—” He marched towards Valentin and then away again. And then marched back up to him to put a hand on the Frenchman’s lapel. He closed his fingers around it. “Listen. I…I must…I want to kiss you. Now, right now, before it is too late. Before—” Before you commit a foolish act, before you are arrested. “Before you travel back to Verdille and we are no more. When that day comes, and it’s coming very soon, I don’t want to regret a single thing. Time will not pause for me to muster the courage to tell you how much I…I care for you, nor will it dally until I find an unspoiled moment to say the perfect thing. It will move on—indifferent to our little affair and relentless—and…and by the time we realise we’ve left something unsaid, the chance will be gone. So, forgive me, Valentin, I’m fully aware I’m making an utter ass of myself, and I care not.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “I care not what you are or who you are or whether you are even who you pretend to be.” He wrapped the lapel even tighter in his fist. “But I know I shall miss you terribly when you are no longer here, and I’m sorry I’m too occupied with my affairs here, but also too cowardly, to follow you to France. And I want to kiss you as you kiss me.”

In the ensuing echoey stillness, Valentin took a step back, gently uncurling Mickey’s fingers from his coat. And then he widened the gap another pace. And then he turned away altogether, away from Mickey to face the window.

An eternity of silence pressed down on Mickey, his chest tightening with each empty passing second.

“London,” Valentin breathed at last.” My dear, sweet London. And you accuse me of being full of romantic flummery.”

Very slowly, he turned around to face Mickey, his expression grave, that of a man caught in the ripple of something he hadn’t asked for or anticipated and certainly wasn’t ready for. But then, what casual bed partner could ever be ready for a declaration so…unwarranted?

Mickey’s breath came quicker, trying to escape through the cracks in his chest. He had a dreadful feeling he might cry.

“I’m afraid you cannot say those things, London,” Valentin said softly. “Not to me. You cannot speak of caring or missing or…or things left unsaid. Not in that sincere tone.”

Mickey forced a shaky exhale and swallowed hard, the motion sticking in his throat. Desperately, he tried to empty his mind of all his hopes and dreams. “Forgive me. I…I…you are making that clear. I…dammit…I have mistaken your flattery and silken tongue for something else. I’ll go.” He dug his nails into his palms. “I…I thought we—”

It seemed Mickey had more in common with a blushing ingenue after all. A hot tear dribbled down his cheek.

In two swift strides Valentin was by his side. “Please do not weep for me, Mickey. I am not a worthy recipient of your tears.”

“Why? Because you are a thief and not a vicomte? That you eat countryman’s food and sup…sup on cheap ale and have no need for servants?” Mickey clenched his eyes shut, willing the sting to fade. “You think I don’t know all that you hide, yet I still want you regardless?”

“As I want you. If you weren’t so divine, I would never have declared my feelings for you. I should have kept you at arm’s length. We have had these precious few weeks, and if you cannot travel with me to France, then that must be enough.”

“But why do you have to go at all? And you could always return.”

Valentin grabbed Mickey’s face and held it between both palms. “I cannot.” His beautiful eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “My dear love. I’m hiding far more than you could imagine, and you would not want me if you knew. You and Tommy have not worked hard to escape a grubby life of wrongdoing only to be sucked back into it. I will not allow that for you.”

This was it. If Valentin admitted he schemed to steal the parure, then Mickey could scare him off it. “Nothing you are hiding could scare me,” he declared. “I know you are a thief. And how could you bring me down? You seem to glide through society untouchable.”

Valentin let loose a gravelly laugh. “Fortune has smiled on me for many years.” His thumb brushed across Mickey’s wet cheek. “Listen. I’m hiding a secret. Very soon, I shall commit a theft with consequences far greater than petty pilfering from reticules, pinching snuff boxes, and palming sleeve buttons. And…and I may get caught. An association with me will not be in your favour.”

And there it was. Everything they’d suspected. The proof Valentin planned to steal the Ashington parure. Mickey’s guess had been correct all along.