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‘You’ve thought of everything.’
His frown was reflexive. ‘No, Lucinda, you did. I’m only making it fit the areas of the house you didn’t know about.’
The praise fanned the flames in her belly. She couldn’t help but smile at him appreciatively, her eyes twinkling and her cheeks pale pink in the dusk light. His eyes held on her face for a beat too long and then his focus returned to the home.
His tour was exhaustive. The ground floor had been modernised twenty years earlier. ‘My parents,’ he admitted after a small pause. But it was when he showed her into the ballroom that Lucinda realised how right she’d been to fight for this.
‘It’s perfect,’ she whispered, reaching out and pressing a hand to his forearm quite by instinct. He stiffened at the innocent contact but she didn’t withdraw her touch. She couldn’t. She was too overwhelmed. This truly was the most beautiful room she’d ever been in.
The space was enormous—far bigger than she’d conceptualised—with ceilings that had to be at least ten metres tall. A string of chandeliers ran down the centre, crystal and ornate, with one in the middle of the room that was at least four times as large as any of the others. Here, there was no shortage of windows. One side of the room was filled with ancient, carved glass, fine and etched, that framed views of the valley, the forest, the sky and the town in the distance, with its medieval church spire just visible from here. At the far end of the ballroom was a set of beautiful timber doors, wide and grand.
‘Where do they lead?’ she asked, in awe.
‘I’ll show you.’ Was she imagining the hitch to his voice? She couldn’t take her eyes off the room, the shining parquet floor an artwork in and of itself. Her fingers stayed curled around his forearm as they moved. But it was a mistake, because all she could imagine was how it would feel to be here under different circumstances. Not as a paid contractor, but as a bona fide guest, invited by Thirio. Dancing with him beneath these incomparably beautiful chandeliers, the light golden and warm, as his hand pressed to her lower back...
She bit down on her lower lip, trying to calm her racing nerves, but his proximity only made the fantasy seem more real.
When they reached the doors, he pressed a hand to one, opening it with the slightest groan courtesy of its age.
‘Watch your step,’ he urged, dislodging her grip on his arm, but only so that he could use that exact same arm to curve around her back, drawing her closer to him as he shepherded her out onto the most exquisite balcony. It was large enough to accommodate perhaps ten people, and reminded her of the balconies at Buckingham Palace, where the royal family would gather to wave to their people.
‘It’s beautiful.’ But her focus was no longer on the balcony, or the view, or the sublime sunset colours streaking through the sky, painting the forest in shades of deep violet and gold. She turned to face him slowly, bravely, but also with a sense of inevitability, to find his eyes resting heavily on her face, a frown marring his lips.
Again, her hand lifted of its own accord, pressing to his shirt front, her fingers splayed wide. She stared at her fingertips a moment, before lifting her eyes to his, almost blinking away again for the sheer rush of awareness that bolted through her at his nearness.
‘Thirio.’ She said his name without knowing what she wanted to ask him.
His features gave little away, but he made no effort to put space between them, nor to clear her hand from his body.
‘Have you—?’ She hesitated, embarrassed by the question she’d been about to ask.
‘Yes?’
She swallowed past a bundle of nerves in her throat. She had been silenced by uncertainty for a long time and didn’t want that to be the case with Thirio. With him, Lucinda wanted to be completely herself, without fear of failure, without fear of anything. ‘Have you thought about me, Thirio?’
His brows drew together, features darkening, as though her question was the last thing he’d expected. ‘In what way?’
Her smile was lacking humour. ‘Not the wedding planning kind of way.’
He made a noise of comprehension, his expression ambivalent. She waited, breath held, sure he was going to say ‘no’. She braced herself for that disappointment, told herself it didn’t matter.
But then his hand lifted, cupping her face, his thumb brushing the flesh at the side of her lips, as though willing himself not to kiss her. ‘What do you think?’
‘I truly don’t know,’ she admitted after a beat. ‘I can’t tell if I’m alone in what I’m feeling, or if you feel it too.’
‘That’s hard to believe.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I’ve made my feelings evident.’ His voice was little more than a growl. ‘But I have also explained why I cannot act on them.’
She tilted her face towards his, an invitation in the parting of her lips and the gentle push of her body.
He dipped his head forward, not to be near her so much as to draw breath. But that didn’t matter. The action brought his face closer to hers and Lucinda was sick of being pushed away. Maybe it was the magic of this castle, but she felt alive with temptation and need, and shelikedthe way that felt.
‘Even when it’s what we both want?’
‘I’m sorry that you want me,’ he admitted gruffly.
