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“No,” he said, smiling, “but she wouldsellit to me for five grand.”
Regan laughed, shook her head. “I’m going to fire that girl. She swore to me—”
“Everyone has a price, yes?”
She sighed.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t want me to find you,” he said. “You put the name ‘M. Regan Le Fay’ on your mailbox downstairs.”
“You caught that joke, did you?” Morgan Le Fay was King Arthur’s half-sister, his enemy and his lover.
“I’m the smart one in the family, remember?” He grinned and her blood temperature shot up to a steady boil. She’d been happy here in Montmartre, painting, living alone, being herself. Happy and lonely, which she never knew could go so well together until she’d started using her loneliness in her art.
“I’m a Godwick, too,” she said. “You’re not the smart one in the family anymore.”
“May I come in?” He was standing right on the threshold. She’d kept the door cracked for better ventilation. He hadn’t broken in, not really. He probably would have if it had come to that, she thought.
“Yes, you may come in.”
The urge to run into his arms and kiss him was nearly overwhelming but she held back. She’d left to heal, to escape the prison she’d made for herself. She’d also left to break whatever spell she’d cast over Arthur, so that he’d see they shouldn’t be together for more reasons than she could count. Six months had passed. That should have done it. He should have been long over her by now.
Well, she should have been over him, too, and yet here she was, heart stampeding through her chest like a horse that had escapes its pasture.
He came to her and stood before her.
“You cut your hair,” he said.
“Like it?”
“Love it. It’s you.”
“You cut your hair, too.”
“Had to. Like it?”
“Hmm…not bad. I liked it better longer.”
He laughed. “It’ll grow back when I get out.”
“So…are you in Paris for your leave? Taking a holiday?”
“Honeymoon.”
“Brat.” It wasn’t easy to sound annoyed while one’s heart was dancing, but she managed to do it. “Did I or did I not order you to never ask me to marry you?”
“You did say I couldn’t ask you to marry me. I’m not asking, though. I’m telling you—we’re getting married. Never give a Godwick a loophole.”
“Or any other hole, so I hear,” she said.
Ignoring her, he said, “I’ve made Charlie my heir. I’ve already told him. It’s as official as these things can be.”
She stared at him. He meant it. She could tell he meant it. His voice was serious, his eyes earnest.
“You did?” Her voice came out strangely hoarse. She cleared her throat. “That’s not…you can’t offer that to someone, then take it back.”
“I won’t take it back. Best thing I’ve ever done. It’s changed his life,” Arthur said. “You were right about him feeling worthless since he was the ‘spare.’ Soon as I made him my heir, it was like he grew up almost overnight. He’s started at the London School of Economics for Lent Term. He’s already planning changes to make the Godwick trust an ‘international philanthropic arts foundation.’ Whatever that is.”
“I’m happy for him,” she said. “He’s not a bad kid. Just…lost. Very glad he found himself.”
