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Thomas snorted as if the weight he’d been carrying had suddenly lifted. “If it’s any consolation, it isn’t quite what I had in mind, either.” He tentatively picked my hand up, tracing the outline of the red diamond I still wore on my ring finger. “Do you… regret what happened between us?”
My cheeks heated as memories of our bodies coming together in the most intimate way crossed my mind. His lips and hands paying homage to me in ways I’d never dreamed possible. How unbelievably good it felt, giving myself to him completely.
“No, not”—I swallowed hard, stalling—“not entirely.”
He stiffened and I wished to cram the words back in, but I couldn’t deny my racing emotions. Even though it might make him uncomfortable, we ought to share our innermost fears. If I’d learned anything from our time with the carnival, it was the power of sharing the parts of myself I worried might scare him away. I twined our fingers, putting emphasis on the strength of them woven together as one.
“I do not regret sharing a bed with you. Not now or ever. I-I’m uncomfortable not knowing what comes next. What if you must wed Miss Whitehall? What happens then?” I took a steadying breath. “If you share her bed, I cannot be your mistress, Thomas. I will not do that to myself, no matter how much of my heart you possess.”
He was quiet a moment. Almost as silent as the dead. I gathered my courage and looked at him, seeing just how tense he’d gotten. “Do you believe that’s something I would do to you? That I’d allow my father to do to us?”
The dangerous calm of his tone sent gooseflesh racing along my spine. Liza was right. I’d never seen this side of Thomas. I didn’t fear him; I feared the war he might wage for me. Thomas was a young man who’d found happiness, and he’d clutch at it until his body turned to dust.
“What are the terms of the betrothal?”
“None that cannot be broken,” he said, his voice as cool as ice chips.
I didn’t believe his bravado for a moment. I glanced up sharply, studying him. There. In the slight curve of his frown. “May I see the letter myself?” He hesitated, a moment too long, but bent to retrieve it. I read quickly and silently, cursing as I finished. It was much worse than I’d feared. “Thomas… he will disown you. You will have no title, no money, no home.”
The enormity of the situation threatened to knock me over.
“You cannot—” I forced myself to sit straight, to turn my spine to steel. “You cannot give that up. Not for me.”
Thomas stood, bending down to look in my eyes. “He might take my English title, but my mother’s ancestral home does not belong to him. She saw to it that it would pass to Daciana before I came of age. Much as he might wish he could, he cannot take my Romanian lineage from me. If the choice is between you and a title I don’t care for? My answer is simple.”
“Is it something you can truly live with giving up?” I asked. “Or will a seed of resentment be planted here”—I touched his heart—“growing over time until you regret your decision?”
Silence crept in the spaces between our breaths, waiting to be banished, but it seemed he welcomed it. I wanted Thomas to deny my fears, call them ridiculous, but he stood there, fiddling with my ring, bereft of words. It was easy to believe you could forsake your name in favor of love—in theory. When faced with the consequences that tumbled like stones falling down a cliff, it wasn’t quite as simple. Blessedly—or yet another cursed act; it was hard to distinguish between the two—someone knocked at my door.
No longer caring who witnessed us sitting alone together, I called out, “Come in.”
Daciana swept in like a storm descending on the shore, eroding the remainder of my calm. Her eyes flashed. “You’re not the only one who our dear father wrote to.” She clutched a letter in her fist, holding it up for us to see. “He’s threatened me.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Thomas’s light tone did not match the fearful look in his eyes. I imagined another stone falling from the avalanche his father had started.
“You underestimate our father.” A tear slid down Daciana’s cheek. “If you do not agree to his terms, I will be married to that old, rotten friend of his immediately.”
I glanced between them, noticing the remaining color drain from Thomas’s face.
“Who?” he asked, his voice already laced with dread.
“The one whose previous wives have gone missing.” Daciana seemed more inclined to gouge someone’s eyes out rather than cry now. “And our home in Bucharest will revert to my new husband as the law decrees. You and I will have nothing left of Mother.”
TWENTY-ONE
AN IMPOSSIBLE POSITION
AUDREY ROSE’S ROOMS
FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY
6 FEBRUARY 1889
Thomas went preternaturally still, reminding me of the vampire rumors that ran in his family. Hair at the nape of my neck stood on end. A strange energy crackled in the space around us, a charge waiting for the tiniest spark to explode. He stood, hands unmoving at his sides, chest hardly rising. I imagined on the inside he was a tangle of chaotic energy. It was the only explanation for how frightfully calm he was. Thomas always tapped his fingers or paced. He was never still. Not like this.
Finally, he blinked. “I’m eighteen. Father’s threat is meaningless. As of Mother’s decree, the property is now mine. And since I’m in charge, I say you can refuse the marriage and live in our family’s home forever. Ileana, too.” He looked at me, a glimmer of hope entering his features. “Wadsworth and I will live there as well. If she chooses to. We needn’t worry about London society or courts or pledges of unrequited betrothals. We can leave all of it behind. Father won’t follow us to Romania. If anything, he’ll be pleased his problems have been resolved.”
Daciana’s eyes watered. I let out a sigh. Thomas and I could still be together. We’d move to Romania. All would be well. If this had happened just weeks ago, we’d all be in a world of trouble. I was still unsure how I felt about God; however, if He resolved this so swiftly—
