Page 35 of The Lady's Forbidden Marquess
“Why do I feel like we’re no longer talking about a dress and slippers?”
“Because you made an interesting point, and I’m curious.”
Pere paused.“It depends.”
“Ah, and isn’t that the truth about so much of life?It depends.So tell me, what would make it acceptable to… have the intentions of doing the right thing but… failing?”
Pere took a deep breath, uncertain where this conversation was leading but willing to play along.For now.“Honesty.”
He flinched slightly, not as if her words hurt, but as if they surprised him.“Honesty?”
“Yes, it’s remarkable how little it’s used and how often it will fix most problems.Being honest.”
“So simple.”
“And yet, so very difficult, wouldn’t you say, my lord?”
“Honesty always costs something though.”
“It does.Because it requires something else.Humility, vulnerability.”
Hawthorne studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable.“Well said.And often not considered.It’s not often I can verbally spar on philosophy and morality with a person whose mind is as lovely as their heart, Lady Peregrine.”He nodded, as if giving her the winning point of a battle she wasn’t aware she was fighting.
“Thank you…” But before she could ask him to explain, the lights dimmed, and the next act began, but as colorful as the sets and as enticing the music, Pere couldn’t immerse herself in the story like before.
Now, the real mystery was sitting beside her.
His thigh brushed hers as he shifted, a fleeting contact that sent heat racing through her veins.She didn’t move away.Neither did he.The harem silks on stage blurred; all she felt was the warmth radiating from his body, the subtle scent of sandalwood and starched linen, the way his little finger rested a mere breath from hers on the velvet armrest.A dare.A question.A promise she wasn’t ready to answer—yet couldn’t bring herself to refuse.
Chapter Fourteen
Honesty.The wordlingered in his mind, sharp as a blade, cutting through the carefully constructed walls he had built around his heart.She’d said the one word that had been what shattered his own family.Gabriel’s eyes were on the stage, but his mind was elsewhere.How would things have been different if his mother had been honest with him, with his father?Intentions be damned, it was all smoke and mirrors, and he knew that, lived by that.But when she’d looked him square in the eye and called out the one truth that he couldn’t deny—that honesty fixed most moral issues—he wasn’t sure how one recovered from that sort of blatant truth, and if he were honest, which, ironically, he was loath to be, he wasn’t sure he wanted to recover.
No.He wanted that in his life.To be told the truth, even if it hurt… he’d rather have the truth than the beautiful lie that manipulated the circumstance.And, as God laughed, she was the only woman he’d ever met who understood that fact.Who lived by it.
She’d been painfully honest with him.
With her brother.
And he’d… not.
He sat rigid in his chair as the lights dimmed for the next act.The swell of the orchestra and the colors of the Ottoman set were lost on him, and his world narrowed to hold only the lady beside him.He was playing a dangerous game, yet he couldn’t resist the siren call she presented with her frank words and unabashed courage.She didn’t hide behind a façade of socially acceptable words and actions; she unapologetically spoke with honesty, and it was as refreshing as a spring rain and as threatening as a flash flood.Her presence was a storm, upending his carefully ordered world, and he found himself craving the chaos she brought.
Lady Peregrine’s gasp pulled him from his thoughts, and his attention flashed to her awed expression, the light from the stage dancing in her eyes.Her features were alight with wonder, a childlike delight that softened her sharp edges and made her all the more impossible to resist.
Her cheek curved with a smile as she leaned forward, her delicate hands resting on her gown, then curving and clutching the material as the orchestra crescendoed into a minor chord, anticipation building in the air.Gabriel’s eyes were fixated on her fingers, the way she grasped her dress, how similar it would be for her to be grasping the sheets of his bed in the same way, only an entirely different sort of pleasure being the catalyst.The thought was a forbidden spark, igniting a heat he struggled to contain, his rakish instincts warring with the vulnerability she stirred.
Gabriel closed his eyes, needing to compose himself.The thought was quick, but its effect lasting, and he knew that night, when he sank into his bed, he’d remember it with all too much clarity.
What was this madness?Never had something so innocent threatened to so fully undo him.
“Are you well?”Lady Peregrine’s voice gently asked, and he forced a smile to his lips as he glanced to her.
“Quite.”
“You looked… in pain?”she asked, her tone a mix between curiosity and concern.
Her eyes reflected the dim light of the stage, illuminating their depths.Her gaze was soft, searching, a mirror to the honesty she championed, and it pierced him more deeply than any flirtation ever could.
