Page 30 of Twice Upon a Midnight

“Not at all.” He grimaced. “What I think is that you’re far too brilliant for your own good. No one else but you would have thought to track me down through a print shop.”

Her chin rose slightly. “I won’t apologize for that.”

He smiled at her obstinacy. “Nor would I want you to.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “And now that you know I’m not the aristocratic gentleman you thought—” He paused as the weight of the moment settled upon his shoulders, dreading her answer even as he asked, “Are you disappointed you did?”

She didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she lowered her glass and stared at the dark wine.

He watched her closely, and with each pounding heartbeat of silence, he gauged her reaction. If she didn’t react well to this, how would she react at the end of the evening when he told her who he truly was? When she learned why they could never see each other again, why the poetry and waltzing and letters had to stop?

“You must think me a great snob,” she answered softly. “What matters to me is a man’s deeds, not his titles or wealth.” She lifted her gaze to his and pinned him with a look of brutal honesty. “How could I ever regret searching for a man who quotes poetry to me and send me books?”

His chest warmed with relief, although he had no right to feel it. He knew this moment was a mere reprieve until she learned the full truth. She could protest all she wanted about what mattered most to her, but he knew how society worked. A duke’s daughter deserved a better life than a mere printer could ever provide, both in terms of luxury and social acceptance.

Yet he deftly changed the topic before he was forced to reveal anything more about himself until he was ready. “What makes you like poetry so much?” He reached for the plate of cheese and held it out to her in invitation to settle in and share more about herself. “Most people would say the world is anything but poetic.”

She smiled as she selected a small slice from the plate. “That’s because most people don’t actually see the world.” She pointed the cheese at him. “Or at least, not the way you and I do.”

“And how do you see it?”

“Full of wonderful possibilities revealed by discoveries in science and philosophy.”

“Careful,” he warned. “If anyone in society hears you talking like that, they’ll brand you a bluestocking.”

“I wouldn’t care if they did.”

No, he supposed she wouldn’t, which was exactly what drew him to her. “How can science and philosophy possibly be poetic?”

That simple question launched them into hours of talking and nibbling at the plates of food, and the full moon traversed the overcast sky as they shared the night together. He learned so much about her—her life on the Continent, her relationship with her family, her likes and dislikes, and all of it only made him cherish her more, only made the evening even more bittersweet.

Always, though, he was careful to avoid telling her anything that would have divulged his true identity.

Yet before the night was over, he would have to tell her. He couldn’t let her go on thinking they had any kind of future together. Not the daughter of a duke with a printer with dirty hands. No matter how successful his business became, he would never be able to provide the kind of wealth needed to give her the life she deserved. He couldn’t imagine her living in his cramped rented rooms, couldn’t imagine the coarse dresses that would have to replace the soft muslins and silks she was used to wearing…couldn’t imagine any of those people who filled her father’s house for the party inviting them to any social event whatsoever. Even if they did, he would never fit into that world. At best, the people she associated with would only condescend to them; at worst, they’d insult them directly to their faces. When the initial love and passion dimmed, as it always did in any marriage, would those emotions be replaced with shame?

She was struggling with establishing a new life in England, he knew, but he also knew that struggle would be nothing compared to what she would have to endure as his wife.

Yet all too soon, the food and wine were gone, along with the night. During their conversation, they’d moved all the plates out of the way and stretched out across the blanket beside each other to stare up at the night sky in a futile attempt to find stars. But the moon had been too bright for that, the hazy London sky too overcast. Not that they minded anyway. They both knew it had been little more than an excuse for her to curl up next to him, held close in his arms.

But now the stillness falling over the city told him dawn was only a few hours away. Already missing her, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers before resting it on his chest, right over his heart.

The time had come to part, and the moment for him to tell her the truth about himself.

“Morning is coming soon,” he said quietly, afraid his voice would crack if he spoke any louder. “You need to be back in your bed before your maid comes to wake you.”

She leaned up on her elbow to face him, then quirked a brow. “How do you know so much about ladies’ maids and bedchambers, hmm?”

But even her teasing couldn’t bring him to smile, not this time. “The evening’s over.” He brushed a stray curl away from her cheek, fearing it might the last time he ever touched her. “We need to say our goodbyes now.”

“You’re mistaken.” She curled her fingers into his waistcoat. “I’m not going anywhere.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

E

lla felt Spenser catch his breath. Her own breath came shallow and ragged, helped not at all by the racing of his heart under her fingertips.

But she wasn’t being coquettish with her comment. She didn’t want to part with him. Not tonight. Not ever.

“I want to stay here with you,” she whispered. “I want to be with you.” Then, gathering all her courage, she added, barely louder than a breath, “In every way.”