Instead, Constance’s eyes went a shade of icy blue akin to a winter’s frost.
“How dare you say such a thing to me?”
The birds and unicorns disappeared as abruptly as they’d descended. Of course she would not respond romantically to such a declaration. He’d gone so far out of his way to hide the truth that it could not seem anything but insincere to her.
He reached out and smoothed her pretty hair, all mussed from sleep. “I know it may seem unlikely, but it’s true.”
She laughed in a glacial way that matched the coldness in her eyes and tossed her head out of the reach of his outstretched fingers. “I may be young and foolish, Julian, but I know that love is not something you declare at someone when it happens to suit your motivations. Nor does it manifest overnight in a fit of guilt. In the future I’d suggest you allow me to be the cynical, conniving one between us; I’m much better at it.”
The cold in her voice began to seep into his bones. “I’m not saying this to assuage my guilt,” he said quietly. “I’m saying this because it’s true.”
“It could not possibly be true, because love is not a declaration. It is a system of behavior. If the treatment I have enjoyed from you over the last five years amounts to your way of showing love, I’d do anything to avoid such adoration for the rest of my life.”
He flinched, because the pain in her voice was unmistakably real. If he’d learned one lesson in the last two weeks, it was that his efforts to protect his heart had bruised hers.
“Oh, don’t look so distraught,” she said coldly. “I know I made you feel terrible earlier, but I was only manipulating you to win an argument. The truth is I’ve let a gorgeous villa on the sea near Santa Margherita, and I’m going to write plays and take handsome lovers and eat myself plump on pistou. You needn’t worry I shall die of unhappiness deprived of the chance to expire from boredom sewing doilies and making charity boxes in some freezing Tudor hovel with your sister.”
He closed his eyes. “You don’t need to be so contemptuous of my life.”
“And you don’t need to save mine,” she said firmly.
He stared at her, and she was so absolutely certain of herself that he could only admire her even as the truth crushed down on him: he had lost her.
Not a month ago, when he’d asked about proposal gifts.
Not weeks ago, when he’d learned that she’d exposed him.
He’d lost her years and years and years ago.
And he was not going to get her back.
She sat up in bed, staring at him with an appraising glint in her eye. “But you’re right. We can’t go on like this.”
“Like what?” he asked, utterly defeated.
She waved her hand between them. “All this fawning over each other in public and then quarreling in private and then having to pretend to be in love ten minutes later. It’s just too difficult. It’s confusing us both, and if we slip, this entire ordeal will be for nothing. We must do a better job. I propose a truce.”
“What kind of truce?”
She met his eye and smiled. “For the rest of our time together, let’s pretend to be in love.”
He groaned. “Isn’t that what we have been doing?”
“I don’t mean just in public. In private too.”
She smiled angelically. “I will not bedevil you nor meddle in your affairs. You will not accuse me of treachery nor lecture me on my behavior. For nine days we will simply help one another, and be infatuated and sweet. And then, when it’s over, we need never set eyes on each other again. Do you agree?”
He looked at her sadly. “Yes, Constance. For nine days, we will simply be in love.”
And what he meant, he knew, is that they never would be.
She took his hands in both of hers, and looked up at him with an expression so guileless he’d be powerless to deny her anything.
“Julian, my dear friend, I am going to insist that you prove it.”
She reached out with both arms and pulled him into her bed.
Chapter 13
In his surprise he collapsed down on her rather inelegantly, and she liked the way his weight crushed her, and his rain-dampened clothes brushed her skin, and the scent of his woody hair oil mingled with the smell of her freshly laundered sheets.
Despite her anger, the remnants of her dream had not yet faded, and his body beside hers brought back that urgent feeling that if he would only touch her, she would feel so much better.
She scrambled for his hands and put them on her breasts over her nightdress.
“Prove it,” she whispered again, reaching up and finding his lips with hers and nibbling him the way she knew he liked. The way she could not stop thinking about ever since the wig closet.
His hands moved down to cup her back, and his body turned in toward hers, and she kissed him more deeply, shocked and pleased that he was doing exactly what she wanted.
But when she dared to put her tongue against his, he suddenly pulled away.
“What are we doing?” he gasped.
“Pretending to be lovers. Come back.”
“No, Constance.”
“Why not?”
He was scrambling for distance. “Because it isn’t right. This isn’t real. You just explained in very vivid detail why you do not wish to make it real.”
“That’s the point, Julian. We’re pretending.”
“This is not pretend. I should leave.”
Next time, just tell me what you want.
She knew what she wanted. And this might be her only chance to get it.
She wished she had her courtesan costumes from Valeria, because he was looking at her like she was a child.
“Julian, I can’t stop thinking about you. About that day, in your house, with the ties. I can’t stop imagining—”
“I should never have done that.”
“I wish you had done more. Don’t play innocent with me. I’ve read your journals and seen what’s in your trunks. I know that you can teach me and I want to know. When I leave, I want to be a woman of the world, not some frightened virgin who has to be lectured on how to kiss. If you care about me at all, give me this.”
He closed his eyes and was silent.
“Someone will teach you, eventually,” he finally said. “Someone you like.”
“I don’t want someone I like—I want you. I dream about you. You kissing me and … other things. I awaken and I feel uncomfortably distressed. In my body.”
He swallowed.
“What is it exactly that you want?”
“I want you to make love to me.”
He held himself very still, not trusting himself to respond until he controlled his racing heart. And other body parts that were behaving in a way that was not in keeping with his private code of conduct. Which did not extend itself to corrupting gently bred virgins, no matter how strongly they claimed to desire corruption.
Were they to be married, he would toss her over his shoulder and corrupt her to her heart’s content. Were they on Charlotte Street, he would give her whatever she desired without a second thought.
But they were in Mayfair, where he despised the kind of men who did what she was asking. Joining their ranks would make him the worst kind of hypocrite.