Six
Climbing into a painting was easier than climbing out of one. Climbing out when someone could be watching was particularly precarious. Claire went out first and reached a hand in to pull the others free when she saw that the way was unobstructed. Then she hid the painting, their way home, in the bushes behind a nearby building.
Cecelia brushed the dust from her dress and looked around. Sainte-Chappelle was a sight to behold when one was inside, with all its glass windows. “Beautiful,” Marcus breathed.
“Yes, it is a lovely building,” Cecelia replied.
Marcus looked down at her, his dark eyes sparkling. “I wasn’t referring to the building.”
Cecelia’s heart dropped toward her toes. Allen made a gagging sound with a finger in his throat, which made Ainsley laugh loudly.
“Quite nauseating, isn’t it? Unrequited love?” Ainsley asked of Allen.
“I have a feeling this love isn’t unrequited,” Allen whispered back, but he was close enough that Cecelia could hear him.
“It should be after what he did,” Ainsley said. She was nothing if not stalwart in protecting Cecelia’s heart.
“Men make mistakes, my dear,” Allen informed her. “It’s the unfortunate nature of the beast. Particularly aristocratic men. They’re unfortunately addled when it comes to things not pertaining to titles, land, and fortunes. Matters of the heart trip us up much more than transfers of holdings or a bet on the books at White’s.”
Ainsley snorted. “Aristocratic men are imbeciles, you say?” She rocked her shoulder into his. Shock crossed his face at her audacity, but he quickly hid it. He was raised to be such a gentleman. And a gentleman did not correct a lady. Particularly not one whose only fault so far was a familiarity with his person.
Allen adjusted his jacket. “Not imbeciles, I’d say.” He leaned closer to Ainsley. “Although my brother might fall into that category if he doesn’t marry that lady as soon as possible.”
Cecelia heard him this time and cringed. That would never happen.
“When the two of you are finished with your flirting, let’s go and see if we can find Mayden,” Claire said to Allen and Ainsley, and Ainsley’s face reddened prettily. The tops of Allen’s ears turned pink.
Lord Phineas coughed into his hand to cover a laugh. Marcus turned away, but not before he grinned at his brother.
“If we could be serious for a moment,” Claire scolded, as she held out two miniatures, keeping a third for herself. “This is what the Earl of Mayden looks like. In case you need to show him to anyone.”
“Is that safe?” Cecelia asked as she looked down at the miniature.
“Probably not,” Lord Phineas said. Claire and her husband knew Mayden’s sordid history personally since the earl had made an attempt on Finn’s life the year before. “So, be careful.”
“I think we can cover more ground if we split up,” Claire said.
“I’m going with you,” Lord Phineas said to his wife as Claire slid her arm into his. She smiled up at him.
Allen bowed to Ainsley and said, “Shall we take a stroll about town?” Ainsley flushed again and laughed lightly as she curtsied.
That left Cecelia with Marcus. Oh, joy. Cecelia looked over at him and grimaced.
“Don’t worry. I promise not to bite.” He held out his arm for her and arched a brow in question.
“I learned to walk when I was a year old, Marcus. I don’t think I’ve forgotten how.” She started in the other direction.
***
Good God, the woman would drive him absolutely mad. First she wouldn’t let him put her into the painting, and now she wouldn’t even take his arm. She was angry, and she had a right to be. But would she ever get past it? “Do you even know where you’re going?” he called to her retreating back.
“Somewhere you’re not,” she called back.
“We’ll all meet here at dusk,” Claire called to the group. Cecelia didn’t slow down to answer. But Marcus called back his agreement, and then he ran to catch up with Cecelia.
“Where shall we start?” he asked. She was walking so fast that he was finding it hard to breathe.
She turned to face him. “A better question is where we should end. Here looks to be as good a place as any.” Marcus’s gut clenched. “Stop trying to open the door to the past. Your future is much more important, Marcus.”
It wasn’t. The only thing that was important was her. “Can’t I have both?” he asked. He waited on tenterhooks.
“I don’t see how.”
Marcus looked at the crowd in the street and took Cecelia’s hand in his, pulling her between two buildings. She tried to step around him, but he pushed her back with the size of his body. This might be his only chance to talk to her. He wasn’t going to give up the opportunity.
Cecelia pushed against his chest, but he put one hand on either side of her head, flat against the wall, and leaned into her. She froze. And looked everywhere but at him. “Stop it,” she protested, gritting her teeth. She glanced back and forth up the alleyway. “Someone will see.”
“Then let them see, blast it all. I don’t give a damn.” He turned her head with his crooked finger beneath her chin. “You’re the only thing that matters to me. I need you to know how I feel.”
“Marcus,” she protested, pushing against his chest, but he just leaned more heavily against her. “We’re supposed to be finding Mayden.”
“We’ll look for him in a moment.” He touched the side of her face. God, she was so pretty. Her eyes closed and she leaned her cheek into his palm. “We need to talk.”
***
The last thing Cecelia wanted to do was talk to Marcus. She was still smarting from his set down, and she didn’t want to hear anything he had to say about the matter. Six months. It had been six months since she’d felt the beat of his heart beneath her hand. Since she’d felt the brush of his breath across her cheek. Since she’d had him this close. But this wasn’t friendly, playful Marcus. This one was completely serious. And obviously mad if he thought he could handle her in such a way.
“Move, Marcus!” she cried, shoving his hand from where it cupped her cheek.
“No.”
He didn’t say more than that. Just that single word.
He took a deep breath, as though he needed to collect his thoughts. “I let you go once. I’ll never do it again. Not willingly. Don’t ask it of me.” His eyes danced across her face. “Give me an opportunity,” he begged.
“I can’t.” Her voice shook. “I have my reasons, Marcus. I just can’t.”
“Tell me what they are. Aside from the fact that I’m an idiot.”
He wouldn’t like her reason. He wouldn’t like it at all. But she had to tell him something.
She pushed him back and he moved marginally. “You’re too close for propriety,” she warned.
“I just want another chance,” he said again.
He’d had his chance. He had. And then he gave it up. So, she moved on. She had moved on, hadn’t she? Truly? She’d gotten over him. She’d gone on with her life.
She’d wanted this more than anything for six months. But now, now she wasn’t free to accept him, even if she wanted to. She had to return to the land of the fae to care for her father. She wanted more than anything to accept Marcus. But she couldn’t.
“Why is this so easy for you?” she asked him. “And why the sudden change of heart?”
“I haven’t had a change of heart. My heart’s the same as it was,” he said. “I loved you then, and I love you now.”
Cecelia’s heart would leap from her chest if it beat any faster. Either leap or break into a million pieces. She suspected the latter.
“It’s too late.”
His face fell, his eyes wary.
“Why is it too late? You’re here. I’m here. Let me kiss you, Cece,” he said. His head descended toward hers.
She couldn’t have stopped him even if she’d wanted to. And she didn’t want to. It had been so long since he’d kissed her.
“Why do you want to kiss me?” she asked, her voice quavering.
“Stop asking questions you already know the answer to,” he growled. Then he touched his lips to hers. His touch wasn’t tentative the way she remembered. His breath blew across her lips, and then he was opening her mouth with his tongue and sweeping inside. Cecelia’s knees buckled, and she grabbed on to his forearms to hold herself upright. But then he was there, taking the weight off her legs as he pressed her against the building with his body.
His hips pressed hard against her stomach, his chest heaving against her breasts. There was nothing gentle in his kiss, which was the opposite of the softness she would have expected from her best friend. It was lusty and urgent. And delightful.
He drew her lower lip between his and suckled gently, and it was all Cecelia could do to stay on her feet.
The noise that escaped his throat was primal. His hands left the wall beside her head and dropped to draw her to him. His mouth continued to plunder. He licked across her mouth and inside, nibbled and sucked her lips, and stole her wits with the noises he made.
He pressed hard against her stomach, his hands sliding down to cup her bottom and draw her up and against him to where he was hard and pulsing beneath his trousers.
“Cece,” he whimpered. “Tell me it’s not too late.”
Cecelia pulled away, unwound his arms from around her, and stepped to the side. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and wished for some magic dust that could take her back in time. A time before that kiss. A time before he’d taken that step. Because he thought she was free to accept him. And she wasn’t.
“I can’t,” she said. She adjusted her clothing and tried to calm her breathing.
He tilted his head and regarded her solemnly. At least his breaths were as shallow as hers. He wasn’t unaffected by the kiss. That much was obvious. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that,” he said, his brows narrowing.
“I won’t lie to you, Marcus. About anything.” He stepped toward her again, hope blooming on his face. But she couldn’t let him hope. “That kiss affected me.” A winded chuckle left her throat. It certainly had.
“Good.”
He sounded pleased with himself.
“Yours was my first kiss all those years ago.”
“I know.” He looked even more pleased. Damn him.
“But it won’t be my last.”
His mouth fell open. “What?”
Cecelia heaved a sigh. “I waited for you. I waited for months. I hoped with all my heart that you were going to come back. That you were going to come to your senses and come back to me. Return to the land of the fae. But you didn’t.”
He had the nerve to look contrite. “I was occupied here.”
“When your grandmother asked me to come and help you, I couldn’t say no, but I should have.” She began to pace and wring her hands. “I should have said no, because I knew it would be hard to see you.”
“It doesn’t have to be hard,” he said, smiling. Goodness, she loved that smile.
“But it is hard. It’s like someone putting a tray of biscuits before you but telling you that you can’t eat them. And then you’re past the point of starvation, and the biscuits start to taunt you.”
“I’ll last a little longer than a tray of biscuits,” he said with a laugh. “And I’m attainable.”
“Not for me,” she sighed.
“Why do you have to keep denying this?” he bit out. “I made a mistake. Now stop punishing me. You love me. And you want me. That kiss told me everything I needed to know.” He reached out to touch her, and she let him cup her cheek. “You waited for me all these years. Now it’s time to stop waiting. We can be together. We can get married.”
“We can’t,” she said, a sob building within her. “I’m not free to accept you.” She had to take care of her father. He was her priority now.
His face fell. And his mouth fell open. “What?” He took a step back from her.
“I’m not free to accept you, Marcus. Because I had to stop waiting. I had no choice. You gave me no indication that you would be returning. That you still thought of me, much less wanted to marry me. So, I stopped waiting. I am no longer free to accept you.”
***
If the ground didn’t open up and swallow Marcus, he would be sorely disappointed. Because there was nowhere to go to get away from her words. There was nothing he could do, no place to run, nowhere to hide, no way to block out the pain.
“There’s someone else.” There was no emotion in the words. He understood. “I always thought we would marry.” He felt like a deflated balloon—empty and lifeless.
“So did I. But then you left me.”
“I did.” He did. Oh God, he did. This was all his fault. He dragged a hand through his hair, upsetting the queue at the back of his neck. The leather band fell to the ground as his hair spilled out around his face. He ran a hand through it again. Damn it, he was a ridiculous fool.
“And I moved on.” She stood up tall and didn’t back down.
“You’ve kissed someone else?”
“That’s not it.” Her face colored.
“How was it?” he asked. It was crude of him. But he had to know.
“Things are fine at home. I just…” Her voice tapered off.
He chuckled. If any kiss with someone else was just fine, he didn’t have anything to worry about. “Kisses shouldn’t be fine. They should be earth-moving. They should make the ground beneath your feet tremble. They should be like the one we just shared.”
“That can’t happen again.” She looked him in the eye as she said it. “I owe him more than that.”
“Who is it?” It didn’t matter. He would hate anyone who had her heart.
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I am not free to marry you. I belong in the land of the fae.”
“No, you don’t,” Marcus snarled.
“Yes, Marcus. I do. I won’t change my mind.”
“We’ll see about that.” He turned and walked away from her. If he didn’t, he’d try to kiss her again, and she wasn’t prepared for that. But one thing was certain. He would never allow her to marry anyone else. Never.
***
Cecelia watched him walk away and heaved a deep breath. Then she sank back against the wall to try to compose herself. That hadn’t gone well. Not at all. She never should have allowed that kiss. But she’d missed the feel of his lips on hers. She’d missed the warmth of his embrace. She’d missed him, for goodness’ sake.
It wasn’t as though he’d given her much of a choice, either. But from now on, she had to keep her distance from Marcus Thorne. She shouldn’t want what she couldn’t have. Her father was at home, and he needed her far more than Marcus did. She picked up the leather queue from the ground and followed him into the street. He had to fix his hair before someone noticed the tips of his ears.
“Marcus,” she called to his retreating back. He turned back, his eyes flashing.
“What?” he barked.
She held out the leather tie. “Your hair.”
He stalked back toward her, gathering his hair into a queue at the back of his neck. He took the tie from her hand and bound it. He felt for the tips of his ears, and she reached up to adjust his hair to cover them.
“There,” she said, dusting her hands together. “Finished.”
He took her chin in his hand and looked into her eyes. “Not even close.”