“They are now.”
My mouth fell agape because in making this admission, he’d skillfully denied me an opportunity to ask more without resorting to indelicacy. Then he made matters worse by meeting my eyes directly. “Ask me, Patsy. Go on. If it troubles you, ask me.”
I could do nothing but stammer. “Were you, was she—”
“You don’t have to find the polite words. Not with me.”
The indecent question burst out of me. “Was she your lover?”
“Yes.” He didn’t even have the grace to wince. “I’ve protected her identity because she’s married now, and they have together two young sons. But I don’t want you turning little mysteries into great obstacles between us, so you may as well know that her name is Lilite Royer.”
I didn’t care what her name was! Only that she’d known, intimately, the man I loved. That stabbed at a place inside me I wasn’t even fully aware existed. Still, this knowledge wasn’t enough. I cringed to hear myself interrogate him. “And what of your duchess? They say you’re infatuated with her.”
His smile disconcerted me. “Along with every other man in Paris. But the beautiful Rosalie is too good and dutiful to betray her marriage bed. Even if she could, it wouldn’t be for an infatuation. She’d never have a man who cannot offer his heart . . . and I cannot, for I’ve given my heart to you. I love you, Patsy.”
The whole world stopped. The smell of the carriage house disappeared. The sound of the rain faded. The humidity of the air was no more. The whole world narrowed to the two of us and his declaration. He loved me. His answer was delectably sweet, but instead of letting it melt away like chocolate on my tongue, I breathlessly demanded, “Why do you love me, if you do. . . .”
“If I love you?” He snorted. “By God, have I taught you to suspect me or is it simply your nature? Of course, that nature is how you won my heart. Ferreting out spies. Stealing letters not meant for your eyes. Prying into facts no other girl would dare. You’re like me. Skulking about in the shadow of great moments and great men, doing for them what they cannot do for themselves. Your father doesn’t understand what a champion he has in you, but I do. I’ve said it before; hiding beneath all that flimsy lace beats the heart of an Amazon. And that is why I love you.”
This answer nearly swept my knees out from under me. “Oh, Mr. Short—”
“William.” He cupped my cheek. “Call me William.”
The touch of his damp hand, fiery against my cold cheek, made me forget we were quarreling. “William,” I whispered, testing it on my tongue for the first time, and tingling with delight. Then I tried it in French. “Guillaume.”
His eyes softened as he stroked a damp thumb over my cheekbone. “Patsy, I’ll never lie to you, because you cannot love me if you don’t know me truly. I’m guilty of indiscretions you’ve guessed and some you haven’t. There have been women before you, but on my honor, if you become my wife, there will be none after.”
It felt as if all the air left the close confines of the carriage house. Breathless, I was forced to press a hand over the quick pounding of my heart. Wife. He wanted me for his wife. And who was I to judge him harshly for his conduct when mine had never been above reproach?
“Can you love me, Patsy?”
“I already do!” The words burst out of me, and now that I’d been so reckless, I couldn’t stop them. “I love you, William. Oh, I love you. I do. I want to carve it on the tree. I want to shout it in the streets!”
“Carve it here.” He drew my fingers to his chest, where I felt his heart thump beneath his sodden white shirt. “With a kiss.”
Trembling and breathless, I dared to kiss him there, then lifted my lips to his, my fingertips creeping up to the skin he’d bared by removing his neck cloth. He felt hot to the touch, feverish even. And as we kissed, I thought I’d stop for no reason under heaven.
But I was wrong.
We sprang apart the moment we heard the clatter of Papa’s coach.
Chapter Fourteen
Paris, 17 June 1789
From Thomas Jefferson to John Jay
A tremendous cloud hovers over France, and the king has neither the courage nor the skill necessary to weather it. Eloquence in a high degree, knowledge and order, are distinguishing traits in his character. He has not discovered that bold, unequivocal virtue is the best handmaid, even to ambition, and would carry him further in the end than the temporizing wavering policy he pursues.