But what did he have to offer in return?
His hand clenched on the windowsill.
In the gray, cold hours before dawn, he had stirred, his body protesting the loss of her warmth as Aimée had slipped from his bed. He lay enthralled, entranced by the curve of her naked bu**ocks as she stooped to retrieve her nightgown from the floor.
“Where are you going?”
She had turned to smile at him, her eyes liquid. His heart had clenched painfully in his chest. “I must return to my room before the servants are up.”
“Let me go with you.”
She shook her head, one dark lock falling forward to curl around her perfect breast. “It is not necessary. Or wise.”
“I must do something for you.”
Mischief lit her face. “But you have. And I am grateful. For both times.”
She’d said the same thing once before, he remembered. I must be grateful to God or the Fates, who brought you to me again when I was in need.
Lucien expelled his breath in a frosty cloud. If he had not Fallen, would he have found her again? Could he have loved her as a man loves a woman?
And what did it mean, now that he did?
The sun edged over the trees, making the snow sparkle. The rest of the house party would sleep late today in preparation for the ball tonight. But in the village, the church bells pealed and tolled, their bright notes shaking the air, calling the faithful to service.
Lucien stared out at the bright morning, considering the future. Facing facts. Aimée was of noble birth. He had taken her virginity. He could see only one course of action open to him now.
He had to go.
Aimée did not encounter Lucien at all the following morning. She walked alone to church before plunging into the hundred and one last-minute preparations for Christmas dinner and the ball that would follow, approving the pudding and the table setting, supervising the placement of the musicians and card tables, settling the servants’ disputes.
But through it all, she carried Lucien with her, a secret joy hugged to her heart, a trembling anticipation.
Tonight was the ball. She would see him. Dance with him. And then...
But she refused to think of then. Now must be enough. Now, and the memory of last night.
Her cheeks were flushed as she tapped on the door of Julia’s room to help her cousin dress for dinner.
The door popped open. Julia grabbed both Aimée’s hands and whisked her into the room.
“What do you think?” Julia demanded with a little twirl.
Aimée’s mouth dropped open. “I think . . .” She didn’t know what to think.
Julia shook her golden curls, only partially confined by an enormous mobcap topped by an absurd green bow. Her skirts were bright green satin with the wide side panniers that had gone out of fashion ten years ago, her small waist bound by a white apron she must have borrowed from one of the house maids.
“I’m Judy.” Julia picked up one of little Lottie’s dolls and waved it about by the neck. “From Punch and Judy.”
Aimée felt her mouth forming a smile. “I can see that. But . . .”
Her cousin’s eyes were bright, her face tinged with color. “Tom is going as Punch.”
“Oh.” Aimée drew in her breath. “Oh.”
Her knees felt weak. She sank on the edge of the bed.
Julia met her gaze. “I know. This Christmas has not turned out at all the way I imagined. First Harriet falling in the pond—not that I blame you for that, whatever Susan says—and then Susan spending all her time in the nursery, which is most unlike her, and then Howard taking to his room so suddenly. Not that I mind about Howard so much. And then the Misses Whitmore came to call with Tom, and I was saying how I wished that Tom could be my brother, because he’s always sort of there, you know, and he said in this gruff voice that it was a very good thing he was not. My brother, I mean. And then . . .” Her blush deepened. “And then . . . Well, I am dancing the opening set with Tom. And the supper dance, too.”