The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,114
night, leaving Lucas staring at Persephone as if she were an apparition.
Part of him believed she was.
He was dreaming, he decided as he gazed at her standing there in the doorway, her hair a wet tangle around her pale, beautiful face. Except no dream had ever been as sweet as this. Then she shivered, and that small, unconscious tremble drove him into action.
Whipping off his jacket, he wrapped it around her shoulders before he scooped her into his arms and carried her straight into the parlor. Firelight cloaked them in a cozy orange glow as he sat directly on the floor, wanting to bring her as close to the warmth as possible.
“I…” Lucas’s words locked in his throat. Gone was the devilish rogue who always had a wry quip, no matter the situation. He had been replaced by a man who held the woman he loved, and he’d never felt more vulnerable. Or more terrified. Having let go of Persephone once, he didn’t know if he could do it again. Except he also knew he couldn’t keep her, which was the real reason he’d been avoiding her. Not for her happiness and safety.
But for his own.
Saying goodbye to her had almost killed him.
If he had to do it again…if he had to do it again, he might as well be dead.
“What are you doing here, Persephone?” He stroked her hair. Her back. Her thigh. Everywhere and anywhere he could reach. She sat cradled on his lap, her head resting on his heart and her knees drawn to her chest.
“I kept trying to find my way back.” Clinging to his shirt, she burrowed into him. “I searched all of London. You just…disappeared.”
“We both agreed–”
“No,” she said fiercely. “You decided for us. I never wanted to leave. So, I went to Seven Dials to find Art and–”
“YOU DID WHAT?” he roared. As fear the likes of which he’d never experienced flooded through him, Lucas leapt to his feet and pulled Persephone to hers. His hands clasped her shoulders, and he resisted–barely–giving her a shake. “Are you out of your bloody mind? There’s no worse or more dangerous place in this entire damned city!”
She angled her chin. “I survived. I’m not helpless.”
“No one said you were helpless. Stupid, perhaps. But not helpless.” As he imagined all the things that could have happened to her, Lucas closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Promise me you’ll never go there again.”
“I’ll promise, on one condition.”
“Which is?” he asked warily, opening his eyes to discover her jabbing a finger at him.
How different she was now from the meek, frightened rabbit she’d been all those weeks ago on the night they first met. Or maybe…maybe she wasn’t so different after all.
Her spirit had always been there. He’d seen it even then. Bruised and battered, but not broken. Even under the harshest of conditions, Persephone had never allowed herself to break. Was it any wonder he was in love with her?
He’d fallen for her frailty, and her strength. Her timidity, and her stubbornness. She was all he could have ever asked for…and nothing he deserved.
Raising her hands, Persephone carefully placed them on either side of his face, her thumbs resting in the corners of his mouth. Her violet eyes were luminous. Her ivory skin, bathed in firelight. Her lips a solemn line he longed to kiss. “I will give you my promise, if you give me a promise in return. Do not let me go, Lucas. Ever again.”
“Don’t ask that of me,” he said raggedly. “Anything else, and it’s yours. The moon, I’ll find a way to get it. The stars, they’re yours. But not that. Please, Persephone. Not that.”
“Why?” Her dark brows drew together. “Ever since I was a young girl, all I wanted was to love someone. And to be loved in return. I’ve found that with you. I think…I think it was always meant to be you.”
His jaw clenched beneath her palm. “It’s not that simple.”
“Because you’re a thief and I’m a lady?” She smiled when he scowled. “A person’s title does define their character. I should understand that better than anyone. I realize I am still married to Glastonbury. Maybe one day I’ll find a way to change that, but–”
“I don’t care if you’re married to the bloody king of England. You’re mine.”
Damn it.
He hadn’t meant to say that.
He shouldn’t have said that.
But the idea of some part of her still being connected to that monster…