Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,43
around, and his thick lashes hooded his gaze. And for one moment, she believed he intended to kiss her. Again. Her heart beat wildly as she leaned up.
“I don’t believe it will be easy. I believe they will revel in our failure,” he said pragmatically. “As such, I believe we would be wise to . . . come to a truce during our time together.”
When Temperance was a small girl, her father had awakened her by dousing her with a bucket of freezing water. The absolute absence of either passion or desire in Dare’s tone and gaze had the same cooling effect. She made herself ease away from him; her back thumped against her bedroom door. From within Gwynn’s snoring continued. “A truce,” she echoed.
“We’ve been at odds over much, but we are united in our goal. We will not, however, see this through unless we are working together, and fighting over the past and . . . past wrongs . . . Nothing good can come of that.”
Fighting over the past and . . . past wrongs . . . Nothing good can come of that . . .
No, it was why she’d withheld the agony of that loss from him. And there’d been a time she’d resented herself for keeping him from the suffering that haunted her every day.
“That is for the best,” she murmured, unsure whether she spoke to his point or to the silent ones that existed only in her head.
Relief swept over his features, and despite herself, despite the agreement they’d just come to, she couldn’t tamp down a wave of bitterness. He could simply divorce the past from the present. He’d always been able to separate his mind from his heart, in ways she never had.
“Polite Society will be expecting us to fail. Relishing our missteps,” he carried on. “And united is the only way to not only defeat those expectations but also successfully establish ourselves in that world.”
How cool he was about this new version of their once passionate relationship. Were they even capable of anything but volatility? They’d only ever alternated between tender, teasing lovers and figures raging at one another over decisions the other person couldn’t understand. Could they simply remove the years of history and emotion to achieve the ends they each sought?
Dare held out his spare hand.
Temperance studied those outstretched fingers.
Can you set aside your resentment for his having gone missing when you needed him most?
Except . . . what choice did they have? She reluctantly nodded and accepted his handshake. “I’ll agree to a truce, Dare,” she allowed when he’d released her palm. Her hand went cold at the loss. “Unless you give me reason not to trust you.” Again. And there’d been so many reasons to not trust him or his reliability over the years.
His expression grew shuttered. “Good night, Temperance.”
“Dare.”
She hurried inside her room.
Only it wasn’t until she’d changed back into her nightclothes and climbed into the bed, and had the coverlet up to her chin, that she realized he’d never given her any assurances on the matter of trust.
Chapter 10
They didn’t make the time Dare had hoped or expected. They’d stopped when he’d intended to push on through the night. Those plans, however, had changed the moment he learned Temperance struggled in carriage rides. He’d not have her ride in the dead of night. Instead, he’d sent her friend on ahead in a separate carriage, while he and Temperance continued at a slower pace.
Which was why it wasn’t until late in the afternoon that he and Temperance arrived at his new—albeit temporary—Mayfair residence.
As if they’d been standing in wait, a small contingent of servants filed through the front door and came streaming down the steps the moment he and Temperance brought their mounts to a stop.
Her horse danced restlessly about.
A servant was instantly there.
Only the footman hesitated, looking with wide eyes up at Temperance.
Swinging down, Dare greeted the boy. “I have it, Reuben,” he said, waving him off to help hand Temperance down.
The butler hovered in the doorway, his expression . . . pained. Which was . . . interesting, and not just a small bit alarming, given the young man’s inability to reveal any emotion before now.
“You have servants, Dare,” Temperance whispered furiously.
“Yes,” he said as they climbed the handful of steps.
“No,” she said, her hushed tones slightly more frantic. Wide-eyed, Temperance glanced at the young men and women scurrying about. “A lot of them.”