Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,79
for any of that.”
Moments later, as Dare and Temperance wound their way through the halls to the ballroom, Dare acknowledged that he’d been wrong before. It was awkward between them, after all. This was. They made the journey in silence, a stilted one . . . when it had never been uncomfortable between them. That was what had always confounded him. She’d been the one person whom he’d felt an ease with.
With Avery it was all business and work, and comfortable and safe for it.
With Temperance, he found himself questioning the rules and lessons of thieving in the Rookeries and also wanting . . . everything he shouldn’t. That hadn’t changed. That had remained a constant, and he feared it always would.
When they reached the ballroom, Dare drew one of the double doors open and allowed Temperance to enter first.
She hesitated before walking inside.
“Oh, my . . . Saints of St. Giles,” she whispered. Touching a hand to her throat, Temperance swept forward. Twelve marble pillars, with bases and tops accented in gold, lined each side of the parquet dance floor. Her wide eyes took in every detail, including the seven crystal chandeliers that hung at the center of the room.
As he crossed to join her, Dare took in these newly inherited rooms. The small, carpeted dais showed the same hints of age as the rest of the household. No framed paintings hung on the walls. The sconces were bronzed and not gold. “They are modest compared with most.” His voice echoed, inordinately loud in the empty space. “Many I’ve been inside have marble flooring throughout and—” He stopped himself abruptly, but it was too late to call it back, that reminder of the work he did.
Temperance pulled her gaze back from the glass ceiling overhead, her expression stricken. “I . . . never truly thought of you being in these households,” she said softly. “Before. Now, I can see you here,” she continued in whispery-soft tones he strained to hear, even as close as they were to one another. “Now, it makes sense.” Then that was one of them who could see himself in this place . . . in this world. “I didn’t let myself think of you inside these homes . . .” She let her arms hang wide. “Inside this, because it made the risk of what you did all the more real.” Her eyes grew distant, taking on a far-off quality as she left him in thought. And it was the moment he lost her again to his work. “Although the times you were caught by constables and sent to Newgate served as the only reminders I needed.”
But then unlike before, where discussion of his thievery left a wedge, this time her features settled into a placidity, and she smiled. “This time is different. Before, you’d no choice, and now . . .” Temperance caught his hands and held them in her own. She squeezed them lightly. “You are truly free of that life, Dare.” The smile curving those lushly beautiful crimson lips was a smile he’d never seen her wear—ever. One that was soft and free of cynicism or wariness.
And lost as he was in the serenity of her expression, it took a moment for what she’d said to sink in.
You are truly free of that life . . .
It was a conclusion any rational, any sane, person would have reached, but stealing from society’s most undeserving and giving it to those who were in need? That was more part of his blood than any title or noble connections. Stealing was how he’d survived, and he couldn’t simply disentangle himself from that.
Removing his hands from hers, Dare clasped them at his back and rocked on his heels. “Shall we?”
She nodded.
It was the first he ever recalled her . . . uncertain. This was a new layer of Temperance Swift.
“The first thing to remember about the waltz—”
“The waltz?” she choked out, interrupting him.
“Is there something wrong with the waltz?”
“It is just . . . you . . .” She cleared her throat. “I was thinking something . . .” Temperance stared helplessly back.
And perhaps he was even more a bastard than the world took him for, because he wasn’t going to help her. Dare shook his head slowly. “Something . . . ?”
“More distinguished,” she blurted.
Distinguished? He tamped down a smile. “Ah, but where, Temperance, is the fun in that?” He drifted closer and looped a hand about her waist.