Page 35

She chuckled softly. “You failed.”

He arched a brow. “Badly?”

“Very pleasantly,” she said, with a slow, satisfied smile.

He laughed, then kissed her cheek, lingering against the soft skin. Charlotte rested against him, and he felt her shoulders ease beneath his hands as the tension she carried so carefully drained away. He could have remained there for hours. Instead, she took his hand, her fingers warm and sure around his, and led him to the sofa. “Sit with me.”

He settled beside her, close enough that her skirts lay across his leg, a soft weight of silk. She turned his hand in hers, brushing her thumb over the old scar near his thumb. She traced it as though she wanted to learn its history.

“You are quiet again,” she said.

Alexander looked at their joined hands, her slender, bare fingers curled around his larger ones, and his throat tightened. “There is something I should tell you.”

Charlotte’s fingers paused. “Something serious?”

“Yes.”

She lifted her eyes to his. He saw uncertainty enter them, a small, quick shadow, and wished he'd started more gently. Yet there was no easy way to say this while pretending it meant less than it did.

“I love you, Charlotte.”

Her lips parted. He had imagined saying those words many times. But in none of those imagined moments had he appreciated how hard it would be to wait afterward. His heart pounded, and her silence stretched between them like a held breath. She looked down at his hand, still resting within hers, her thumb gone still on his scar.

“Alexander...”

“I do not need you to say it back,” he said, quickly, gently. He was almost desperate for her to return his feelings. “I only wished for you to know.”

Her gaze returned to his, clear and steady. “I was not searching for a polite reply,” she said.

Despite his nerves, he smiled, and the knot in his chest loosened. “I am glad.”

She drew a breath, then released it slowly, as though gathering herself. “I had intended this to remain simple.”

“So had I.” Mostly… But not for him; it had been what she wanted. He had always known that she was the right one for him. He had blundered in his youth and nearly did so now.

“No, you did not.” Her mouth curved faintly, a wry, tender curve. “You have been looking at me as though you wanted considerably more than a pleasant evening.”

He could not deny it, and he didn’t try. “I have tried not to ask for more than you wished to give.”

“I know.” She held his hand more firmly, her fingers tightening around his. “That has made it rather difficult to keep giving you so little.”

“It has never felt like little,” he said, roughly.

Her expression softened, and he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to her knuckles and then to the delicate inside of her wrist.

“I loved you when I was young,” he said, against her skin. “I have remembered you ever since. But this is more than remembering. I love being with you now. I like hearing your opinions, even when they concern my sorry state. I want to know how your day has been. I want to tell you things because I know you will understand why they amused me.”

Charlotte laughed softly, though her eyes had grown bright, and a tear threatened at the corner of one. “I have been doing that,” she said.

“What?” he asked.

“Thinking of things I wish to tell you.” She glanced toward the shelves, her cheeks pink. “I could scarcely open a book today without hoping you would have something to say about it.”

His chest tightened, so sharply that he could hardly breathe. She looked back at him, her gaze luminous. “I love you,” she said. “I tried to make it something smaller, but I cannot.”

Alexander drew her into his arms. For a moment, he could only hold her. Charlotte pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her hand resting at the back of his neck, her fingers warm in his hair, and he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. “I am very glad you cannot,” he said, into her hair. “Because I like having you in my life.”

Her laugh was muffled against his coat. “How pleased with yourself you sound.”