Page 73

She turned her hand so that it rested on top of his now, the ruby ring glinting in the firelight. “This ring.”

And now everything fell into place. That night, when he was awoken by the sound of his ring falling under his bed—the night he thought he saw her ghost in the library. It had been her all along, trying and failing to retrieve his ring. With the reputation she had, he had to attribute her failings to her feelings for him. Even when she managed to steal it, she was still wearing it on her finger instead of relinquishing it to the queen of London’s underbelly.

Why did Miss Monroe even want the ring? That was a question for another time.

“Then it’s easy,” he said, decision made. “We just give it to her.”

Lydia let out a bitter laugh. “It is not as simple as that, and you know it. She outed me to the world. My reputation is irreparable.”

“I can help you fix it.” He reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face.

She shook her head, dislodging the stubborn strand again. “I don’t think you can.”

“I can. And if I fail, then we shall run. Together.”

She bit her lip, doubt evident on her face. “You are a viscount, Thorn. An heir to a marquessate. You cannot run.”

“Watch me.” He took her face between his palms and kissed her savagely, pouring years of longing and frustration into the desperate press of his lips against hers.

Chapter 20

Lydia opened her eyes with a start. An arm around her tightened, and she froze for a moment before realizing where she was.

She was lying in Art’s bed, pressed against his body, completely naked save for the sheet covering her hips. His heat and scent surrounded her, and the urge to stay wrapped up in his arms was overwhelming.

But she knew she couldn’t.

They’d made love countless times that night. She couldn’t count how many times he’d brought her to bliss, and every time he had, he’d begged her to stay with him.

“Promise you will stay with me, Lydia,” he’d begged. “Promise me.”

And she did. She cried yes at the top of her lungs and perhaps at that moment, she had meant it. But once reason penetrated her mind, she couldn’t deny it anymore. She couldn’t stay with him. Not now. Not ever.

The viscount and the thief just couldn’t live in the same world. They never could. Just like a maid and a viscount couldn’t. The way his father had broken them apart all those years ago might have been harsh and even brutal, but he was right. She knew it now.

If Art had married her back then, he would have been ostracized from society, and their children, if they had any, would be too. They would never be accepted; they would’ve been shunned, ignored, mocked.

As young, naive, and idealistic as they both had been, the reality would have broken them.

It was different now. They were both weathered by tragedies and heartbreak. They could withstand far more hardships… and yet, she doubted they could withstand this.

The situation she was in now was beyond scandal. If she were to show her face anywhere, she’d be arrested and most likely hanged. The only way they could stay together was if they both ran. But Lydia could not do that to Art. She couldn’t turn him into a fugitive and force him to abandon everyone and everything he’d ever known for her.

He had friends, family, responsibilities. He was a blasted viscount—soon to be a marquess. He could not just disappear.

No, she needed to run. And she needed to run alone.

She burrowed her nose into his chest and inhaled his scent. She would remember this scent—this feeling forever. She carefully disengaged herself from him and inched away until she was free from his grasp, cold air hitting her skin.

Lydia looked around for her clothing, only to remember it was rain-soaked and covered in mud. And she couldn’t exactly escape unnoticed wearing the gown she’d worn the night before. No, she needed to dress inconspicuously if she wanted to escape without notice. Perhaps, even disguised as a man.

She picked up his discarded shirt, and with a shrug, put it on. Wrapping herself in his shirt, she took a deep breath, surrounding herself with his dear scent, remembering the desperate passion with which they’d devoured each other last night. She wanted to cry at the memory. What kind of passion had they missed out on in their life?

Was there another world somewhere, where they did get to elope and live happily together?

A maid and a viscount.

She shook her head. That was not possible.