Page 58 of How to Wed a Courtesan

‘The cottage.’ Evander indicated the painting. ‘Will you take me?’

Lottie’s thoughts raced at Evander’s request. It was simple enough. And it made sense. Of course he would want to see where Lily had lived. No doubt he would also want to visit her grave.

Except his enquiry made her freeze. She hadn’t been back to the cottage since Sarah had finally prised her away from the grave. And as insistent as Lottie had been then, on remaining there day and night, in vigil for her lost daughter, she was just as insistent now on not going back.

Her heart could not bear it.

The comfort she’d drawn from Evander ebbed and was replaced with a restless agitation. She rose from the bed and went to the ewer to freshen up.

‘Lottie,’ Evander said. ‘What is it?’

She shook her head, not quite certain exactly what it was herself. But the ache of it split open like a void within her.

‘Why do you want to go?’ she asked.

It was a stupid question. The reason was obvious. Anyone in Evander’s position would want to go. She was simply postponing having to give him an answer.

He rose from bed, his lean body all sharp angles and cut muscle. Her hands tingled with the memory of how such strength had felt beneath her touch.

‘I want to see where you lived,’ he answered, with more patience than the question deserved. ‘It’s the closest thing I can have to being near Lily.’ He hesitated before adding, ‘Is she buried there?’

Lottie nodded, unable to answer the question out loud. She’d lain over that small grave for three days before Sarah had finally convinced her to leave. It had been more than Lottie could bear, imagining her sweet girl all alone in the small wooden coffin, surrounded by cold, dark earth.

‘Please, Lottie.’ He strode towards her, unabashed in his nakedness, and reached for her shoulder.

But Lottie stepped back.

Hurt flashed in his eyes for the briefest of moments, but he hid it with a glance downward as he dragged a hand through his hair.

‘You could go without me,’ she suggested.

He looked back at her with a frown. ‘Why don’t you want to go?’

The answer sat heavy in her mind, her tongue suddenly too thick to put her reply into words.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid,’ she answered at last.

His brow furrowed with apparent confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’

And how could he? He hadn’t lived through what she had. Yes, he knew what she had told him, but it wasn’t the same as experiencing it. Words could never properly convey the level of her despair, the precise anguish of her grief. And there was more...

There was the fear that she would relive the emotions she had felt when she resided in that cottage. When she had received no letters from him. How many times had she sat in the small rocker, considering the diamond on her finger and wondering how worthless his promises had been?

There had been no news of him in all those years. If there had been she would have known, as she’d made it a point to be in the proper circles to gain such information.

Some nights she’d presumed him dead and wept. Others she’d berated herself for a fool who had been played by a rake. She had wept then too, bitter tears for her own naivety and for what such carelessness had brought upon her sweet, innocent child.

And when she had seen Evander at Comlongon all those nights had rushed back to her, along with the pain of the struggles she’d endured. That rage that had burned within her flickered to life once more. He’d been right earlier. She should be angry with him for what he’d done.

Except she’d been too tender after having just told him about Lily. She’d been too desperate for comfort.

‘I haven’t been back there since...since she was buried,’ Lottie said slowly. ‘I haven’t been able to bring myself to.’

Evander was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke his voice was thick with emotion. ‘Perhaps it might help us both heal if we go together.’

Lottie gritted her teeth. ‘There’s more. I... I fear that I might never be able to forgive you if we go back.’