Page 44 of Lyon on the Loose

“You’ve lied from the start,” she said, the truth crystallizing, sharp as frost. “The moments we’ve shared, the kisses—”

“No!” His hand reached out, then curled into a fist and fell to his side. “Everything I feel for you is real. I tried to fight it—I truly did.”

“So, everything we’ve been through,” she interrupted, “was based on a lie.”

The gallery blurred. She blinked fiercely; she mustn’t cry here, not where their guests could see. Not in front of him.

“Lissy, forgive me. I wouldn’t have gone through with it. I know that now.”

Not have gone through with the theft of the necklace, or the theft of her heart?

“I don’t know who you are anymore. You are like a . . . a . . . viper in our midst,” she whispered, hating that it felt true. First Oscar’s unmasking, and now Roland’s. Could she ever trust another person again?

Roland bowed his head. “I deserve your hatred.”

“You certainly do.” But even now—even now—she didn’t hate him. Her heart beat stubbornly for him, aching, breaking, but refusing to turn to stone.

He glanced away, and silence drew out between them—raw, trembling, brittle as spun glass. Thankfully, the musicians were sounding the last notes of the waltz. She and Roland wouldn’t have to pretend any longer.

“I’ll leave tonight,” he murmured. “You needn’t harbor this snake under your roof a moment longer. Be assured—the honor of yourself and your family is in no danger from me.”

“And the necklace?” She pressed her fingers against it. How could something so cold, so hard, make the blood run so hot?

He flinched. “I cannot take it—I’m not certain if I ever expected to, but I had to at least try. I shall face Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s displeasure as best I can and just hope nobody at White’s ever hears about this little escapade.”

He turned aside.

“Roland—” Lissy swallowed. “Would you have told me? If I had not worn the necklace tonight?”

A long, excruciating silence.

“Yes,” he said at last. “Because I am tired of being a disappointment. And because you deserve the truth . . . even if it destroys me.”

Her breathing faltered. He was prepared to sacrifice his reputation . . . for hers? But there was still so much unsaid, so much unresolved. They needed privacy for that.

“Roland, wait.”

He paused, shoulders rigid.

“Don’t go tonight. In the morning, when Mama is rested, and all the paraphernalia of the ball is cleared away, I ask that you speak with her and tell her everything you’ve told me. I think she deserves it.”

He gazed at Lissy for a moment, his jaw tight, then nodded. “You’re right, as ever. I need to face up to my deception and accept my punishment. Please—enjoy the rest of the evening.” He gave her a gentlemanly bow, then strode away into the night.

Lissy stood in the ballroom, encircled by laughter, candlelight, music, glittering gowns—and felt more alone than she’d ever been in her life.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Roland had known humiliation before—his frequent losses at cards, his brother Leo ringing a peal over him for having no useful occupation—but nothing compared to this. Here he was, standing in the old Mundlingham Castle solar on a hopelessly gray morning, awaiting his fate like a prisoner in the dock. Latymer and Hugo sat on either side of the stately Lady Ashby, making the place feel even more like a courtroom.

Only yesterday, this room had been the stage on which his triumph was set: the vanquishing of two inveterate blackmailers, the rescue of Lissy’s reputation, and the irrefutable signs that she cared about his worthless hide.

He felt her presence: the slight tremble of the air when she entered the room after him, the soft catch of her breath, the honied scent of her hair. His entire body leaned instinctively in her direction before he forced it back under control.

Well, if Leo didn’t castigate him for this adventure, he’d charge over to Forty Court and demand punishment. He deserved his brother’s censure more than ever before—what in the name of heaven had made him imagine he’d be any good at espionage?

“Good morning, Mr. Cowley. Or should I say, Chetwynd?” Lady Ashby’s blue eyes, so like her daughter’s, seemed to see into his soul. “I understand that you have something important to say to us all.”

He bowed. “I do, ma’am.”