The low, familiar voice shot through the room. Pen’s gaze flew to the door of the parlor where Garrick stood, tall, dignified, and heartbreakingly handsome. Every inch the perfect lord. She shot to her feet, scrubbing at her cheeks with the handkerchief in a hasty attempt at drying them and hiding her sadness from him.
“Brother,” Aidan greeted, rising.
Garrick nodded, but his gaze was riveted upon Pen. Cold, blue, austere.
Haunting.
She had not been prepared to see him again so soon. Or ever. Her heart thudded fast.
“You said there is only one man you want to marry,” Garrick said. “Who is he?”
She crumpled the scrap of linen in her fist and straightened her posture. “Why should you care?”
“Yes indeed, why should you care?” Aidan’s gaze flitted between Pen and Garrick, his brow furrowed. “I thought the two of you scarcely were acquainted.”
Pen flashed a tight smile. “We are quite familiar, your brother and I. Are we not, my lord?”
Just last night, they had been as familiar as a man and woman could be to each other.
Garrick strode forward, entering the parlor, closing the distance between them, his gaze never wavering as he stopped just short of Pen and Aidan. “Yes, we are.”
She vowed she would not take a single step in retreat. She would be strong. But oh, how difficult it was to try to remain impervious. Her heart was his, even after last night. It would always, forever, belong to him.
“Christ, Garrick,” Aidan said into the silence. “Have you been dallying with Pen?”
Was it that obvious? How humiliating. The urge to flee the chamber and lock herself away was strong, just barely quelled.
Garrick flicked a glance in Aidan’s direction. “Leave us, brother.”
“I am not certain I should.” Aidan turned to Pen. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”
She glanced back at Garrick, heart torn. What could he possibly require of her? Why had he returned to The Sinner’s Palace?
“Please, Pen,” he entreated softly, devoid of his customary arrogance. “A few moments of your time is all I beg.”
“Pen?” Aidan prodded.
She inhaled slowly, her breath hitching with a humiliating sob. Part of her wanted to salvage her pride and tell Garrick to go to the devil. But part of her was desperate to know why he had returned.
“You may leave us,” Pen relented. “I shan’t be in any harm.”
Her heart, however, was another matter.
Aidan searched her gaze, then nodded, apparently seeing what he needed to see reflected there. “I’ll go. But know this, brother, if you are the one responsible for making Pen weep, you had damn well better make amends for it.”
Thank you, Aidan, she thought grimly. If Garrick had not noticed she had been weeping when he arrived before, there was no question of it now.
“I will,” Garrick said solemnly.
How? She wanted to ask, but her tattered pride would not allow it. Instead, she held her tongue and watched her friend take his leave before reluctantly looking back to the man she loved.
Which proved a mistake, for he was gazing at her in a new way. The icy lordly mask of indifference was gone, and in its place was something different. Dare she think it tenderness?
“Who?” he asked again.
And he did not have to elaborate, for she knew what he wanted from her. The name of the man she wanted to marry.
The prick of tears began anew in her eyes. “Do you need to hear me say it?”
He moved closer, reaching for her hands, and took them in his. “Yes.”
He was wearing gloves, but his warmth seared her, bringing a rush of longing for him back to life. She wanted to pull away. To disengage and run from him. But a splinter of hope remained, burrowed in her heart, telling her to stay.
To tell him the truth.
To take the risk.
“You,” she admitted, tears burning her eyes and rendering her words halting. “It is you. Are you happy now?”
He smiled slowly, tugging her against his chest. “I could be happier.”
“I am certain you shall be whenever you marry your beautiful aristocratic bride,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“I am not marrying Lady Hester.”
Her heart leapt, but she forced it to calm. “That’s a rum choice, because her name is quite dreadful.”
He chuckled. “Her name matters not. She is in love with the Earl of Carlington, which is a most fortuitous turn of fortune’s fickle wheel, because I am also in love with another.”
She froze. “Oh?”
Please let her be me.
“Yes.” He brought her fingers to his lips for a reverent kiss. “Perhaps you know her.”
She swallowed. “I hope I do.”
Icy-blue eyes burned into hers. “She is bold and daring and intelligent. She is not afraid to speak her mind or face a villain with a pistol. She has an excellent head for keeping ledgers, she has a mouth I long to kiss every hour of every day, the most glorious auburn hair I have ever beheld, and mysterious hazel eyes flecked with gold. She is known for gadding about London dressed as a gentleman, she is a brave and loyal friend, and from the moment I first met her, she has owned not just my thoughts, but my heart as well.”