him without him realising it? He had wanted to kill for her tonight, an urge he thought he’d left behind in the war. He’d watched the hours slip by too slowly until he could expect her. He’d drunk away the afternoon, regretting not going to his lesson. Now, he had to know. Were those feelings he had to get used to? ‘Do you think there’s no chance for us, Claire?’
She did look at him then, her eyes sharp as her head snapped up to face him. ‘A chance for what, Jonathon?’
‘If I wanted to court you, would I be welcome or would I be too late?’ Doubt stole over him. He’d never asked a woman such a thing. Interest had always been implied. ‘Tell me the truth, Claire—have I been nothing more than a distraction while you ponder your suitor’s offer?’ He didn’t think he could withstand being used in that manner, not by her, and yet he wasn’t convinced he deserved more.
He had stunned her. She would have pulled her hand away if he hadn’t held on. Perhaps it was what he deserved; to reach out for happiness and be denied. It was his penance for Thomas. Why should he claim happiness when Thomas could not?
In the next moment, she was stunning him. ‘You are determined to have my secret, are you not?’ Her brown eyes held sadness, regret. ‘I should have told you from the start and now you will despise me, but it seems I have no choice if you’re to understand why this can’t go any further.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘There is no suitor. There never was.’ The rest came out in a rush he barely had time to process. ‘The only suitor I ever wanted was you.’
‘And now? Have I failed in some way?’
‘No! You’ve exceeded my expectations at every turn.’ She paused and glanced down at her hands, gathering courage. ‘You are much more than I knew and that man is better than any of my imaginings. I did not mean to toy with you, but I can’t help but feel that I have. I have led you on in order to keep your attentions, I made you believe there was a man of interest.’ She shook her head. ‘Now, I’m embarrassed about how I acted. The girls dressed me up, did my hair, May found a way for us to be thrown together and I allowed it.’
‘Because you liked me, nothing more,’ Jonathon said softly. The kaleidoscope of little shards were falling into focus now, the bits and pieces aligning themselves in formation. He’d been right. The dresses were for a man. But he’d not guessed they were for him. He remembered the sky-blue gown with the chocolate piping and how he’d stared when she’d entered the Worths’ drawing room. He remembered, too, how she’d quite fortuitously sat across from him and May Worth had sat beside him. It had been May who’d dropped that little titbit about Claire’s French. Without that information, he might never have sought her out.
Full stop.
He’d only been partially joking with Preston the other day about having no secrets when one’s friends were in intelligence. The Worths were the leak. Preston would have known he was in need of a tutor and May had always been an inveterate eavesdropper even when they were young. He reached for her hand, claiming it again from her lap. ‘You went to a lot of work, for me. I’m flattered. Did you think I wouldn’t be?’
She hesitated. She’d been expecting his anger. She’d not been ready for this. ‘I thought you would feel used, manipulated.’
He shook his head. ‘You merely created an opportunity for us to be together. As you pointed out so succinctly earlier, I was the one who started it.’ He paused here, running his thumb over her knuckles. ‘I started it, but am I right in assuming we both want more?’
Despite her confession, they were back where they started, but perhaps they were closer to an answer. ‘The way I see it, is that it’s easier than we thought, Claire. There is no suitor to stand between us and your secret is out in the open, no longer a barrier to us.’
‘But it is not the only barrier,’ she chided. ‘There is your appointment to Vienna to consider. You will risk that post if you openly pursue me. I can’t let you do that, Jonathon. You’ve worked too hard. I cannot possibly stand in the way of your dream. I hope it is evident that I care too much for you to do that.’ He watched her throat work, noting the effort this recent disclosure cost her. Her free hand fumbled unsuccessfully with the door. ‘Please, let me out before we say things we can’t mean and make promises we can’t keep.’
He released her hand and carefully swung open the door. He helped her out, performing his role with numb perfection until she was safely inside. Only when he was alone in the carriage did he let the full import of the words take him. They were a blow as stunning as any punch Greasy Hair could have landed. He understood her meaning. She wanted out of more than the carriage. She wanted out of their association. No more French lessons. No more long walks in the garden. No more sneaking off to Soho.
What a mess he’d made of things. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to fight back the overwhelming wave of disappointment. He’d lost Claire just when he’d decided he wanted her, needed her.
Needed her? To need her seemed an understatement. In a practical sense, he didn’t need her. The lessons were about done. Any day now, Owen would hear from his contact in France about the latest leads on Thomas and Jonathon would be ready. He’d comported himself excellently at the bookshop. His flawless spoken French had returned nearly full force of what it had once been.
As long as she’s with you. You’ve never done it without her. What if you can’t? You still can’t read French out loud.
Did that really matter? He’d probably never be asked to read French out loud. There was consolation in knowing how much he’d achieved in the last four weeks, but it was a meagre prize compared to what he was giving up: Claire Welton.
No, it wasn’t the need that bothered him. It was the wanting. The rational mind argued that all dreams had a cost. She was merely his price. Just as committing himself in a politically advantageous marriage was part of that price; a price he had not originally minded paying, had indeed felt it was his due to pay; more penance for Thomas. He still felt it was his due to pay. He’d not realised how keenly he’d feel the toll, however. When he’d made his bargain, he’d not had anything to lose, anything to give up.
Jonathon climbed the front steps to his rooms at the Albany on the Piccadilly border—bastion of wealthy, young, unmarried gentlemen during the Season. The halls were quiet, everyone out for the evening. Good. He needed time to think, time to figure out what he was going to do. How would he convince Claire he’d fight for both her and Vienna?
She didn’t think victory on both fronts was possible. She’d made that clear tonight and she knew the price of achieving Vienna. He knew Claire’s consolation. She cared for him enough to pay. She would sacrifice her dream in order to save his. Just as Thomas had. In the end, they’d both left him.
Those two ideas chased themselves around his mind. Claire cared for him.
Claire had left him.
The problem with receiving good news mixed with bad was that one’s brain couldn’t quite decide which emotion to embrace: the elation of the high or the depression of the low. It was even more confusing when the two were inextricably linked: she’d left him because she cared. Thomas had gone down that road because Thomas had loved him, enough to risk dying for him, in place of him.
He fitted his key into the door of his rooms and stepped inside. The room was dark. He’d given his man the night off, but Jonathon could sense immediately he wasn’t alone. He bent down and withdrew his knife
