The Wallflowers To Wives Collection. Bronwyn Scott

flared in his eyes. ‘You have secrets, too, Claire. You can hardly condemn me for mine when you hold yours so very close. Who is the suitor? Is it Sheriden come around again now that he’s realised what he gave up the first time?’ He continued when she said nothing. ‘See, it’s not that easy, is it?’

      He took a final bite of his bread and wiped the crumbs away on his trousers. ‘It does make me wonder, Claire, what kind of suitor this man is if you’re pleasuring me in a carriage instead of him. I dare say after the last two nights you could capture his attentions if you wanted them.’

      That stung. ‘You started it!’ She sounded like a four-year-old. She could think of nothing else to say that was a worthy response. L’esprit d’escalier indeed. ‘If anyone has made this complicated, it’s you. You have Cecilia Northam expecting a commitment and yet...’ She didn’t dare voice the rest.

      And you were kissing me up against a wall in Soho, and climbing into my bedroom as if there was no tomorrow. You put your hand on me, you gave yourself to me and you made me believe every word you said.

      Who was to blame? Him for uttering the words, or her for believing them? They’d both known better. Even if the words were true. He had obligations beyond her, dreams beyond her that she knew very little about.

      ‘You’re right. And yet. That pretty much sums it up.’ He let out a breath, the unfinished words hanging between them. The anger went out of him. He pushed a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t think we really want to fight or blame. We’ve exposed ourselves tonight and now we’re just trying to protect ourselves from hurt.’

      ‘I don’t know that we can do that—protect ourselves. It’s too late.’ Perhaps he was right. Outside, the landscape gave way to Mayfair mansions. They were nearly home. The tumultuous evening was over although it was still early by ton standards. Balls would just be getting underway. If she wanted, she could join her parents at the Selfridge rout, but she was in no mood for dancing tonight. It was hard to believe so much had happened and it was only ten o’clock.

      The carriage came to a stop outside Stanhope House. She reached for the door handle but Jonathon was faster. ‘Wait, Claire.’ His hand closed over hers on the handle. ‘What if there were no secrets, no Cecilia?’

      She gave a sad laugh. ‘But there are, Jonathon.’ Who knew what his were, but did it matter? Secrets were secrets for a reason. They were pieces of potentially damaging information if put into the wrong hands. She thought about telling him there was no suitor and the reasons why she hadn’t told him, probably would never tell him. What would he think of her then? Would he think she’d manipulated him to get his attention? ‘If we shared them they would change everything.’

      ‘Everything has already changed, Claire,’ he admonished. ‘A French tutor and a pupil don’t need details. But friends do. I thought we’d established we were that at least.’ Jonathon laced his fingers through hers. ‘I think it’s fair to say we’ve moved beyond tutor and pupil.’ His voice pitched low, trying to reclaim the intimacy of earlier, wanting his wicked angel back on his lap.

      But he understood, too, that he’d overstepped his boundaries tonight by claiming liberties he had no right to access. They were not affianced, there were no promises between them. He’d had her twice in an intimate manner when he should not have had her even once. He could not have her again without committing to her. The thought of never experiencing passion with her made his stomach tighten and his mind marvel. How had this happened? How had she become so beautiful and dear to 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