Page 35 of Twins for the Off-Limits Lawyer

"Rough evening?"

I nearly jumped clean out of my skin, spinning around to find Edward emerging from one of the wingback chairs near the fireplace.

He'd shed his jacket and tie, his white dress shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The careful composure from the gala had melted away, leaving him looking almost human.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," I breathed, pressing a hand to my racing heart. "You scared the life out of me. I thought you were still playing host to the important people."

"I was. Until I realized I was about five minutes away from strangling Lord Pembrooke with his own pocket watch." He stood, and I noticed he was barefoot too, his perfectly polished shoes abandoned beside his chair. "He spent twenty minutes explaining why American gardening techniques are inferior to British methods, despite never having grown anything more complex than a potted plant in his office."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, bless his heart, but he's not wrong about everything. Y'all do have that whole centuries-of-experience thing going for you. But sometimes a little Texas know-how doesn't hurt."

"Texas know-how?"

"Don't sound so skeptical, Mr. Fancy-Pants. We might not have your heritage roses, but we know how to make things grow in soil that's drier than a popcorn fart and twice as stubborn." The crude expression slipped out before I could stop it, and I feltmy cheeks heat. "Sorry. Mama would wash my mouth out with soap if she heard that."

Edward's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "I've heard worse in boardrooms in the city. Though I admit, your colorful expressions are far more entertaining than Sir Malcolm's profanity."

We stood there in the moonlit library, two refugees from the world of social obligation, and for the first time since I'd arrived in England, the awkwardness between us felt different.

Less like a chasm and more like a bridge we were both afraid to cross.

"Why did you really leave the party?" I asked, settling onto the window seat and tucking my feet under me.

My heart was still doing little flip-flops from finding him here—alone, rumpled, looking more like a real person than the untouchable aristocrat he usually pretended to be. "And don't feed me some line about Lord What's-his-face. You handle difficult people for a living."

Edward ran a hand through his hair, completely destroying what was left of his perfect styling. "Because watching you tonight, seeing how effortlessly you charmed everyone while still being completely yourself, it made me realize how long it's been since I've had a genuine conversation with another human being."

My heart did this little flutter thing that had nothing to do with the champagne I'd had at dinner. "What do you mean?"

"Every word I speak is calculated. Every expression is measured." He paused, running a hand through his hair again, the gesture achingly vulnerable. "I've been Edward Grosvenor, heir to the family legacy, for so long that I've forgotten how to just be... Edward. Christ, I'm not even sure there's anything left under all the expectations and obligations."

The raw honesty in his voice nearly undid me. "Really?" I managed a laugh, but it came out a little bitter. "Honey, I spent the entire evening terrified I'd use the wrong fork or say something that would confirm I don't belong in your world. I felt like a fraud in that dress, no matter how pretty it was."

"You do belong."

The conviction in his voice caught me off guard, made my chest tight in all the best ways. "Edward—"

"No, listen to me." He moved to the chair across from me, close enough that I could see the exhaustion in his gray eyes, close enough to catch that scent of his that was becoming dangerously familiar. "You think what you do—helping people create beautiful spaces, making gardening accessible—isn't valuable? My Mother's spent her entire life on charity boards, and I've never seen her help anyone the way you helped that caller last week who was grieving her husband's death by planting his favorite flowers."

I blinked, surprised. "You watched the show?"

A flush crept up his neck, and Lord help me, it was adorable.

"I may have caught a few episodes. You have this way of making people feel like their dreams matter, no matter how small. That's not something you can fake. That's not something you learn in etiquette classes or boardrooms."

"My Mama says I get that from her. She always believed in people's potential, even when they didn't see it themselves."

I curled my legs up further, pulling the skirt of my dress down modestly. "She worked three jobs to send me to college, you know. Diner waitress, house cleaner, and she took in sewing on weekends. Never once complained, never made me feel guilty for wanting more than our little town could offer."

"She sounds remarkable."

"She is. Sometimes I wonder what she'd think of all this." I gestured around the grand library, with its first-edition novelsand portraits of dead scholars. "Her daughter in a castle, wearing rubies that probably cost more than she made in five years."

"She'd be proud."

"Maybe. Or maybe she'd worry I'm forgetting where I come from. That I'm trying so hard to fit in that I'm losing myself in the process." The words slipped out before I could catch them, revealing more than I'd meant to.

Edward was quiet for a moment, studying me with those penetrating eyes. "Is that what you're afraid of? Forgetting?"

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