Page 79 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
“So did I,” Mama said.
“And they are brilliant.” Posey hugged her hard, but not hard enough to dislodge the hold Papa had on Fiona’s hands.
Fiona felt smothered, but not unhappy about it. She’d imagined a chasm between herself and those she loved, imagined she’d have to sever herself from them in order to be herself. But perhaps not.Perhaps not.
She laughed. “I am sorry. So sorry for doing things I should not have.”
Her mother patted the arm of her bath chair. “We all benefited from it.”
“I wish I had been able to provide better,” her father said, “so you would not have found yourself in such a position. It is one of the reasons I have been so angry. I think your painting was, to me, a sign I was not failing as a father. It is terrifying having two daughters and no son. Who will look out for you after I’m gone?”
“I thought,” Mama added, “a marriage might fix things. Give you a husband and us a son who would mind the shop without revealing the truth of Posey’s involvement. But”—she shook her head—“it was a poor idea. Especially if it drives you away.”
“I’ve not gone anywhere. A day’s jaunt out of London is all, but—oh!” She met all their gazes with bright eyes. “We found the copies. We found my work, and they are now back where they are supposed to be, but tomorrow I will visit Lady Balantine. And I will burn them all. You are safe. Frampton’s is safe.”
“And you are safe.” Her father’s shoulders slumped, and he breathed easy, long breaths, his hands tightening on hers. “You are safe.”
“Did you find Lord Lysander?” her mother asked. “Is he well?”
“We did. And he is.”
“And is that…” Posey brushed her thumb over Fiona’s cheek. “Paint?”
Fiona laughed and told them all, too relieved they’d welcomed her home with open arms to care about much more. When finally the story was told and yawns echoed through the room, she took herself upstairs and paused outside her chamber, resting her head on the door. She should not feel so heavy. Everyone safe, and all paintings accounted for. Her own involvement in the situation was hidden for now. For as long as Baron Balantine would keep his mouth shut. And even then, safe because Zander had lied. To save her.
That did not feel safe at all. Felt like him at risk or every breath he took for the rest of his life. She clutched at her heart, constricted in a vice, and slipped into her room. She found the tinderbox in the dark and soon had the room blazing with light.
“Good evening, dragon.”
She yelped and jumped as she spun around. “Zander?”
He laid across her bed, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded over his chest. He was clean now and neatly dressed, missing only his boots and his jacket. “I hope you do not mind I doffed my boots.” He nodded toward the end of the bed. “Didn’t want to get London muck on your lovely little bed.”
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, rushing toward him. “How did you get in?”
“I have my ways. As you well know.” He patted the mattress next to him.
What did this mean? She hesitated, but his lazy, beckoning gaze shattered her hesitations, and she joined him on the bed, his arms welcoming her as she laid her body alongside his. He tightened his hold on her, bringing her home against his beating heart.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “You should be resting.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I am resting. Right here.”
“Your paint is gone,” she said, reaching up to his temple. “Do you still hurt?
He winced and gave her another kiss. “A bit. Just don’t poke around near the back of my head, yes?”
“Why are you here?” Repeating it because he’d still not answered her. Another kiss for another nonanswer. She tried to find insult, but the kisses wore her down, made her snuggle deeper into his embrace. “Zander.” A note of caution for him there.
“I am here because I’ve dreamt of holding you like this. In a bed.”
She kissed his chest.
“And I’m here because I missed you.”
Another kiss for his admission.
“And because I have a key, of course.”
