Page 161 of Pride: The Rogue
“Did itboom, too?”
“Yes, thunder and lightning. The storm wassoooobig.” She stretched her arms wide, like he’d done earlier.
“Were you scared?” he whispered.
“No.” Livian quickly assured him. “It was a wonderful storm.”
James pressed his hands on either side of her picture and lowered his nose to the paper. He peered closely at Livian’s image and then lifted a concerned gaze to hers.
“Itbrokethe stick?” He pointed to the bolt of lightning and fallen limb.
“Not at all,” she said softly. “Itmadethe stick.”
Seeming content with Livian’s explanation, her nephew returned to his own drawing and left her with the memories of that fateful night.
A fierce rainstorm and an ancient branch which had forever changed her life; one violent tempest upended her entire existence. Had the tree not broken, had it not stormed, she would have continued on to the Duchess of Argyll’s and met Lachlan Latimer there.
But in that alternate, almost-story, they would have both known their intentions: his for the duchess’ and Livian’s for…some other man.
It wouldn’t have mattered. They’d been destined for one another, in that way, and in every way.
At least,herheart had been destined for his. The connection between them was undeniable. They were a man and woman moving amidst a world neither of them belonged to and bonded over that tie. Yes, they would have found their way together, regardless.
And the outcome would have also always been the same—Latimer choosing the duchess because ultimately, his life’s energy, efforts, and love belonged to the career he’d built from the nothing streets of London.
Tears pricked her eyes; her vision blurred.
Why have I allowed myself to be a glutton for suffering and sadness?
“Don’t cry.” James scrambled onto her lap. He slapped his small, charcoal-stained palms against her cheeks and squeezed them. “You’ll get better at drawing.”
“Thanff you,” she said through her scrunched mouth.
“Ah, my two favorite artists.”
Livian and James looked up.
Looking like two women on a mission, Verity and Billy, stood in the doorway.
Hell.
“Mama!” James squealed. Toddling to his feet, he went ambling over as quick as his chubby legs would carry him.
With a great deal less of her nephew’s enthusiasm, Livian stood.
Billy took Verity’s newborn babe just as James reached his mother. “I’ve been drawing,” he cried happily.
Verity scooped the boy up and hugged him close. “I cannot wait to see your latest masterpiece,” she crooned, touching her nose to James’s button one.
“Aunt Livvie’s sad again.”
All eyes went to Livian.
Splendid.
She resisted the urge to squirm under those inquisitive stares.
“Is she?” Verity gently asked her son.
