Page 52 of Pride: The Rogue
“My nursemaid, who was more a mother to me than my own,” she disclosed the hurt that would never stop hurting. “She believed my brother-in-law was taking advantage of my sister, the same way my father did our mother. She thought Verity was repeating all the same mistakes. In her attempt to protect us, Bertha attempted to separate them. In doing so, she hurt Verity in the worst way and…that was the last I ever saw her.”
Her throat worked.
What did that say about Livian that, despite Bertha’s machinations, Livian missed her still?
Chapter 9
Livian didn’t press him. Though curious, she appeared content with Latimer sharing—or not sharing—whatever parts of himself he did.
Ah.
At last, Latimer discovered for himself the sincerity of his unlikely partner for the night. More comfortable sharing parts of herself than he’d ever known a person could be, Livian, proved with her openness she wasn’t the threat he’d begun to take her for.
And the ease with which he’d already revealed far more than he ought, proved dangerous in its own right.
Latimer pushed his chair back and stood.
Livian craned her neck to look at him.
Such confusion and disappointment mingled in those mesmerizing, aquamarine pools he found himself besieged by an all-powerful yearning to remain.
Which is precisely why you have to get the hell away from innocent Miss Livian Lovelace, as quick as possible.
“It’s late,” he said quietly; that reminder more for himself than the innocent beauty before him.
“Yes.” Reluctantly, she stood.
Proving to be a coward for the first time in his life, Latimer avoided her gaze.
Heading around the table, he reached for her bags, just as she meant to pick them up.
“What—?”
“I can carry them,” he said, curiously noting the tattered valises with their old, wood, handles.
“With everything I shared about myself this night, Lachlan, I trust you can see I’m more than capable of fetching my own things?”
The amusement in her voice brought his focus back to her.
Giving him a pointed look, Livian stretched both hands out, and crooked her fingers.
“Oh, I don’t doubt it, sweetheart,” he drawled. “You’re the one whose insisting on calling me a gentleman, and, as such, I’m kinda feeling compelled to do thegentlemanlything.”
Livian laughed; her musical, lyrical, mirth, scaring the everlasting hell out of him with how bloody good it sounded and made him feel.
“Very well, good sir,” she said through his tumult. The enchantress sank into a flourishing curtsy. “I will permit you to carry my belongings.”
Wrestling for equanimity, Latimer offered an equally flourishing bow he’d seen enough priggish lords deliver to other gents in his clubs.
He and Livian laughed at the ridiculousness of it, and just like that, he found himself restored to an even plane.
After she’d collected the key and her worn book, they headed above stairs. When they reached the door that’d led to this curious night, Livian unlocked the panel.
They lingered on the threshold.
Latimer cleared his throat. “I should set these inside and fetch my belongings, if that is all right?”
“Yes! Please. Of course.” Her words came fast. “I trust if you’d intended me harm, when we were strangers and not friends would have been the time to do so.Please.”
