Page 90 of A Deal With a Notorious Devil
“You’re not a monster, either.” At least, he wasn’t to her.
“Perhaps…a little less so than I was. Than I have been.” He sighed again, but it sounded less strained, less angry, less tense. “Hieronymus misses you.”
“He doesn’t miss me. He’s a turtle.”
“He does. I’ll swear to it.” There was an odd sound, a pained groan, the tap of his cane—and then his voice again, closer and above her head. “See for yourself,” he said, and Phoebe turned, canting her head up to see Kit peering over the wall. Standing upon his stone bench to do it and holding aloft a turtle, who kicked his legs in the air.
“Hieronymus!” Phoebe scrambled up from her seat and climbed atop her own bench. “I don’t think he much likes being hefted into the air,” she said. “He’s very much a turtle who prefers solid ground. Have you got a cabbage leaf?”
“What, in my pocket? No. But he’s had a lovely breakfast ofdandelions already. Missed all the excitement last night, it seems. Safe and sound in his pond.”
Phoebe stroked the top of Hieronymus’ head with the tip of her finger, and his little legs stopped flailing long enough to enjoy the caress for a few moments.
“See?” Kit said, as he briefly dipped back behind the wall to return Hieronymus to the lawn. “He's missed you.” And then— “I’vemissed you.”
“If you hadn’t sent me away—”
Kit popped up once more, his glacial blue eyes narrowed into a glare, irritated all over again. “I would do it again. I’m not sorry for that, Phoebe. I will always make the choice that is best for you. The one that keeps you safe, because I—” For a moment his jaw worked, as if he had just managed to chew back a succession of unwise words. “Hell,” he said, his eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“I’d rather you went first, yes.”
“Goddammit, Phoebe. I don’tdothis sort of thing.”
“So I gathered. You’re not very good at it.” Phoebe chewed her lower lip, and decided to extend to him just the tiniest morsel of pity. “I don’t do this sort of thing, either, you know. I was rather adamant about it, in fact. I think I could have been content if I had never married, as I expected, but—but I would rather be happy. I think I could be. But not in a marriage of convenience.”
Kit folded his arms atop the stone wall between them and slouched to rest his chin upon them. “I’m open to renegotiation.”
Despite herself, she laughed. Just a wry little sound, as she cast him a look that was meant to convey that he would not be getting off quite so easily as that. She said, “I suppose I haven’t truly held up my end of our bargain. Your reputation is still in shambles. And our one dinner party didn’t go particularly well.”
“You’re hardly to blame for that. Difficult to attend eventswhen one is recovering from a gunshot wound. It’s possible my reputation will never sufficiently recover. That won’t be your fault, either.” He slipped one arm out from beneath his chin, lifted his fingers to tug at a loose lock of her hair. “There’s many things I’ll never be able to do,” he said. “Balls are right out. I can’t dance with you. I never learned how, and my damned knee won’t let me.”
“I’ve had a decade’s worth of balls, and they have become tiresome. I’ll not complain of it.” She’d grown accustomed to spending the majority of her evenings at home. Once, Mama had dragged her about town nearly every night of the week over interminable years of husband-hunting. Now, she would savor the peace she had finally acquired. “Naturally, we’ll still have to attend Emma’s annual ball. Even if we don’t dance.”
“Naturally,” he said. “May I make a small confession?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“It’s turned out that I fucking hate dinner parties.”
Phoebe smothered a snicker behind her fingertips. “Is that why you’ve been malingering? So you wouldn’t have to attend another?”
“No. That was just—pleasant,” he said. “But I thought I needed to be part of Em’s world. To be respected by her peers and to be welcomed into their homes, their events. By all rights, she should be embarrassed by me, her bastard half-brother. I thought I needed to become someone she could be proud to claim.”
“Of course she’s proud to claim you,” Phoebe said. “She loves you just as you are.” Just as her own mother loved her—even if she would never fit into the mold of the perfect daughter, the perfect lady. It had never mattered. She’d just been unable to see it for herself.
“I don’t even like most of them. I don’t care if they like me, orrespect me, or invite me to the sorts of events I don’t even wish to attend,” Kit said. “As it happens, I never needed to be part of Em’sworld. I only need to be part of yours.” He paused, turned his head just slightly. “How was that?”
Phoebe blinked back a mist of tears. “Better. Did you practice?”
“In the mirror before I came down. Brooks likely thinks me a candidate for Bedlam.”
With a chuckle, Phoebe swiped at her eyes. “I’m still going to be friends with Charity, you know. I like her a great deal.”
“She’s not my mistress any longer. You can do as you please.”
“I won’t always obey you just because you believe yourself to be in the right. And I won’t be sent away again.” It had been torture to worry for him as she had.
“Thatis not open to negotiation,” he said severely, his gold brows slashing over his eyes. “Hell, Phoebe—I sent you away because youare my vulnerability. My weakest point. I would die for you without hesitation.”
