Page 63 of In a Rake's Embrace
She rose gracefully. “I’ll spend a bit of time with Carson and Sarah. I’ll be ready to depart for London within the hour.”
Without waiting for a response, Agatha turned and walked away, her heart aching with every step. She was keenly aware of his gaze lingering on her as she left. The longing that pulsed inside her felt almost unbearable, yet she forced herself to keep moving, holding her head high even as her heart ached.
Thomas calmly climbedthe stairs to the fourth floor ofAphrodite. They had barely returned that morning. Madam Rebecca had been a whirl of anxious energy; pacing and muttering that the delay might disrupt all their plans. Still, her face lit up when she saw the turnout downstairs—a crowd of gentlemen with more wealth than they could spend in a lifetime and intrigue in their eyes.
He had told himself he would not attend, but instead of descending his carriage at White’s, he was here. Agatha had requested to see him in her private room. Thomas opened the door and stepped inside, immediately struck by the delicate outline of her silhouette behind the screen. She moved with a soft grace, her shape blurred yet alluring against the dim light.
“You wanted to see me, Agatha.”
“Thomas,” her voice was quiet, a note of uncertainty tinged with excitement. “I … I’ve been readying myself for a few hours now.”
He could see the outline of her hand smoothing over her bodyand hear the small intake of breath before she continued: “I bathed in rose-scented water … Bea helped me, and she massaged me with lavender oil.”
Thomas stood motionless, his throat tightening. He could almost smell the lingering hint of roses and lavender in the air, and the combination seemed to weave a spell around him. Her nervousness was palpable, almost tangible, and he remained silent, letting her speak, sensing her vulnerability like an ache in his own chest.
He almost offered her money again, then recalled the fierce pride and will that had peeked from her gaze in that small cottage.
“Why did you ask to see me?”
The screen shifted as she stepped around it, revealing herself in a simple cotton robe that dwarfed her slight frame. Her hair was loosely gathered, framing her face in gentle tendrils. She looked so lovely, so unguarded, that it stole his breath.
Her eyes met his, wide and filled with a longing that she seemed to barely contain. Agatha reached out, her hand trembling slightly, as she offered him a small silk sachet. A delicate fragrance filled the air as he took it from her. His fingers brushed hers, and he felt a jolt of warmth—something beyond mere attraction—a raw, inexplicable tenderness.
“What is this?”
She smiled, her cheeks tinging with color. “I … I made this for you. As a thank you—for everything. Your help, your friendship. It is a perfumed sachet. I picked a fragrance … that reminded me of you. I embroidered your initials on it.”
Thomas swallowed, struggling to find words, but they stuck in his throat. The overwhelming surge of emotions almost made him want to laugh, tease her, drag her into his arms, and kiss her. Yet he couldn’t be anything but silent, feeling the sachet warm in his hand, its scent faintly mingling with her own.
“Thank you.”
She smiled; it was radiant andenchanting.
He slipped the sachet into his pocket, feeling its weight settle there, far heavier than its size suggested.
The silence stretched between them, and he could not break his gaze from hers, his resolve weakening with each beat of his heart.
Bloody hell.
“Are you ready?” Thomas asked, his hand folded behind his back as he carefully composed his expression into an indifferent mask.
Agatha lowered her gaze briefly, and he detected the faint tremor as it worked through her slender frame. “Yes.”
His gut twisted, that unfamiliar emotion pressing against the barrier he’d long perfected. “I will not be staying.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes almost wide and pleading, and Thomas felt something tighten further, painfully. He did not want to watch the man who would win her take her away. “Agatha—”
“Stay, please,” she whispered, her voice so soft it was barely audible. “If only for the first few minutes. I’m certain I’ll bumble the moment I step out there. If you were there … if I could look up to the balcony and see you … I wouldn’t be so anxious.”
He couldn’t refuse her. “I’ll stay, but only for a few minutes,” he said, the words taut, a promise he didn’t wish to make but found himself compelled to.
She smiled. “Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“Will … will I ever see you again? I know I asked before, but I wish only for your honest answer.”
He hesitated. “I’m leaving town for Bath. When I return, you’ll likely no longer be here.”
