No. But I think—I think maybe I could—

Could what? Love me? Panic clawed up my throat at the word. Just as I’d lifted my skirts to flee toward the carriage, however, Reid spotted me in the crowd. I waved awkwardly, cursing my sudden insecurity, as his blue eyes met mine and widened. He started forward, politely excusing himself from the many aristocrats who tried to stop and congratulate him along the way.

I shifted my feet—intensely and horribly aware of my thunderous heartbeat, my tingling limbs, my flushed skin—when he finally reached me.

He took my hand. “You look beautiful.”

I flushed further under his gaze. Unlike the prince’s haughty appreciation, Reid was almost . . . reverent. No one had ever looked at me like that before.

“Thank you.” My breath caught, and he tilted his head, eyes searching mine in silent question. I looked away, embarrassed, but Coco chose that moment to swoop down on us.

She didn’t bother with pleasantries. She never did with Reid. “Tell me, Chasseur Diggory, who was that lovely woman you were with earlier? Your sister, perhaps?”

I glared at her pointedly, but she ignored me. Subtlety had never been Coco’s forte.

“Oh—er, no,” Reid said. “That was the vicomte’s daughter, Mademoiselle Tremblay.”

“Close personal friend?” Coco pressed. “Her-dad-is-friends-with-your-dad type of thing?”

“I’ve never met my father,” Reid answered woodenly.

But Coco didn’t bat an eye. “How do you know one another then?”

“Brie.” I forced a smile and reached for her hand, squeezing it mercilessly. “I think I’d like a little time alone with my husband. Where’s Ansel?”

She waved her other hand behind us dispassionately. “Probably beating his chest and challenging that other Chasseur to a duel.”

I looked back to where she waved. “What other Chasseur?”

“The pompous one. The asshat.” She pursed her lips in concentration, but she needn’t have bothered. I knew exactly to whom she referred. “Jean Luc.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, the usual male condition. Ansel didn’t want Jean Luc playing with his new toy.” She rolled her eyes. “I swear, my female paramours are never so much trouble.”

My grin was genuine now. Poor Ansel. He didn’t stand a chance against Jean Luc—or Coco. “Perhaps you should go referee.”

Coco studied my hand clasped around Reid’s, and the feverish complexion of my cheeks. The way he stood close. Much too close. Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I should.”

She stepped forward to embrace me, but Reid wouldn’t let go of my hand. Shooting him a glare, she hugged me regardless—awkward, but fierce. “I’ll see you later,” she murmured in my ear. “Let me know if I need to exsanguinate him.”

Reid watched her leave with an inscrutable expression. “We need to talk,” he said finally. “Somewhere private.”

I followed him in silent apprehension to the same herb garden of Célie’s heartbreak. This time, I made sure to shut the kitchen door firmly behind us. Whatever he wanted to confess—and I had an inkling it would hurt like a bitch—I didn’t need an audience.

He dragged a hand through his coppery hair in agitation. “Lou, the woman you and Mademoiselle Perrot saw me with, that was—”

“Don’t.” I wrapped my arms around my waist to keep from shivering. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t relive the wretched conversation again. Hearing it once had been enough. “You don’t have to explain anything. I understand.”

“I do need to explain,” he disagreed. “Look, I know we were married under less than ideal circumstances. But, Lou, I—I want this to work. I want to be your husband. I know I can’t force you to want the same, but—”

“I do want the same,” I whispered.

His eyes widened, and he took a tentative step closer. “You do?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, then—truly smiled—before faltering slightly. “Then there can’t be any secrets between us.” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “The woman you saw was Célie. You read my letters, so you know I loved her. But—but nothing happened. I promise. She found me when I arrived with the Archbishop, and she . . . she refused to leave my side. I brought her out here just a few moments ago to explain the new parameters of our relationship. I told her I didn’t—”

“I know.”

I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the unpleasantness to come. He frowned. “How can you know that?”

Because I’m a shit person. Because I didn’t trust you. Because she is everything you deserve, and I am your enemy.

“I followed the two of you out here,” I admitted quietly. “I . . . I heard everything.”

“You spied on us?” Disbelief colored his voice.

I trembled. Whether from the cold or shame, I didn’t know. “Old habits die hard.”

His brows pinched together, and he drew back slightly. “That’s not how I would’ve chosen for you to find out.”

I shrugged, attempting a bit of my old swagger, but it fell flat. “Easier this way though.”

He stared at me for a long moment—so long I didn’t know whether he would speak at all. I recoiled from his intensity. “No more secrets, Lou,” he said finally. “No more lies.”

I cursed myself for not being able to give him the answer he wanted. The answer I wanted. Because there it was—leering at me.

I didn’t want to lie to him anymore.

“I . . . I’ll try,” I whispered.

It was the best I could give him.

He nodded, slow and understanding. “Let’s go back inside. You’re shivering.”

“Wait.” I grabbed his hand before he could turn, my heart lodged firmly in my throat. “I—I want to—”

Make a complete and total fool of myself. I shook my head, cursing silently. I was no good at this. Honesty, sincerity—both were too troublesome to bother with usually. But now . . . with Reid . . . I owed him both.

“I want to thank you—for everything.” I squeezed his fingers, my own stiff and aching from the cold. “Célie was right. I don’t deserve you. I made a real mess of your life when I came into it.”

His other hand came down on top of mine. Warm and steady. To my surprise, he smiled. “I’m glad you did.”

Blood crept into my frozen cheeks, and I suddenly found it difficult to look at him. “Right, well, then . . . let’s go back inside. I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

The celebration still raged when we returned to the ballroom. I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing servant and downed it in one swallow.

Reid eyed me incredulously. “You drink like a man.”

“Maybe men can learn a thing or two from women.” I waved the servant back and grabbed two more flutes, passing one to Reid. He didn’t take it. “Relax, Chass. Indulge. This is the best champagne money can buy. It’s an insult to His Majesty not to drink it.” I scanned the crowd with feigned boredom. “Where is King Auguste, anyway? He’s supposed to be here, isn’t he?”

“He is. He introduced me earlier.”

“What was he like?”

“About as you’d expect.”

“So a smarmy bastard like his son?” I waved the flute of champagne under his nose, but he merely shook his head. I shrugged, downing his glass too and chuckling at his expression.

After a few moments, delicious warmth spread through my body. The music—previously a slow, insipid waltz—sounded much better now. Livelier. I downed the third glass. “Dance with me,” I said abruptly.

Reid looked at me in bewilderment. “What?”

“Dance with me!” I stood on my tiptoes and threw my arms around his neck. He tensed, glancing around, but I tugged him down determinedly. He complied, stooping slightly, and wrapped his arms around my waist. I laughed.

We looked ridiculous, all bent and straining to fit together, but I refused to let him go.

“This—this isn’t the proper way to dance.”

I lifted my chin and looked him directly in the eyes. “Of course it is. You’re the guest of honor. You can dance any way you want.”

“I—I don’t usually do this—”

“Reid, if you don’t dance with me, I’ll go and find someone who will.”

His grip tightened on my hips. “No, you won’t.”

“Then the way forward is clear. We dance.”

He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. “Fine.”

As nervous as he’d been to dance, he proved himself capable within moments, moving with unnatural grace for someone so tall. I myself stumbled more than once. I would’ve blamed the train of my stupid dress, but really, it was just me. I couldn’t concentrate. His hands were strong on my waist, and I couldn’t help but imagine them . . . elsewhere. My blood heated at the thought.

The song ended far too soon.

“We should go,” he said, voice rough. “It’s getting late.”

I nodded and stepped away from him, not trusting myself to speak.

It didn’t take much time to find Coco. She leaned against the wall near the antechamber, chatting with none other than Beauregard Lyon. He had an arm braced against the wall above her head. Even from a distance, I could see they were flirting shamelessly.