As he regarded the glitter, he could trace out the word “No” in his mind’s eye.
And “Yes.”
Somehow, he would hone his skill with language to coax that syllable from her lips.
Practice. She had, early on in their work, advised him that practice made perfect. He shifted and after listening to her slumbering breath, he ever so gently ran the back of his knuckles along the line of her jaw.
There were a great many things he wished to practice with her.
Ideas, arguments, challenges, laughter.
Which brought him to the heart of his dilemma. Honor had always been a guiding force in his life. So, what was the most honorable thing to do? Olivia…Lady Serena—to whom did he owe honor?
There was no question of who possessed his heart.
As to the moral question, there were a myriad of philosophical essays on the subject, a myriad of ideas on how to parse right and wrong. But perhaps this was a case where reason ought not overpower a more elemental emotion.
Love.
Yes, he was in love with Olivia. She was…perfect for him in every way.
Passionate, intelligent, kind, funny—her company would be endlessly exciting, endlessly inspiring.
She makes me laugh, she makes me think, she makes me feel alive.
John felt his chest constrict.
She will challenge me to be more than I think I can be.
Olivia shifted beneath the blanket and made a small sound. Slipping a protective arm over her shoulder, John drew her close and brushed a light kiss to her tangled curls.
And what, he wondered, could he offer her in return?
Respect, equality, freedom to be exactly whom she wished to be.
They were, he mused, not as great as her gifts to him. But perhaps his love would make up the difference.
As for Lady Serena…
Honor must come from the heart, John decided, not a rulebook. Olivia had taught him that one could take ideas and give them personal resonance. From now on, he would…not be bound by strict conventions.
Or corsets.
The thought was suddenly liberating, and he found himself smiling as he closed his eyes and felt the breeze on his face. It held a hint of warmth—dawn seemed to promise a cloudless day.
Oddly enough, he felt optimistic about the future when he should be terrified. But somehow, whatever deities had been stirred by their pagan rituals, they seemed to be smiling down from the Heavens and whispering their blessings.
All will be well.
Casting a last look upward, he found the star Polaris—a guiding light in the constellations—and gave a mental salute.
“I will rescue Scottie,” he whispered. “I will win Olivia’s heart.”
After all, I am the Perfect Hero.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The servants are stirring to begin their morning chores.” John shifted his position on the wooded knoll overlooking the inn and raised Davenport’s special spyglass for another look. While still dark, they had left the cabriolet and horses in the meadow and made their way on foot back to the cluster of weathered buildings. Dawn was just lightening the gloom, its pale, pink-tinged glow rising up from the mist-shrouded hills.