Just Like Heaven (Smythe-Smith Quartet #1)(63)

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what it meant, except that he would have sworn that her eyes grew darker even as she sat there, staring at him. Darker, and deeper, and all he could think was that she could see into him, right down to his heart.

Right down to his soul.

“I was looking at you,” he said, his voice so quiet he barely heard it. “I was looking only at you.”

But that was before . . .

She put her hand on his. It looked small, and delicate, and pinkishly-pale.

It looked perfect.

“Marcus?” she whispered.

And then he finally knew. That was before he loved her.





Chapter Sixteen



It was extraordinary, Honoria thought, but the world really did stop spinning.

She was sure of it. There could be no other explanation for the headiness, the dizziness, the sheer singularity of the moment, of that moment, right there, in his room, with a dinner tray and a stolen treacle tart, and the breathless longing for a single, perfect kiss.

She turned, and she felt her head tilt ever-so-slightly to the side, as if somehow, if she changed her angle, she would see him more clearly. And amazingly, she did. She moved, and he came into focus, which was so very strange, because she would have sworn that her vision had been crystal clear just a moment earlier.

It was as if she’d never really seen him before. She looked into his eyes, and she saw more than color, more than shape. It wasn’t that the iris was brown, or the pupil was black. It was that he was there, and she could see him, every last bit of him, and she thought—

I love him.

It echoed in her mind.

I love him.

Nothing could have been more stunning, at the same time more simple and true. She felt as if something within her had been dislodged for years, and he had, with five innocent words—I wasn’t looking at Sarah—bumped it into place.

She loved him. She would always love him. It made such sense. Who could she possibly love but Marcus Holroyd?

“I was looking at you,” he said, so softly she couldn’t even be sure she’d heard it. “I was looking only at you.”

She looked down. Her hand was on his. She didn’t remember putting it there. “Marcus?” she whispered, and she didn’t know why it was a question. But she couldn’t have made herself say any other word.

“Honoria,” he whispered, and then—

“My lord! My lord!”

Honoria jumped back, nearly falling out of the chair. There was a small commotion in the corridor, the sound of feet hurrying toward them. Hastily, Honoria stood and stepped back behind the chair.

A moment later, Honoria’s mother and Mrs. Wetherby came tearing into the room. “A letter has arrived,” Lady Winstead said breathlessly. “From Daniel.”

Honoria swayed slightly, then grabbed the back of the chair for support. They had not heard from her brother in over a year. Well, perhaps Marcus had, but she had not, and Daniel had long since stopped trying to write to their mother.

“What does it say?” Lady Winstead asked, even though Marcus was still breaking the seal.

“Let him open it first,” Honoria admonished. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that they ought to leave the room to allow him to read the letter in private, but she could not bring herself to do so. Daniel was her only brother, and she’d missed him so dreadfully. As the months had gone by without even a simple note from him, she’d told herself that he hadn’t meant to ignore her. His letter surely had been lost; international post was notoriously unreliable.

But right now she didn’t care why she had not heard from him in so long; she just wanted to know what was in his letter to Marcus.

And so they all stood there, staring at Marcus with bated breath. It was beyond rude, but no one was willing to budge.

“Is he well?” her mother finally ventured when Marcus finished the first page.

“Yes,” he murmured, blinking as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was reading. “Yes. He’s coming home, actually.”

“What?” Lady Winstead went pale, and Honoria rushed over to her side lest she need support.

Marcus cleared his throat. “He writes that he has received some sort of correspondence from Hugh Prentice. Ramsgate has finally agreed to let bygones be bygones.”

As bygones went, Honoria could not help but think, this one was rather large. And the last time she’d seen the Marquess of Ramsgate, he’d nearly gone into an apoplectic fit at the sight of her. Granted, that had been over a year earlier, but still.

“Could Lord Hugh be playing a trick?” Honoria asked. “To lure Daniel back into the country?”

“I don’t think so,” Marcus said, looking down at the second page of the letter. “He’s not the sort to do such a thing.”

“Not the sort?” Lady Winstead echoed, disbelief making her voice rise in pitch. “He ruined my son’s life.”

“That’s what made it all so very strange,” Marcus said. He was still looking down, reading the words on the paper even as he spoke. “Hugh Prentice has always been a good man. He is eccentric, but he is not without honor.”

“Does Daniel say when he’ll return?” Honoria asked.

Marcus shook his head. “He is not specific. He mentions that he has a few matters to take care of in Italy, and then he will commence his journey home.”