What Price Love?

eagerly, the wild goddess within her free.

And his. As he was hers.

At least in that arena. In that, she believed.

One thing was clear. As he’d warned her, she could forget about running.

In the following days, everywhere she turned, he was there. He was constantly in her thoughts, all but constantly by her side.

Constantly stealing her away to indulge in the wild and wicked, the reckless and illicit; even while surrounded by the very haut of the haut ton he fed her a diet of the thrills and excitement he more than anyone knew she-the wild and reckless hoyden-gloried in.

And with every interlude, every hour that passed, it became harder to deny him-and harder to rebury the hoydenish goddess and revert to the, if not prim and proper, then at least logical and sensible lady she needed to be.

When, driven to distraction, astride him in Lady Carnegie’s gazebo, she pointed out he was corrupting her, he calmly replied that as it was only with him, and he was going to be her husband, it didn’t count as corruption. Even through the shadows, she’d seen the expression that had flashed across his face, temporarily hardening his features. Only with him-who was going to be her husband.

Her expression must have changed; before she could say anything, he drew her head to his and kissed her-kept kissing her until desire ignited and cindered her wits.

Enough was enough. It couldn’t go on.

She had to do something-make some decision and act.

Her first decision, her first action, was to beard the one person who knew him best. She ran Flick to earth in the back parlor, thankfully alone, idly studying the Ladies Journal.

Walking to the window, restless and bold, she opened without preamble. “You know Dillon well, don’t you?”

Flick looked up, mildly smiled. “From the age of seven. He’s older by a year, but we were both only children, with few other children about, and with my interest in horses and riding, as you might imagine we spent a lot of time together, far more than would be the norm.”

Sinking onto the window seat, Pris met Flick’s blue eyes. “Can you…explain him to me? I can’t quite…that is, I don’t know…”

“Whether to trust him?” Flick grinned. “A wise question for any lady to ask. Especially of a man like him.”

Pris blinked. “A man like him?”

“A heartbreaker. Oh, not intentionally, never that. But there are hearts aplenty among the ton that carry a crack because of him. Some of them remarkably hard hearts, I might add. But of that, he-like most males in similar circumstances-remains oblivious.”

Flick paused. “But you were asking about trust.” Frowning, she closed the magazine. “Hmm…I’ll do you the courtesy of not simply saying you should. So let’s see if I can help.”

She stared across the room. “Let’s stick to recent events, ones we both know of. For instance, dealing with the substitution racket.” Shifting on the chaise to face Pris, Flick went on, “He’s told you about his past, hasn’t he? How he once became involved in fixing races?”

Pris nodded. “You and Demon helped disentangle him.”

“Yes, but in the process Dillon blocked a pistol shot aimed at me. Perhaps he saw it as redeeming himself, but regardless, when the instant came, he acted without hesitation. And after all the brouhaha, it was he himself who rebuilt his reputation. Steadily, doggedly. More than any other gentleman, he knows how much his reputation is worth.”

“Because he once lost it.” Pris nodded.

“However!” Flick held up a finger. “When it came to dealing with this latest scam, Dillon chose the best way for the industry, the sport whose ideals he champions, even though that meant putting his hard-won reputation at risk. And it was a real risk, one he saw and understood. If anything had gone wrong, if Belle had lost, any hint of his involvement would have made his position as Keeper of the Register untenable, and you’ll have seen how much that means to both him and the General, yet he didn’t hesitate in what was, once again, a selfless act in defense of something he considers his to protect.”

Flick paused, then continued, “I’ve met a great number of powerful men.” Her lips quirked; she met Pris’s eyes. “I married a Cynster, after all. But not one of them has the same reckless abandon when it comes to risks that Dillon has. If there’s something he’s committed to protecting, something he cares about, then he never weighs the risk to himself.” Flick grinned. “Luckily, fate tends to smile on such passionately reckless souls.”

Pris tilted her head, her gaze far away. “So you’re saying he’s unwaveringly loyal, courageous, and…”

“True. There’s not an ounce of deceit in him, not in terms of intending to harm. He can prevaricate and manipulate with the best of them, but the instant things turn serious, and action becomes imperative, everything else falls away, and he’s unfailingly direct.”

Pris thought of what he’d said, revealed, over the past days and nights. She refocused on Flick, to find her regarding her pointedly.

“And then there’s you.” Flick nodded. “A very revealing enterprise, how he’s dealing with you.”

“Revealing?”

“Consider the evidence. First, despite his unwavering loyalty to the racing game, he’s put you ahead of it-he followed you here rather than watch over the rest of the season in Newmarket. Then he capped that by doing everything-making absolutely every possible gesture-to make it publicly clear that he wants you as his wife, despite the lack of any encouragement on your part. He’s taken the risk of laying his heart not just on his sleeve, but at your feet, and in the most public way imaginable. This from a man who passionately abhors being in the public eye.

“In matters concerning ladies, he’s normally discretion incarnate. All his previous affairs-I know they existed, but even I don’t know which ladies were involved.” Flick paused, then shook herself. “But I digress. What I was attempting to point out was that in typical fashion, Dillon has knowingly and intentionally taken a massive social and emotional risk, all in pursuit of you.”

Pris frowned. “What risk?”

Flick opened her eyes wide. “Why, that you might refuse him. You can still refuse him, you see-and you’re strong enough to do it, regardless of what he does or causes to happen, and he knows that, too.”

Pris sat frowning, fitting together the insights Flick had offered.

Flick watched her for a minute, then leaned across and briskly patted her knee. “When you’re deciding whether to trust him, don’t forget this-he’s trusted you. Because of his actions, because of what he is, he’s put his life and his heart into your hands. There’s not much more a man like him can yield.” Flick paused, then reiterated, “When making your decision, remember that.”

Pris held Flick’s blue gaze for a long moment, then drew a deep breath and inclined her head. “Thank you.”

Flick grinned and sat back. “For the advice? Or for pointing out the responsibility?”

Pris studied her, then smiled back. “Both.”

21

Absorbed with her side of the equation, she hadn’t considered his. Now that Flick had pointed it out, along with the implications, Pris had a great deal more to think about-a much wider view of Dillon Caxton and his pursuit of her.

She still couldn’t be certain of his reason for wanting to marry her, but, with Flick’s revelations, the scales had tipped.

If belief had yet to surface, hope at least had bloomed.

Later that evening, whirling down Lady Kendrick’s dance floor, she listened to Rus enthusiastically describe his plans-not just for the next months, but for the rest of his life.