"Something happened?" she asked, confused.
She felt rather than saw him shake his head. "Hamilton returned and voted before I could speak to him, so he didn't speak to any of the other committee members about you, either. And he said he mostly voted for landscapes."
She opened her eyes, her gaze falling on a large canvas propped on the easel, a scene of a waterfall. Proof of Hamilton's return. Unfinished though it was, the painting was impressive…but the selfishness of its creator made it ugly to her.
And she couldn't care how the vote had turned out, not now. Maybe tomorrow it would matter to her, but right now all that mattered was here in her arms. The man she loved was hurting.
"It's not important, Sean. Whatever happened will be." She sighed and pulled away. "It's all over. I know you're sad that Lord Lincolnshire is gone, and I am, too. But you can reclaim your life now, and that's good, isn't it? The sadness will pass, and you'll be able to return to what needs to be done, and…"
She couldn't bring herself to say that now they could take steps to be together. Sure as she was that he wanted her, he hadn't asked her to marry him yet.
"Corinna. Críona. I need to talk to you. But first I want to give you something," he said, reaching into a pocket. He pulled out a fine link chain with a pendant attached, but she didn't get a chance to see what it looked like before he took her hand and put the necklace in her palm, folding her fingers around it. "It's only silver. My family could never afford anything made of gold. I've the money now to have bought you something more suited to your own family's position—gold and diamonds, rubies or pearls—but I wanted you to have this."
He still held her hand with both of his wrapped tightly around it. His hands felt warm, and whatever was inside her fist felt hard but delicate. "This belongs to your family?"
"For a hundred years or more." His lyrical words came slower than usual, and his voice was a bit rough, the sound of it making her heart hitch. "It was my mother's, and my grandmother's before her, and so on going back for generations."
"Oh, then it should be Deirdre's now, shouldn't it?"
"I want you to have it," he repeated, releasing her. "Have a look at it, Corinna."
Slowly she opened her hand and drew out the necklace, raising it by the chain so the pendant dangled at the bottom. A symbol. Two hands holding a stone heart, surmounted by a crown studded with a few tiny gems.
"They're not diamonds," he told her, "only marcasite. I cannot tell you what the heart is made from, because I don't know."
"It's green," she said with a soft smile. "Like your eyes."
"Is it? I never knew that. But I can assure you it isn't an emerald."
"No, it wouldn't be, because it's opaque. And I don't care what it's made from, anyway. It's beautiful. And it's from you." Anything Sean had given her would have been beautiful to her, of course, but it really was a very pretty thing. "Does it have any special meaning? Beyond the fact that it's been passed down?"
"It does, aye. It's called a claddagh. The hands signify friendship, the crown loyalty, and the heart love. All the things I feel for you, a rún, all the things in my own heart."
A rún meant my love—she remembered that—and he'd said love in English, too. "Oh, Sean. It's perfect." Tears welled in her eyes. "So much better than diamonds or gold." He loved her. She'd thought so for some time now, but hearing the words made it more real. "I love you, too. I love you so much I feel like I might burst, like I cannot hold it all inside me. Will you put this on me?"
She turned around, and he clasped the chain around her neck, his warm fingers brushing her nape. When she turned back, he cradled her face in his hands and lowered his lips to meet hers. It was a long kiss but a gentle one, heartfelt and deep, the tenderest kiss she'd ever received, and she didn't push it to be anything more, because she knew he was hurting.
When he drew back, his eyes burned into hers so intently she caught her breath in reaction. "We need to talk now," he said. "Let's sit down."
"All right." Suddenly feeling apprehensive, she walked the few feet to the sofa and sat. He sank down beside her, angling himself so he could see her. "What is it?" she asked.
He took both her hands. "Corinna. Críona." His voice broke on the Irish word, and she watched him swallow hard. "Lincolnshire told me a story last Friday. That seems so long ago, doesn't it?"
She nodded, her heart pounding with love or trepidation, or maybe a mixture. Today was only Tuesday, yet Friday night, the night she'd spent in his arms, seemed such a long time ago.
"It was a story about his twin brother, Hamilton's father, and why he sent him to Ireland," he began.
And then it all poured out.
She listened silently, taking it all in, until he finished. Until his hands squeezed hers hard, so hard her own hands hurt. "Corinna. That will happen to me now. Having impersonated Hamilton, there's no chance I will ever be accepted in society."
"Oh, God." She knew he was right. The ton wouldn't look kindly upon a man who had tricked Lord Lincolnshire. "Why didn't I think of that?"
"I didn't think of it, either. I knew all along that, by perpetrating this hoax, Hamilton was risking his reputation as an artist. I even warned him of that, and I feared that if it happened he'd retaliate by refusing to release Deirdre. But I never considered how it would affect me personally. Maybe because I didn't
