Page 66 of A Dance with the Wayward Duke
And yet she could not seem to care. That, she realized, was the strange mercy of having given everything. One could no longer be bankrupted by generosity. She loved him. She had lost him. Both things were true, and still she could leave him a little more whole than she had found him.
She straightened. “Lorenzo, I must disembark.”
His brows shot up. “But—”
“No buts, Lorenzo. Now.”
“Carissima, the envoy has only just come aboard. The formal invitation must be completed, and the harbor authorization—”
“Then you will have to find me a boat before bureaucracy achieves consciousness.”
He stared at her. “Where will you go?”
“To the city.”
“What will you do?”
Marguerite looked once more at Tristan.
The envoy was speaking now, gesturing with one jeweled hand toward the city as if Naples belonged entirely to him. Tristanlistened with his severe face, understanding the words perhaps, but not the thousand little meanings beneath them.
Poor man.
Poor, impossible, beloved man.
Diplomacy, unlike wayward pirate dukes, she knew how to handle.
“I will do some diplomacy in the city,” she said.
Lorenzo’s face changed slowly. First confusion. Then comprehension. Then something like admiration, though he tried to hide it beneath worry. “Maggie.”
“Do not make me sentimental, Lorenzo. I have a schedule.”
“You cannot simply appear in Naples and rearrange the court before dinner.”
“Of course not.” She adjusted her gloves. “One must begin before lunch if one wishes to enjoy the full effect by supper.”
His mouth twitched. “You are doing this for him.”
The words should have embarrassed her. Once, they would have. Once, she would have corrected the record at once, produced a graceful alternative explanation, wrapped generosity in strategy until no one could accuse her of tenderness.
Instead, she let the truth stand between them in the sun.
“Yes,” she said.
Lorenzo’s eyes softened.
She lifted a finger. “If you pity me, I shall push you overboard and claim the envoy’s secretary did it.”
“Understood.”
“And if you tell your brother, I shall deny everything.”
He gave her one of his sweeping bows, but the performance could not quite hide the emotion in his face.
“As you command, carissima.”
Her legs felt unsteady, but she moved before they could file a complaint. The deck was warm beneath the sun. The air smelled of tar, salt, oranges from somewhere unseen, and the first breathof Naples. Behind her, Tristan’s voice sounded low and formal. She did not turn back. If she looked at him now, she might lose the clean edge of purpose and become again only a woman emptied by love.
