Imogene stepped back from the door, waved him inside. Closed the door again after he crossed the threshold with three determined strides and pressed her palm to it to set her wards to work so they wouldn't be interrupted. Or overheard. Then she turned to face Jean-Paul, who stood, muscles tense, eyes intent, filling the small room with his presence without even speaking.
"I can't tell you that's true," she said. "I did think of you. There is something between us. Something that could have been. But nothing has changed. You are a noble. You'll be a duq. I'm a lieutenant. With a sanctii. I am not the woman you will marry. And I will not be anything less. I won't be a temporary thing, a pause while your family wears you down to choosing one of the oh-so-suitable noble daughters of the court. It hurt to leave your bed, and that it hurt was terrifying. I do not do this, Jean-Paul. I do not let myself—" She hesitated.
The words that sprang to mind were “fall in love,” but that was too big a truth to let slip. Too big to acknowledge, even. Love at first sight was a concept she had thought only true of the romantic tales in novels. She was, indeed, too much her father's daughter to believe in it, let alone do it. She had told herself that she would be sensible when it came to her heart. That she wanted a career. To travel the empire. So she could give up a more normal life of marriage and children. Or find a man who would support her choices should she want to. Choose with care based on friendship and chemistry.
Not in the blink of an eye and a chance encounter in a ballroom. No one did that.
"Grow attached so fast," she continued. "But it would hurt more to have you again, knowing there can only be another ending."
He watched her as she spoke, gray gaze locked on hers. She had the curious feeling that she might as well have been landing a blow with each word, though he didn't flinch or interrupt or look away. Instead he just watched, as though he was committing her to memory.
One to be treasured when he left her behind, perhaps.
She let the silence hang, not knowing what else to say. No words that would come easily over the burn of denial in her throat and the regret chilling her gut. The last few days, caught up in Ikarus, in the rush of power and delight that came with the sanctii, she had convinced herself that she was forgetting this man. That had been untrue. But she would forget him with time. She had to.
"Ah, but Imogene, what if there didn't have to be an ending?" he said.
She felt her mouth drop open. For someone like him, those words meant only one thing. Marriage. "You're going to be a duq."
One corner of his mouth lifted. "I know. It is a nuisance. But it is not the only thing I am. I am a man, too. A man who knows what he wants."
"Your family would never agree." She still couldn't get her mind around the idea. Let alone say the word "marriage" out loud.
"They may take some persuading, true." He shrugged. "But my father raised me to know what I want and to do what I think is right. He may not like learning that his lessons have stuck well when it comes to this, but he will not stand in my way. I want you, Imogene. My life is not full of many things I can truly choose for myself. I think my wife should be one of them."
Had it grown hot in the room? "Even if your family agreed, the court...I was not raised to be a duquesse, to run a grand estate." She waved a helpless hand at him. "I like my job. I'm not ready to give it up."
"I would not ask you to. Not entirely. We have time. My father is not yet old, and he is healthy." There was that certainty again. That tone of believing he could will whatever he wanted into being. It was seductive.
"I have a sanctii," she said. "Has there even been a duquesse with a sanctii?"
"If I have no problem with it, it should not bother anyone else. As I see it, it is an asset to the family, not a liability." He grinned at her then. "And a reminder that I would be a foolish man to mistreat a wife who holds such an asset."
"Were you intending to mistreat your wife?" she asked, breathless. Trying for a joke to lighten the sense that her world was once more spinning around her, perchance to settle in an entirely new order.
He shook his head. "Never," he said fiercely. "What is mine, I protect. I am enough of a du Laq to know that is true. I would keep you safe, Imogene. You can go, be a diplomat, wield that mind and magic of yours in service to the emperor. You can have your sanctii. And I will stand ready for you when you return."
Oh, she wanted to believe him. What would her life be like if she could believe him? But it seemed impossible. "This is fast, Jean-Paul," she said. "I need time. You need time. We've barely met."
"As I said, we have time. There doesn't have to be a grand announcement yet. No betrothal ball with half the city in attendance. But I would like to try, Imogene. I think that together, we would be a force to be reckoned with. And that apart neither of us will be truly happy."
"How would we do that?" she asked, knowing she—despite all the protests of logic and reason—wanted to say yes. To throw her life onto a completely new path so she could walk with him.
His smile was pure joy. "As to that, Lieutenant. I came to invite you to a ball."