Winning her Hand

by Bree Wolf

  Her eyes grew round−whether at his question or their closeness he did not know−before she pressed her lips into a thin line, glaring at him. Still, she did not try to free herself from his grasp. “That would have been highly improper,” she spat as though her words were an insult to him.

  Quite on the contrary. Trent felt his muscles relax, finally free to enjoy holding her in his arms…and away from prying eyes no less. Whenever he had swept her into a waltz over the past few weeks−vowing to never allow another man to hold her in his arms−he had been tempted to kiss her more than once. However, with the ton watching that had never been an option.

  Now, however, things were different.

  “Did you want to?” he pressed, noting the way her long lashes fluttered up and down.

  Opening her mouth to reply, she stopped, staring at him for a long moment. Then she straightened her spine, trying to free herself from his grip.

  “Answer me,” Trent demanded, tightening his hold on her.

  A slight blush crept into her cheeks, and Trent felt his insides burn with jealousy. “I can’t say,” she finally whispered, her gaze lifted defiantly. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  Once more, Trent felt himself relax with relief. “Then you didn’t,” he concluded, elaborating when he saw the soft frown on her face. “If you had, nothing could have stopped you from thinking about it.”

  For a moment her gaze remained on his before she abruptly dropped it, a deep flush coming to her face, and tried to free herself from his grasp once more.

  Trent felt his breath get stuck in his throat as hope surged through him. “Are you thinking about kissing me?” he asked boldly, and her head snapped up as though he had struck her.

  Chapter Ten – Being Nonsensical

  As her cheeks burnt with embarrassment, Winifred stared up into Trent’s face, his gaze searching hers. Could he read her thoughts in her eyes? Did he know? Suspect?

  Cursing herself, Winifred did not know what had brought on these sudden desires. Why was it that he was the one person who made her feel this way? The one person that made her act and feel like a silly girl? Uncertain? Not in control?

  Steeling herself against the tantalising touch of his fingers on her skin, the way his strong arm held her pressed to his body, Winifred lifted her hands and in one fluid motion pushed him away. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped−or tried to−as she turned back to the painting behind her, hoping to hide the uncertainty and temptation that all too likely showed on her face.

  “I don’t believe I am,” he replied, the tone in his voice daring her to turn and face him. “I believe you’re afraid.”

  Whirling around, determined to put him in his place once and for all, Winifred opened her mouth in outrage. “Afraid of wh−?”

  Suddenly, he was there, right in front of her, barely a hair’s breadth away. Pulling her back into his arms, he brushed his knuckles along the line of her jaw before his hand came to rest on the back of her neck. “Of being nonsensical,” he answered her outburst before his mouth closed over hers.

  In an instant, logic and reason and sense went out the window as emotions long held in check surged to the forefront. Although shock froze her limbs for a few moments, Winifred could not deny the all-consuming warmth that swept through her.

  As he held her in his arms, his lips teasing her to follow him down this path, Winifred felt herself respond without thought. Something other than her rational mind urged her on, and she did not have the strength to resist.

  Returning his kiss with equal measure, Winifred wondered at her own boldness. Still, when his tongue met hers, even that last thought disappeared into thin air as though it had never been.

  After wrenching his lips from hers, Trent whispered, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time, Fred. A very long time.”

  Staring up at him, Winifred tried to sort through the tumult in her heart. His gaze held hers, and his eyes shone with such intensity as she had never seen them. Deep emotions rested in them, and from one moment to the next, Winifred understood…everything.

  Why he had demanded every waltz.

  Why he had glared at Haverton.

  Why he called her Fred.

  And yet, it could not be. It simply could not.

  Panic began to well up in her chest as her heart and mind locked in battle. What was she to do? What was the right course of action?

  Oh, how she wished her mother were here!

  Instead, it was Griffin who suddenly stood in the doorway, clearing his throat.

  Startled, they both flinched, whirling around to face the unexpected interruption.

  With the touch of a smirk on his face, her brother looked from her to Trent. “Care to explain what is going on here?”

  Meeting her eyes, Trent nodded. Then his hand grasped hers, and he took a step forward. “Griffin, I apologise,” he began, and in that moment, Winifred knew exactly what he would say. “However, I−”

  “You need to go,” she interrupted, pulling her hand from his. “I need to speak to my brother.”

  Turning to look at her, his eyes narrowed, and she could see his confusion only too plainly on his face. “But I−”

  “No!” Shaking her head, she looked at him, hoping he could forgive her. But she was not ready for this. She simply was not.

  Within a matter of minutes, her entire world had shifted, turned upside down, and she was in no state of mind to make a life-altering decision here and now.

  Her heart ached as she saw pain and disappointment well up in his eyes. Still, he nodded. “If this is what you want, I will go,” he forced out. Then, however, he took a step closer and whispered, “But I will not walk away.” His gaze burnt into hers. “You belong with me as I belong with you. No amount of sensible reasoning can change that.” Then he turned, nodded at Griffin and disappeared.

  As though she had held her breath, her lungs began to burn, and she gulped down a few deep breaths, trying to steady her trembling hands.

  “Are you all right?” Griffin asked, a bit of a smirk on his face. When she nodded, his smile grew wider. “And are you aware that he was just about to ask for your hand?”

  “I’m not an idiot!” Winifred snapped, taken aback by the harshness in her voice.

  Griffin laughed, “Well, to tell you the truth, dear Sister, you’ve been acting like one.”

  Instantly, her head jerked around, and she stared at her brother. “This is all your fault!” she hissed as sudden light-headedness engulfed her. “You shouldn’t have left us alone. You should’ve been here. If you had, he would never have…”

  “Kissed you?” Griffin prompted, his face suddenly serious. “Whether you want to believe it or not, whether you like it or not doesn’t matter, but he has been in love with you for a very long time.” Gently, he took her hand. “Only today he finally had the courage to express how he felt.”

  Gritting her teeth, Winifred shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I know what I want. I told you, and I thought you were willing to take this seriously, to help me.” Searching his gaze, she swallowed. “And you did, didn’t you? You suggested Lord Haverton, and you were right. He suits me. He does.”

  A deep frown came to Griffin’s face. “I do not deny that. But…” Squeezing her hands, he held her gaze. “Do you truly not care about love? You may be suited to Haverton, but do you love him?”

  Bowing her head, Winifred stepped back, pulling her hands out of her brother’s grasp. Her heart ached, and her mind buzzed like a beehive. She could not think, and she had no clue how she felt.

  Inhaling a deep breath, Griffin took a step back, giving her space. “I apologise for upsetting you. It was never my intention. However, I do hope that you think long and hard about what you truly want. Nevertheless, it is your decision.” He turned to go, but then stopped in the doorway. “I actually came to tell you that Eleanor is here. We ran into each other on the front stoop upon my return from White’s. She’s waiting in the drawing room.”
A moment of silence hung in the air. “Perhaps you should speak to her.” Then he turned and walked away.

  Gritting her teeth against the shivers that wrecked her body, Winifred tried her best to gain control of her fluttering nerves. Never in her life had she felt as much at the mercy of her treacherous heart as now. Well, maybe when her parents had died.

  Still, who would ever choose to feel like this? And if she chose Trent, if she trusted his words, then he would have the power to make her feel like this whenever he chose.

  No. The more sensible course of action was to forget today had ever happened and go back to the way things were.

  Inhaling a deep breath, Winifred wiped the paint smudge from her cheek, brushed her hands over her dress, tugged away a stray curl and forced a pleasant smile on her face. Then she left the conservatory and headed to the drawing room to greet Eleanor, determined to pass a pleasant afternoon chatting with her friend.

  However, the moment she entered the drawing room, Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. Her joyous smile momentarily froze on her lips before she stepped forward, her gaze searching Winifred’s face. “What happened?”

  Winifred swallowed, willing the corners of her mouth to remain where they were. “Nothing,” she lied, stepping around her friend and gesturing for her to take a seat, all the while keeping her eyes firmly fixed on anything but the woman eyeing her with unconcealed concern. “Merely an argument with my brother. He can be quite tiresome at times. Would you care for some tea?”

  Eleanor drew in a deep breath, her gaze shifting sideways as though she were contemplating what to say. “My dear Winifred,” she began, and even then, Winifred knew that she had lost. “You’re one of my oldest and most trusted friends. I admit we haven’t seen each other for quite some time and I’m certain I know you less now than I did then. However, even a fool could see that your heart is aching most acutely.” A gentle smile came to her lips. Her eyes, however, still held the same determination. “Tell me what happened. Is it Lord Chadwick?”

  Winifred froze, her eyes wide, staring at her friend. “How do you…?”

  Eleanor chuckled, “Because you love him, and because he loves you.” Reaching out, she grasped Winifred’s hand. “What happened?”

  Winifred swallowed. Perhaps her brother was right. Perhaps she ought to tell Eleanor. After all, she was a woman and perhaps she could advise her in a way her brother simply could not. “He kissed me,” she finally admitted, noticing the delight in her friend’s gaze. “And I believe he…was about to ask for my hand.”

  “Was about to?” Eleanor frowned. “What stopped him?”

  “I did.” Pulling her hand from Eleanor’s grasp, Winifred rose to her feet, suddenly unable to remain still. “I could see it on his face, and…and I panicked.” Turning to look at Eleanor, she shook her head. “I started to feel light-headed. I…”

  “The thought of him proposing frightened you?” Eleanor asked, stepping toward her, her kind eyes suggesting that she tried to understand. “Why?”

  “Because we are not suited to one another!” Winifred huffed, feeling overwhelmed by the constant need to explain herself.

  “How do you know?” Eleanor demanded before a teasing twinkle came to her eyes. “Did you not enjoy his kiss?”

  For a long moment, Winifred stared at her friend, not knowing what to say.

  “Why can you not admit that you care about him?” Eleanor asked, a frown coming to her face. “I can see that you do. He means a lot to you. He always has.”

  Winifred shrugged, trying her best to understand and in turn explain it to Eleanor. “We grew up together. He’s like a brother to me.”

  Eleanor laughed, “He most certainly is not. I’ve told you before that he does not look at you as a brother does and neither do you look at him as you do Griffin. What you feel for him is different, believe me.”

  “Even if it is,” Winifred conceded. “It is only a momentary infatuation. It will not last, and when it ends, I’ll be stuck with a man whose favourite pastime it is to tease me, to mock me, to call me names. How is that a good foundation for a marriage?”

  Stepping forward, Eleanor once more drew Winifred’s hands into her own, her kind eyes meeting her friend’s. “Look at me, Winifred. Do you truly dislike his teasing? Ask yourself honestly if you would wish for him to stop. How would you feel if he were to never again call you Fred? Do you truly believe it to be an insult?”

  Remembering the many times Trent had called her Fred, Winifred knew that it was not. For whenever he had, his eyes had shone brightly with affection, with fondness, with tenderness. When they had danced, he had told her that his nickname for her was his…his alone, and no one else was to use it. He would see to that. “I do not,” she finally admitted, feeling as though Eleanor had just robbed her of her one good reason not to give in, not to be swayed from her chosen path.

  Squeezing Winifred’s hands gently, Eleanor smiled at her. “I always thought it sounded like a term of endearment, and he’s used it for years, has he not?” Winifred nodded. “To me, that means that you’ve been in his heart for a very long time. There is nothing momentary about how he feels about you.”

  Winifred sighed, remembering Trent’s intense gaze as he had told her that he’d been wanting to kiss her for a very long time. Had he been truthful? Never had he lied to her. There was no good reason not to believe him.

  Still, now that her mother was dead, Winifred could not bring herself to sway from the path she knew her mother would have approved of. Would it not be a betrayal? Would she feel as though she’d lost her mother all over again? As strange as it was, following in her mother’s footsteps had made her feel closer to the woman who had walked by her side all her life. And although she was not a little girl any longer, Winifred was not certain if she was ready to face life alone.

  On her own.

  What ought she to do?

  Chapter Eleven – A Happy Couple

  A mere two days later, Trent found himself at yet another ball, his hands painfully wrapped around a glass as he stared across the dance floor, watching the woman he loved dance with the man she wished to marry. How had they reached this point?

  Only two days ago, he had been on the verge of asking for her hand…and then she had stopped him, her eyes wide with panic. Why did she not want to marry him? Did she not care for him? However, the way she had responded to his kiss had suggested otherwise. In the moment her lips had melted against his own, he had felt certain of her affections, of her acceptance of his proposal, of a shared future.

  Now, it seemed as far-fetched as snow in July.

  Watching as the happy couple strolled off the dance floor, Trent gritted his teeth against the bile rising in his throat. How could he simply stand here and allow Lord Haverton to court his Fred? Still, he had to admit that it was her choice. As much as he wanted to rush over and pound the other man into the ground, it would not change that it was her choice. Quite on the contrary, such a reaction would probably convince her that he was not the right man for her for good. But what else could he do? Was he simply to stand here and watch?

  “How are you doing?” Griffin asked, stepping up next to him, his gaze shifting from Trent’s face to the happy couple down by the refreshment table. “You seem rather ill at ease, my friend.”

  Trent scoffed. What an understatement! “Did you come here to mock me?”

  “Not at all.” Grinning from ear to ear, Griffin asked, “Do you have a plan? I mean besides sulking in the corner and glaring at the man who will steal the woman you love from under your nose if you’re not careful?”

  Exhaling loudly, Trent turned his dark stare on his friend. “What do you suggest I do? Your sister has made it very clear that she does not wish to marry me.”

  Shaking his head, Griffin sighed.

  In that moment, Trent could have settled for pounding his friend into the ground. Why was he making this even harder than it already was?

  “You know,” Griffin began, his voice sud
denly casual, “given the circumstances I found the two of you in a few days ago, my sister might be persuaded to marry you to avoid a scandal.”

  Trent snorted, “You know very well that I would never force myself on your sister. In addition, she would never bend her will to anyone,” he sighed, “which is one of the reasons I love her.”

  Griffin grinned, deep pleasure in his eyes. “That’s all I wanted to hear, my friend.” Jovially, he clapped Trent on the shoulder. “However, you’re wrong in one regard.”

  “And what is that?”

  “She is currently bending her will to the ludicrous notion that love and compatibility are mutually exclusive.” He shrugged. “Don’t ask me how she came to that conclusion. I believe it has something to do with how our parents came to be married. Still, it’s a twisted reason for choosing a husband, and I fear that one day she will wake up and realise that she sacrificed her own happiness for the approval of a ghost.”

  Griffin’s words brought back the memory of a cold December afternoon over a decade ago when a young Winifred, barely thirteen years old at the time, had spoken to him quite vehemently of the merits of matching dispositions. That day, her example had been her brother’s rather wild and carefree character in contrast to her own more sensible and considerate disposition. She had pointed out how−due to their differences−they would never get along and that she would eternally be burdened with a brother whom she could not understand, leaving them forever in a state of constant aggravation.

  Still, was there anyone closer to her today than her brother? Had they not bonded over their shared loss? Was there anyone else she trusted more? After all, she had asked him to choose her future husband. Did that not speak of unwavering trust?

  “Have you told her how you feel?” Griffin asked, watchful eyes focused on Trent’s face.