by Bree Wolf
“The name is Grant,” Lord Wentford reminded her as his eyes lingered upon hers for a moment, then swept over her face, a slow smile curling up the corners of his lips as though he truly delighted in what he saw. “Would you dance with me?”
Doing her best to ignore that tingling sensation that drifted across her skin, Agnes held his gaze while her fingers tightened upon the cool glass in her hands. “Are you certain, my lord? I admit, you already look a bit flushed from your last dance.” She lifted her brows pointedly, wanting to see what he would do, if he would admit to something or pretend otherwise.
His gaze held on to hers. There was something inquisitive in the way he regarded her. Then he nodded and drifted closer, his head slightly lowering as though he were preparing to whisper a secret in her ear. “Did you see me dance with Lady Elizabeth?”
“Is that her name?” Agnes replied, feeling slightly unnerved by the way he was watching her. Why did he not defend himself? Draw upon some kind of elaborate explanation?
Instead, Lord Wentford grinned in a devilish, yet knowing way as though he knew not only her thoughts but also the rather unsteady rhythm of her heart. “Are you jealous, Nessa?”
Quite frankly, Agnes had not anticipated such a direct confrontation and she felt her jaw drop just a fraction before she managed to clamped her lips shut once again. Still, the smirk upon his face told her that he saw her quite clearly. “Do not flatter yourself, my lord,” she retorted, feeling an inexplicable urge to smile for she could not deny that he was utterly disarming. “You are free to dance with whomever you choose.”
“If that is the case,” he whispered then held out his arm to her.
Agnes shook her head. “You know very well that is not what I meant.”
“But it is what you said.” He frowned at her in a way that seemed more teasing than serious. “And here I thought you were a woman of your word. Was I mistaken?”
Agnes huffed out a deep breath, once more feeling the corners of her mouth curling upward treacherously. “Do not try to bait me.”
“But you make it so easy,” Lord Wentford replied, his eyes lit up with challenge, daring her to accept him, to retort in equal measure, to meet him head-to-head.
Never had Agnes met such a man. He seemed to truly enjoy the way she rebuffed him. “You are most tedious, my lord, and I would appreciate it if you were to seek entertainment elsewhere.” Giving him a pointed look, Agnes waved her hand in bold dismissal.
Instead of being offended, Lord Wentford laughed. “Entertainment, you say,” he mused, once again inching closer. “Do you have anything specific in mind?”
The suggestion in his voice brought heat to Agnes’ cheeks, and she quickly turned away, pretending to set her glass down on the refreshment table when, in truth, she simply needed a bit of distance between them. “It does not matter,” she told him, trying to maintain a straight face, “so long as it does not include me.”
“On the contrary, dearest Nessa, it must include you for otherwise it would be tediously dull.” Again, he approached, that look in his eyes once more telling her that he knew very well why she had retreated. That it had indeed been a retreat.
“Why are you here?” Agnes demanded, uncertain if she wanted to continue this game. “What do you want?”
A hint of incredulity came to his eyes. “You know what I want,” he whispered, then reached out and took her hand in his, tugging gently, urging her to step toward him. “I want you to marry me, Nessa.” That teasing note no longer lingered upon his face. Instead, the green of his eyes seemed deeper and darker and more intense than ever before as he inhaled a deep breath as though needing to steady himself. “Will you say yes?”
Agnes stared at him, shocked beyond all measure. Not because he had proposed yet again, but because that one word that he wanted to hear was all but at the tip of her tongue. She wanted to say it, but she did not dare. What if this was some elaborate game? What if he was only waiting for her to give in, to allow herself to be vulnerable?
No, she would be a fool to believe him for there had to be another reason. He could not possibly be in love with her, could he? Not to mention, after only a day?
Chapter Six – A Love that Lasts a Lifetime
Grant could almost see her think the word. Her lips moved, and it seemed that any moment now that one little word would drop from her lips. He could see that she wanted to or at least a part of her wanted to. There was temptation and longing in those deep hazel eyes of hers, but it was not all that he saw. There was also doubt and fear and a measure of vulnerability. Yet at the same time, Nessa stood tall, her mind sharp and calculating as she tried to determine whether or not to believe him.
Even before she shook her head from side to side, a glimmer of regret in those wide, soulful eyes, Grant knew that she was not yet ready to accept him. He had not yet proven himself to her. “What will it take, Nessa? What will it take for you to believe me?”
Still shaking her head, Nessa took a step backward. “You need to stop, my lord. This is not good for either one of us. I admit I am flattered by your attentions, but I cannot accept you.” Her voice caught on that last word, signaling loud and clear that despite what she had said, part of her had come to care for him.
Sighing deeply, Grant considered how to proceed. He had all but badgered her into accepting his presence in her life. It had been a blunt approach, overpowering and relentless. Yet, was there another way? If he stayed away and waited, gave her time, Grant had no doubt he would be waiting forever. Although he did not know her well, he was fairly certain that Nessa was stubborn. Whatever had happened in her life before, it had taught her to be wary and distrustful and not make hasty decisions, especially those based solely on her heart’s desire.
“I hear you, Nessa,” Grant finally said, wondering if it would make a difference if he addressed her in a more formal manner. However, Nessa had already become so dear to him that he could not imagine ever calling her anything else. “I truly do, and I am sorry for causing you distress. Believe me, it is not my intention.”
A gentle smile came to her lips. “Thank you. Please know that I do not hold it against you. But it is for the best that we not see each other again.” She made to turn away, but Grant reached out and ever so slightly touched her elbow. Still, it gave her pause, made her turn back and look at him. “You need to let me go.”
This time, it was Grant who slowly shook his head from side to side, his gaze holding on to hers. “That, I cannot do. I meant what I said. I am sorry for causing you distress, but I simply cannot walk away.” He inhaled a slow breath, choosing his next words most carefully. “I never knew I could feel this way. The moment I saw you, it was as though I had come alive, as though I had woken up after walking through my life half-asleep.” He chuckled at his own words, realizing how much his own life had changed in the course of a single day.
For a brief moment, Nessa closed her eyes, and although Grant could see that she did not want to, a smile slowly made its way up onto her face. It was warm and radiant and…somewhat teasing. “Are you comparing yourself to Sleeping Beauty?”
Grant loved that mischievous gleam that had come to her eyes. “I am well aware that you find me far from irresistible, however…” His voice trailed off as he watched her draw in a shuddering breath. Her eyes fell from his, and a soft rosy glow came to her cheeks. “My, my, my Miss Bottombrook, could it be that you do find me irresistible after all?”
A rather annoyed-sounding growl rumbled in her throat before she jerked up her chin and all but glared him into oblivion. “You certainly think highly of yourself, my lord.”
Grant laughed. “As it would seem, not as highly as you do.”
“I never said that.” Fire stood in her eyes as she spoke.
“You didn’t have to. It is only too obvious what you think about when you look at me,” Grant teased her, loving the way her nostrils flared.
Still, that rosy glow upon her cheeks remained, darkened even, as she took a step toward him
, challenge lighting up her eyes. “Be that as it may. It does not mean that—”
Grant’s heart skipped a beat. “Then you are admitting it? You do find me irresistible?”
“Will you stop interrupting me?” Again, her nostrils flared, and Grant could not help but think that she was only a moment away from jabbing an accusing finger at his chest.
Grinning, he said, “I’m sorry,” knowing very well that it would only rile her more.
Nessa rolled her eyes at him. “No, you’re not.”
Grant laughed. “You’re right. I cannot say that I am.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, and he could see that she was struggling to force back a smile. “How I feel has no bearing upon the decisions I make. I—”
“Why ever not?” Grant interrupted yet again, feeling his own spirit rise to the challenge of hers. “Is it not foolish not to take your heart’s desires into consideration?”
“No more foolish than it is to do so,” Nessa retorted with equal frankness.
“Have you never known true love?” For a split second, her gaze darted past his shoulder and Grant wondered if perhaps she was looking at her father. “Even if not for yourself, but then in others. Have you never seen love change people? Have you never seen it change the world or rather the way they see the world?”
Her arms rose to cross over her chest, a defiant gesture, perhaps intended to convince herself rather than him. “Short-lived infatuations happen all the time. However, they do not justify making reckless choices.”
Grant stared at her, searched her eyes for a measure of understanding. “I would not call it reckless, but daring perhaps.” Stepping toward her, he spoke softly. “Every once in a while, Nessa, you have to take a leap of faith. What we want is not always handed to us. Sometimes we need to risk something in order to gain something.”
“Gain what?” she demanded, her head once more shaking from side to side, something almost fearful lurking in those hazel eyes of hers. “A moment of bliss swiftly followed by loss and mortification? No, I do not believe that worth the risk at all.”
“What made you think about love in such a way?” Grant inquired, pained to see her run from something that he believed in his heart would make her truly happy. He himself had never been one to believe in true love. In fact, he had never much thought about it. His own parents had been strangers, and although they had lived their entire lives side-by-side, they had never been together. Yet, the moment love had stood before him, he had seized it without hesitation. Why could she not do the same? “Have you never seen a love that lasts a lifetime or perhaps even beyond? Not once?”
Again, her gaze drifted past his shoulder and he saw her features soften, a sense of longing coming to her eyes before they return to meet his. “Such a love is rare,” Nessa whispered, “and even if it can be found, it can also be lost.”
“Your mother?” Grant asked gently.
To his surprise, Nessa did not lash out at him but instead simply nodded. “She died when I was born. They had a year together. That was all. A year. Only one year.”
Grant could feel her sadness, yet, he knew of something much more devastating than loss. “Does your father regret meeting her? Does he regret falling in love with her? Does he regret the time they had together?”
Nessa’s eyes closed, and a single tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. For a moment, she let it before she lifted her hand and wiped it away, quickly blinking her eyes, trying to regain her composure. “He does not.”
Watching her breathe in and out slowly, Grant waited, counted his own heartbeats as the moments slowly passed by. Then, he inched closer, his gaze locked upon hers. “Even if I knew I would lose you tomorrow, I would still want to have today with you.” He held out his hand to her. “Dance with me, Nessa?”
A deep sigh left her lips, but it was neither exhaustion nor exasperation that lingered in her gaze as she slowly slid her hand into his. Indeed, if he was not at all mistaken, Grant thought he saw a spark of hope where before there had been none. “One dance,” she told him pointedly. Still, the smile that came to her face lingered and continued to do so.
“That is all I ask.”
Rolling her eyes at him, Nessa laughed. “Is it, my lord?”
Grant shrugged, pulling her onto the dance floor. “It is for now.” He stepped closer, his right hand coming to rest upon her waist as his left held hers more tightly. He looked down at her, and they breathed in together as though they both needed to prepare themselves for the next step. “I might put another request to you later.”
Nessa chuckled. “And I’ll know just what to say.”
Grant frowned at her. “Do you truly believe you can win this game?”
As the music began to play, Nessa smiled up at him. “I thought you said it wasn’t a game.”
Grant grinned. “Oh, it is a game, but a different one than you think.” He inhaled a deep breath, his arm around her tightening as he guided them around the ballroom. “And believe me, you want me to win.”
“Why is that?”
“Because if you win, we shall both lose. Whereas if I win,” the tips of his fingers traced the line of her spine through the soft fabric of her gown, “we shall both win.”
Looking into his eyes, Nessa inhaled a trembling breath. “I know it is foolish, but...you’re right; a part of me cannot help but want you to win.”
Grant smiled down at her. “I know. I promise, I shall do my best.”
A slightly befuddled expression came to her face as she looked up at him. “Please do so,” Nessa mumbled, clearly shocked to hear these words tumble from her own lips.
“I promise,” Grant vowed, tightening his hold on her, knowing that he would never ever let her go again.
Chapter Seven – Lord Wentford Calls Again
After shooing everyone out of the kitchen, Agnes tied an apron over her gown and set to work. She prepared a bowl of clean water to wash the raspberries she had collected in the garden before spreading them out on a linen towel to dry.
Agnes had risen early that morning, her mind still distracted, and her feet had carried her outside to the small vegetable garden she tended to with great care. She loved getting dirt under her fingernails and digging in the ground, planting seedlings and watching them grow. It gave her a purpose and something to distract herself, to focus on a task, something simple, something she could accomplish. Somehow it helped clear her mind and soothe her heart. Yet, it failed to provide answers, answers that would satisfy every part of her, every desire, every wish.
Agnes knew she ought not; still, she continued to relive the moment she had shared with Lord Wentford at the ball the night before. It had been…magical, had it not?
“Blast that man!” Agnes hissed under her breath as she collected all the ingredients for the raspberry tart she intended to bake. Her movements were abrupt and hasty, and she almost knocked over a bag of flour, but managed to catch it before it could spill all over the floor.
Agnes’ head snapped up as Herman cleared his throat, trying to catch her attention. “Do you have to sneak up on me like this?” she huffed out, instantly regretting her outburst. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to snap at you.”
The old man smiled at her sweetly. “No harm done, Miss.”
Inhaling a deep breath, Agnes tried to calm herself. “What is it?”
Again, Herman cleared his throat, and Agnes could not help but think that he looked slightly uncomfortable. “Lord Wentford is here to see you, Miss.”
Agnes felt like tossing the bag of flour at poor old Herman, knowing full well that the man was utterly faultless when it came to Lord Wentford’s most inconvenient reappearance in her home. “What is he doing here again?”
Herman looked slightly taken aback. “That, I cannot say. Do you wish for me to ask him to leave?”
Agnes was about to nod when another set of footsteps echoed along the corridor leading to the kitchen. A moment later, Herman barely managed to jump out of
the way before the door swung open, revealing none other than Agnes’ nemesis, Lord Wentford. “Good morning, Nessa,” he greeted her, that annoyingly charming smile once more upon his lips.
Agnes hung her head, feeling utterly exhausted. Indeed, being around Lord Wentford proved to be quite a challenge. However, the even bigger challenge was resisting Lord Wentford, which became increasingly difficult with each moment that passed.
“Is this a bad time?” he had the nerve to ask.
Agnes lifted her head to glare at him. “If I said yes, would you leave?”
In answer, the blasted man merely grinned.
“Miss?” Herman began, his gaze somewhat uncertain as it moved from her to Lord Wentford.
Agnes offered the old man a smile. “All is well, Herman. You may leave.” After another doubtful look, Herman did as he was bid.
“You’re sending him away?” Lord Wentford inquired, a spark of incredulity in his eyes as he moved into the kitchen. “Considering your resistance to my proposals, I would’ve expected you to be more cautious. Are you not afraid of being compromised?”
Agnes regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Would you resort to such measures if I continued to refuse you, my lord?”
Holding her gaze, Lord Wentford slowly stepped around the heavy wooden table in the center of the room. His eyes swept over her preparations before they returned to her, lingering, enjoying the pause that hovered in the air between them as he moved toward her. “Never,” he finally said, standing barely an arm’s length away. “I want you to want me…in every possible way.”
Agnes swallowed. She could not help it because that was precisely the problem, was it not? As much as she tried to resist him, the truth was that she did want Lord Wentford. She had for a while. He might only have taken note of her existence two nights ago; she, however, had been watching him for far longer, wondering what it would feel like to catch his attention, to have those adorably teasing eyes look into hers. Now, she knew and the feeling was devastating for it was so all-consuming and overwhelming. If only she knew what to do about it.
