He stepped out of her way, motioning for her to continue down the hall. They continued on their path toward the library. When he offered no response, she repeated her question. He added ‘stubborn’ to the list of characteristics he had compiled for the new Grace Weston.
“Why not choose a woman who will love you?”
He crossed his arms, not enjoying the vulnerability her question imposed. “I don’t believe there is a woman that could love me. She might pretend. But all they ever want is my fortune.” He threw her a half-smile. “Or to win a wager.”
She looked down at the floor as they turned left down an empty hallway, the walls desolate. She was silent for a long moment, calling attention to the sound of their feet on the marble floors. “I’m sorry to have used you so despicably,” she said in a soft voice. “I have no excuse for it.”
They reached a set of wooden doors on the opposite side of the house from the parlor. Her eyes were cast down in shame, the shadow of her lashes splaying over her cheeks. Was she truly ashamed of her actions? He couldn’t decipher which actions of hers were genuine and which were an act. Could she wonder the same thing about him?
He followed her eyes as they traveled down the hall, her aunt nowhere in sight.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” Edward said. “You were simply a lady who was in want of revenge.”
Her gaze shifted up to his, amusement flickering in her brown eyes, twitching her lips with a grin. “There is something that sounds very wrong about that sentence.”
“It is all too common, especially when the vengeance is directed at me. My mother is constantly in want of revenge for the trouble I caused her as a child. That is why she told you about my disinclination to love.”
“Ah. I see.” Miss Grace hid her smile well as she turned toward the library doors. She pushed on the door, and he helped press it open, revealing a much larger room than he had expected. The room was soaked in darkness, illuminated by the filtered moonlight from the room’s single window. Bookcases lined the room in the shape of a U, stretching more than halfway to the lofty ceiling. A ladder rested against the far right bookcase, and a round table sat in the center of the space, accompanied by two wide leather chairs.
“Why is it far too easy to imagine you as a troublesome child?” Miss Grace asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.
“Because I am a troublesome man?”
She started to laugh, but stopped when he moved closer, touching her elbow just as the heavy wooden door fell closed behind them. She turned toward him, her firm expression returning as she looked down at his hand on her arm.
“Miss Grace,” he said, moving his grip to her hand. She stared up at him, her eyes rounding in surprise. “I do not ask that you love me. I do not even ask that you like me. All I request is that you do not hate me—that you find me… barely tolerable.”
She gave a reluctant smile, her gaze fixed downward where he held her small hand tightly in his. “To say someone is barely tolerable is simply a kind way of saying you strongly dislike them,” she said.
“But having a strong dislike for someone is not the same as hatred.”
Her smile widened, bringing a set of endearing lines to the corners of her eyes. “The two have a difference of a hair’s width, my lord.”
His gaze became fixed on a strand of her hair, twisting down and falling over her left eyebrow. He lifted his other hand—the one not holding her own—and brushed it aside, tucking it behind her ear. “Well, then, at least I will have made a bit of progress with you.”
She immediately cast her eyes down, slipping her hand away from his. It was not a withdrawal of disgust, but unease. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel, it seemed. His heart flipped when she pressed her lips together, marking the left side of her chin with that dimple.
“I cannot say for certain without learning more of your character,” she said, turning away from him with a saunter in her step that challenged his own. “Now, come and help me find a book before my aunt wonders what is taking so long. I should hate for her to worry.” Miss Grace pulled the ladder closer to the bookcase, climbing up two steps as she carefully studied the shelves, her brow furrowed to read the spines against the dimness.
Edward gripped the ladder, steadying her climb. He blinked up at her. “For what reason could she possibly have to worry?”
She threw him a look of annoyance. “You know perfectly well, my lord.”
“I’m afraid I do not.” He stared up at her in mock confusion.
She pulled a book from the shelf, blowing dust from the cover. “Then you are far more innocent than I thought you to be.” She raised one doubtful eyebrow before leafing open the pages of the book, resting her hip on the ladder to balance.
He chuckled. Of course she would view him as a reputation-destroyer, eager to escape unchaperoned to a dark library to attend to his wicked desires. That was the reputation he had earned. A false one. Yes, he had stolen a kiss or two in his lifetime, but never in the frivolous way gossip had made the public to suspect.
“You are right, I do know,” Edward said. “Your aunt is worried because she knows you lured me to this library to steal a kiss from me.”
Her eyes flew open as if a ghost had leapt from the pages of the book she held.
“I will not stop you,” he said in a low voice. “But do make haste. I know you instructed your aunt to wait in the hall, but she will be getting anxious.”
Miss Grace tucked the book she held under her arm, stomping down the ladder. “She stayed in the hall because she is lazy. And I hope to never endure a kiss from you.”
“Never? Truly? Not even at our wedding?”
“I will never marry you either!”
He laughed at her rising frustration and obvious discomfort with the conversation. She stopped at the base of the ladder, hugging the small book against her. “I chose a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets. You may select whichever sonnet you would like to read for the party in the drawing room.”
He took a step toward her, and he heard her breath catch. She looked down at the floor. He smiled as he stole the book gently from her grasp, amused by her discomfort from his closeness. “I shall choose an extraordinary one.”
Her gaze jumped to his. “They are all extraordinary.”
“Then I will open the book and read the first one I see.”
The library door creaked open, revealing Miss Grace’s disgruntled aunt. Her eyebrows pinched together toward the bridge of her nose. “What are you doing in here? Selecting a book should not take so long.”
“Not to worry. No reputations have been hurt,” Edward said, walking toward the door with a reassuring smile. “I stopped your niece from doing anything dishonorable.”
Miss Grace’s gasp met his ears from behind, and he threw her a wink over his shoulder. To tease her so mercilessly was not serving his purpose in gaining her favor, but it was all too entertaining.
“Get out here at once,” her aunt demanded, withdrawing her fan. She began fanning herself, loose strands of dark hair flying about her face with the artificial breeze. “You are fortunate I checked in when I did. I should have followed you to the room.” The woman clutched her niece by the elbow as they entered the hall, leaning close to her ear as if she intended to keep her words secret from Edward. But her attempted whisper could not be hidden among the silence of the house. “Has your reputation been compromised?”
“No, Aunt Christine!” Miss Grace hissed, knowing full well that her aunt’s words were far from a whisper. “We selected a book and simply became distracted by conversation. That is all.”
Edward chuckled, earning a glare.
They reached the parlor, and Grace dropped herself into her place on the sofa, crossing her arms. He stood at the center of the room with the book of sonnets.
“Ah, Shakespeare. His works are highly favored of my dear Grace,” Lord Hove said, sitting forward with excitement. “Which of his sonnets have you selected to read?�
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Edward caught Miss Grace’s eye from the side of the room. He grinned as he slid his thumb between two pages, letting the book fall open to an unplanned page somewhere in the middle. He skimmed the page, his smile growing. “Sonnet 90. Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt; If ever, now.”
“What an… interesting choice,” Lord Hove said, his gaze darting between his niece and Edward.
Miss Grace showed every sign of a struggle as she pressed her lips together, fighting the smile that twinged at the corners of her mouth.
Edward cleared his throat, returning his gaze to the book he held, and read from the page.
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
Ah! do not, when my heart hath ‘scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come: so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune’s might;
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so.
The group applauded as he finished. He turned his gaze to Miss Grace, who simply stared at her lap, twisting her fingers together to avoid looking at him. He gave a quick bow before settling back into the sofa beside her.
“Well done, spoken with such conviction,” Lord Hove said.
“Very well performed,” his mother agreed. Edward met her eyes, noticing the question that hovered there. She did not miss the smallest of details, so he was certain she had noticed the discomfort in Miss Grace’s countenance. And his mother would likely blame him for it.
Henry sat back in his chair, his head tipped to the side as he stared at Edward and the woman beside him, as if he meant to uncover a disturbing mystery. When the rest of the party became distracted with a discussion of Shakespeare’s final days, Edward nudged Miss Grace with his arm, a movement so subtle he doubted the room would notice.
“If you are certain you’ll hate me forever, say it now, and I will leave you alone,” he said in a soft voice, a proper whisper, soft enough to evade even her sister’s nearby ears. “Please do not say it once I have fallen madly in love with you.” He let a smile enter his voice, but his heart thudded with anticipation. Had he done enough? Would she still deny that she felt anything but hatred for him? He felt many things for her. Frustration, annoyance, and impatience were among them. But there was a stirring in his chest, a tingling of his skin and bones, and the urge to smile at her every motion that overthrew it all.
Her brown eyes connected with his, and for a moment, the answer he dreaded burned in her gaze, revealed by the anger there. But it was fleeting, replaced with a flicker of amusement. She looked down at her hands before offering her own whisper.
“Very well. You are barely tolerable.”
He sunk back in the cushions with a low chuckle, throwing her a sideways glance. She still avoided his eyes, but an unmistakable grin played at her lips.
“As are you,” he said.
Her composure slipped with a quiet gasp, and she turned on him. “I change my mind. You are not tolerable at all.”
“I did not think you were capable of changing your mind. You are quite stubborn, you know.”
“And you are quite intolerable.”
He laughed, allowing her the satisfaction of winning the round of verbal sparring. He suspected there would be many more to come.
He hoped there would be.
“Are you otherwise engaged tomorrow afternoon?” he asked.
She gave him a look of disbelief that he had even asked. “Yes.”
“What is this activity that demands your time?”
“Reading.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Reading?”
“I have a place on my family’s property where I enjoy reading each afternoon. I am currently enjoying a tale titled A Match of Great Consequence.”
Edward heard a sound come from the elder Miss Weston, a huffed breath of disapproval.
“I know it is uncalled for,” he said, “but could you perhaps cancel your afternoon visit with your imagination?”
She smirked. “My imagination will be very offended by such an act. So I’m afraid not.”
There it was again. Her resistance. If he didn’t find it so deuced charming, he might have given up. But he had a different plan. “Do you wish to ever see me again, Miss Grace?”
She released a heavy sigh. “No, but if it is so very important to you… then I suppose I will allow it.”
He tipped his head back in laughter, accidentally catching the attention of his mother, followed by Juliet and Henry.
“How generous of you,” he whispered, straightening his posture. He sneaked another look at her face. He couldn’t recall a time he had been so thoroughly entertained by a conversation with a woman. Miss Grace was proving to be intelligent, witty, and unyielding to the behavior that was expected of her. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had made him laugh either, something he had never expected to happen with her. He didn’t want their conversation to end, even with all the prying eyes and listening ears. Let them listen. He didn’t care.
His mother took Juliet by the hand, moving to her feet. She regarded their host warmly. “This has been a most enjoyable evening. We thank you for your hospitality.”
Lord Hove smiled. “You are most welcome. It has been an honor.”
As Edward stood to leave, he debated whether or not to schedule a time to see Miss Grace again. He decided against it. How much more effective it would be to make her wonder when he would be calling upon her. He smiled to himself. If he was not constantly in her thoughts for the rest of the night, then he would be immensely surprised.
Several minutes later, when he returned to Clemsworth and lay in his bed, he found himself surprised, but for a different reason. Miss Grace and all her snide remarks and rare smiles would not leave his own thoughts.
Blast it. He was becoming the victim of his own attack. Worry crept into his mind. If his feelings continued in the direction they were speeding, then it could result in a devastating outcome. If he didn’t succeed in winning Miss Grace, and she refused to marry him, she would leave him with scars.
He was on the brink of a cliff. He could surrender now and choose a different woman, one whose rejection would never come, and never sting if it did. Or he could continue in pursuit of Miss Grace, and attempt to keep his heart uninvolved with the endeavor.
Deciding on the second option, he rolled to his back, staring at the dark ceiling. For the first time since his father had announced his stipulation, Edward didn’t dread the thought of marrying. He was not fond of it, but a bright fire of possibility burned in his chest as he thought of Miss Grace Weston.
CHAPTER 9
T he pages of Grace’s book were much less interesting than the ever-present image of Lord Ramsbury that dominated her mind. First his blue eyes, then his wide smile, golden hair, and defined jaw. Then came the words he had spoken to her, playing across her thoughts, sparring with the words on the page that vied for her attention.
She set the book down with a heavy sigh. Where was her self-discipline? As the heroine of her own story, she would be losing painfully to the villain as of now. A villain named Edward Beaumont. Allowing him to haunt her thoughts was not an option. But it was so very difficult to banish him from them. She picked at the corner of the cover of her book, chewing her lip. It seemed such charming villains only existed in the real world.
Unfortunately.
Harriett sat on a quilt beneath the nearest tree, shaded with both a bonnet and a parasol. Her complexion had been blessed with the extra precautions she took,
not a line or dot to be seen on her porcelain skin. When they were younger, Harriett would escape out of doors without a bonnet, venturing to the ocean and running through the woods. But now she remained fully shaded, another testament to the change that had occurred abruptly within her. Grace wondered if her sister even remembered how it felt to have the sun warm her cheeks.
“Harriett,” Grace said, interrupting her sister’s sketching. “Do you think Lord Ramsbury is a liar?”
“I think he is using you for his own designs, yes. But I am not entirely certain of whether or not his feelings for you are real.”
Grace had concluded as much herself.
Harriett added to her drawing, deep contemplation in her brow. “He must obtain a wife to keep his inheritance, but that does not change the fact that he wants you to be that wife. That must mean something.”
“Yes. I suppose you are right.” How could Grace blame him for doing whatever it took to keep his inheritance? One did not simply give up thousands of pounds and a place among the ton just because of a single obstacle. But her trust wasn’t easily won. The moment she took down the defenses around her heart he could desert her once again. He could change his mind at any moment. It could be the day he happens upon a prettier lady in town, or one that finds him more than ‘barely tolerable.’ He could abandon Grace like an empty glass, just as he had at her first ball.
And to accept his attention after so forcefully declining his proposal was outside her capability at the moment. He would be all too pleased. And she hated to please him.
“Have you found Mr. Harrison in town yet?” Grace asked.
Harriett shook her head hard. “I found his sister at the millinery this morning. She told me he was traveling with his brothers and father until autumn. Something about horses.” She shrugged. “At least I will not have to see him until then.”
Grace raised a finger at her. “The moment he returns to Brighton, you must fulfill your promise.”
“I will,” she said through gritted teeth. “But it is not my suitor we ought to be fretting about at the moment. It is yours.”
Romancing Lord Ramsbury: A Regency Romance (Brides of Brighton Book 3) Page 10
