He studied her silently. She was so unexpected. Willing to fight for her future. Brave. Determined. Daring.
“I would never have expected you had this side to you, Lady Felicity,” he murmured.
She winged a brow, her lips curving in a pleased half-smile. One that promised she was more than anything he could ever dream her to be. One that made him desperate to discover all the ways in which she was.
“Do not mistake my charm and grace for weakness and docility, Your Grace.”
“Yes, I see now that I shouldn’t.” Because his revelation in the drawing room had been correct. She was Freya—goddess of love and beauty and war and death.
And as any good warrior would, she landed another devastating blow.
“My motives may stem from a desire to escape this betrothal,” she said, drawing out her words. “But even in a world where I wasn’t betrothed to your son…” Her gaze bore into his, amber eyes burning him to ash. “I’d still long to be in your bed.”
His breath stalled in his lungs.
“Be that as it may…” he managed, his voice strained, strangled. “You are much too young for the likes of me. I am old enough to be your father, Lady Felicity.”
That fiery gaze sucked him right into the flames.
“I assure you, Your Grace,” she whispered. “My thoughts about you are anything but fatherly.”
A knock echoed through the library, shattering the perilous assault Lady Felicity was inflicting.
Thank fuck.
His gaze shot to the doorway, where Sam stood, an unreadable expression on his face. One that had the hairs on the back of Ash’s neck lifting.
Ash had no idea what that look meant, but he did know Sam. Which meant it definitely didn’t bode well for Ash.
15
Ash
“LadyPandoraisinthe great hall. She is ready for you now, Your Grace.” Sam’s voice echoed through the two-story library. There was something in his tone Ash didn’t like. Something that sounded like scheming.
Lady Felicity jumped up, all seriousness from their conversation completely gone. She clapped excitedly and, in the most unladylike of fashions, bounded toward the door. She paused in the doorway, a mischievous light glinting in her eyes and curving the corners of her lips.
“Make haste, Your Grace. I promise you will love this surprise.”
What he loved was how she could be both refined and poised, yet vivacious and free. She was multifaceted. She was a revelation.
And he was a bloody dolt.
Ash approached his friend, and Sam’s eyes scrutinized his every movement. His face was practically blank, and it made Ash’s gut twist over—multiple times. They fell into step behind a quickly retreating Lady Felicity.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ash asked, lowering his voice.
Sam glanced at Ash from the corner of his eye, his profile still an unreadable, contemplative mask. “That chess match was enlightening. That was all.”
Well, that didn’t sound ominous at all. But Ash didn’t have any more time to think about his best friend’s nerve-inducing behavior. Because they walked into the great hall, and Ash stopped dead in his tracks.
His daughter stood before him in an ivory ball gown. Delicate puff sleeves graced her shoulders, and her hair was done up in an elaborate coiffure. But the most heart-stopping part? How she glowed with pride, her apple-cheeks bunching over her ear-to-ear smile—showcasing the last vestiges of her youth. And, fucking bloody buggering hell—he sucked in a gasping breath—his eyes burned with tears. She was beautiful. She looked far too grown-up, and it killed him. Where had his little girl gone?
She executed a perfect curtsy, lowering her gaze as she descended. He bowed in return, stepping up to her and clasping her gloved hands in his bare ones. He squeezed them, smiling at her like an absolute fool.
“No breeches?” he teased.
She shook her head, her dimpled cheeks spreading warmth through his chest, the muscle within squeezing as painfully tight as the hands that currently clutched his daughter’s.
