He did not want her to sell the property due to emotional manipulation. She had earned her stake. Bought the land out from under him before he’d been clever enough to do so himself.
She was the smartest person he had ever met. Her many feats weren’t impressive merely because she was a woman, or even in spite of it. She was competent and driven. She deserved everything she had achieved. Deserved every scrap of success she had earned for herself despite everyone telling her she could not.
Max knew what that was like. He would not perpetuate the problem. Not when it was in his power to be different.
He loved her too much.
Hands shaking, he slid a fresh sheet of parchment before him and dipped his quill in the ink. If he wished to argue that he and Frances deserved an opportunity to determine their own fates, so did Bryony.
He bent his head over the paper and began to write.
Even though it meant letting go of his own dreams for the future of the Cloven Hoof, even though this act did not change the future for himself and Bryony, Max quickly drafted a document formally retracting his offer to purchase the deed. What she chose to do with it was up to her.
As it should be.
He set down his plume and waited for the ink to dry. Perhaps he would see his landlord once in a while. Or perhaps she would wed sooner than expected and Max would find himself with a new landlord he’d rather not see at all.
It didn’t matter. He would stick to the plan. Come morning, he would send the letter and release her from obligation.
No matter how empty the Cloven Hoof felt without her.
He pushed to his feet. His chest ached. It was impossible to keep his mind on business tasks when all he could think about was Bryony. He crossed to the bookshelf on the other side of the room and stared up at a misshapen pillow with astonishingly abysmal craftsmanship.
The corner of his mouth curved. He could not hold Bryony, but he could curl up on the settee and snuggle her handmade pillow to his chest. Perhaps it would even smell of her.
He took it from the shelf and plopped down onto the sofa. If he squinted just right, he could make out the words “Cloven Hoof” and the devil horns embroidered on the linen. He would need to consult the legend to decipher the rest.
This time, he did smile.
Of course she had created a legend. She was hyper-efficient and a worthy opponent in any game. But he had no wish for war. All he wanted was to be her partner. In life. In love.
He lay down on the sofa, legs dangling off the far end, and cuddled the ugly pillow to his chest.
It crinkled.
He frowned and squeezed it to his heart anew.
It crinkled again.
A chuckle escaped his throat. One would think stuffing a pillow with feathers a task even the least artistic hands would be capable of performing. But instead of being soft and comfortable, the pillow was sharp and crunchy instead.
He tried to fluff it.
It crinkled some more.
He turned it over. The backside was not hemmed shut, as one might suspect, but bisected with a row of buttons. A few stray quill feathers stuck out between the gaps. So did the corner of a piece of parchment.
The pillow case was meant to be opened.
He bolted upright.
In no time, the buttons were undone, the settee littered with feathers, and a stack of parchments trembled in Max’s hands.
It wasn’t art. It was the deed to his property. Bryony had surrendered it weeks ago. Winning it back from her had never been in question.
He’d had it all along.
Chapter 26
