She followed him into the house.
Only once had a man shown a modicum of interest. A local matchmaker had brought him over. He was handsome and charming.
After meeting Olive, he’d married the matchmaker instead.
There had been no one since. Not romantically. People came from far and wide, but their interest was in the horses, not her.
“It’s in here.” Weston dropped to his knees before a leather valise. “I know it won’t make up for anything I’ve done, but you’re the one who deserves to have it.”
He rose and held out his fist, palm down.
She held out her hand. Her fingers trembled. The air was charged, as if she were setting herself up for a fool in yet another trick.
The weight that dropped into her palm was heavy. Metallic. Cool to the touch.
He took his hand away.
She stared at hers. At the brass medallion a euphoric young girl had won a decade ago, only to lose it in the mud and the muck while fleeing her persecutors.
It looked brand new. Freshly buffed and impossibly shiny.
There was the torch in the middle; a symbol of competition. The year, just beneath. It washers. He’d brought it back.
“I’ve been carrying it around. In case I saw you again.” He ran a finger about his cravat, his neck lightly flushed. “I cleaned it as best I could and kept it safe.”
Safe from whom, ifhewas her enemy?
The answer came to her just as quickly. Safe from his father. The marquess would not have liked his son exhibiting charity to the daughter of his rival.
Weston reached up as though to touch Olive’s cheek, then dropped his hand without making contact.
“You don’t need a medallion to prove how remarkable you are.” His eyes were fierce and unwavering. “But I’m glad you have it again.”
She curled her fingers around it. Pressed it to her heart.
He didn’t have to return the medallion. She hadn’t even known he possessed it. He’d dug it from the muck, kept it in perfect condition all these years. Just in case he saw her again.
In horror, she realized she was smiling without covering her face.
He didn’t look disgusted. His eyes were still locked on hers. This time, his hand did rise to cup her cheek.
“You were beautiful then,” he said quietly. “And you’re beautiful now.”
Lies.
Obviously.
Andohhow she wanted to believe him.
He still held power over her, no matter how hard she tried to deny it.
She didn’t want his approval. She wanted him to beattracted. She wanted him to kiss her and not be embarrassed by it.
But she couldn’t fall for pretty words. No matter how long she’d yearned to hear them. He hadn’t come for her, but for her farm. She couldn’t let him possess either one.
Weston hadn’t taken his hand from her cheek.
She didn’t move away.
