But no, she must not think of any of those things now. She must forget all about the way he made her feel.
“My lord,” she greeted tentatively, dipping into a proper curtsy as she forced her wits to return.
“Surely there is no need for such formality between us,” he said smoothly, offering her an elegant bow. “After all, we are betrothed.”
“Not in truth,” she could not help but to point out, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
She could only hope he would not take note.
“But our betrothal could last for quite some time, Grace.” He was solemn as he studied her. “It may take weeks or even months to convince my grandmother to deign to give me Tyre Abbey.”
How could she bear weeks of being in his presence? Of him courting her? Months were an impossibility. It had only been days, and already he had dismantled all her defenses, like an invading army storming the castle walls. And she did not fool herself either—it was not because of his disarming looks or his undeniable charm. Rather, it was because of something else, something far deeper and more dangerous.
He brought her to life. He made her feel as if she had finally found the purpose in her life she had been searching for. That purpose was love. Loving him. But how could she love him when he was a fickle-hearted rake who had lived his own life flitting from one woman to the next, loving no one since his heart had been wrecked?
She shivered then, and it had nothing to do with the chill in the air. “I fear I may not be able to last that long, keeping up such a deception. Indeed, my lord, I am glad you sought me out, for I am beginning to think this entire bargain of ours was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” He closed the distance between them and drew her into his arms.
She went willingly,Lord help her, because she could. Because being wrapped in his warm, strong embrace felt like home.
And yet still, she knew she must hold firm to her path. “Yes, a mistake. The past few days with you have been lovely. I cannot say I have not enjoyed our feigned betrothal, but I fear the risk is no longer worth the reward.”
He searched her gaze. “Has something happened? Has one of your sisters divulged our secret?”
She shook her head, tamping down the sadness rising within her like flood waters, with every intent to drown. “Nothing has happened, and nor have any of my sisters betrayed my confidence. It is merely that I have realized, at long last, what I want from my future.”
His brows snapped together. “You have?”
“Yes,” she insisted, for that much was not a lie. She could not tell him the truth, however. For it was too embarrassing.
“What is it you want?” he asked softly, his gaze plumbing the depths of hers in a way she did not like.
Not long ago, they had been strangers. But now, she feared he could see too much.
You, she longed to say.Even if your sallies are awful and you know precisely how handsome you are. You, because you hold me in your arms as if I am precious to you. Because your kisses make my knees weak. Because you found your way into my heart, and now I will never be the same.
“I want freedom,” she said instead. “The ability to live my life as I see fit. Ending my betrothal with you will prove to my brother just how misguided his notion of seeing me married to a lord truly is. I will tell him how horridly ill-suited we were, and how miserable marriage to an arrogant nobleman will make me.”
Rand said nothing for a beat, simply stared at her. “Are we, Grace?”
“Are we what?” she asked, misery swirling through her.
“Are we horridly ill-suited?” he elaborated.
She tilted her head, considering him. “Of course we are, my lord. You are a rake who does not believe in love after your last betrothed betrayed you. You are too handsome for your own good, and all too aware of your own charms. You will be a duke one day. And I am no lady. My father was a merchant. My brother is a merchant. I will never be a duchess, and neither am I a beauty. My greatest asset is my determination, which will see me through now as it has always done.”
His jaw tightened. “You are a lady, Grace. And beautiful. So damn beautiful.”
“You need not ply me with flattery, my lord,” she said, resolute. “I have already made up my mind. I cannot be your feigned betrothed any longer. If you want to tell my brother about the book, I cannot stop you. All I can do is ask that you lay the blame solely upon my shoulders.”
“I am not plying you with flattery, damn it,” he bit out. His chiseled jaw and cheekbones seemed as if they had been carved from stone.
“I am sorry, Lord Aylesford,” she told him, because she was. Sorrier than he could ever know. “I cannot uphold this farce. The risk is too great for me.”
“What can the risk be in being my betrothed?” he demanded, cupping her jaw.
“Our bargain,” she said, flushing furiously, longing to nuzzle her cheek in his palm but narrowly resisting that weakness. “My brother already saw me coming in from the gardens the other night wearing your greatcoat. And we have gone well beyond those kisses in the moonlight now. The embraces and the…debauchery we have shared. I have allowed my curiosity to get the better of me, and it has led me astray. I cannot risk being ruined. I cannot marry you.”
