Lord help the man who chose to wedthatWinter sister, he thought.
“But that is neither here nor there,” interrupted Prudence. “Freedom is not rot, Lord Aylesford. Not if that is what she truly wants.”
“I would give her freedom as my wife,” he countered. “And my love. And whatever else she wants. Forever.”
“But will you be true to her?” asked Miss Eugie Winter. “Your reputation is not particularly promising, my lord.”
He met Eugie’s gaze, unflinching, for this was a question he had no trouble answering. “I will be true to her until my last breath. I want no other.”
“A reformed rake,” Miss Christabella said with a sigh, holding a hand over her heart.
“A man,” he said, “who is in love. That is all.”
The way he felt for Grace eclipsed the way he had ever felt for another. The love he’d believed he had for Georgina could not even compare. A wife had been the last thing he had wanted when he arrived in Oxfordshire, and now, he could not fathom anything but making Grace his forever.
He admired her wit, her resilience, her boldness. He appreciated her beauty, her giving nature. The bond she shared with her sisters, the impishness that led to her seeking outThe Tale of Love, the natural sensuality she embraced.
All of it, and all of her, he loved.
“I believe he is telling the truth,” said Miss Beatrix, her tone solemn.
“Of course I am telling the truth,” he bit out. “Why else would I humble myself before you? She has told me she is intent upon ending our betrothal, but I am equally intent upon stopping her and making her see reason.”
“How is your confession to us going to help with that?” Miss Prudence queried coolly.
“Because I need your help,” he admitted. “I need you to tell me what I must do to win her heart.”
Her sisters werebehaving strangely, and Grace knew it. All four of them descended upon her chamber that afternoon, interrupting her solitude and misery both. She opened the door at the strident knock, half expecting and half hoping to find Rand there on the threshold, his handsome face etched with determination and wicked intent to seduce, to find the four of them standing shoulder to shoulder in the hall, rather reminiscent of a battle formation.
“Are you ill?” Pru demanded, taking stock—no doubt—of her red, watery eyes and puffy nose.
“I think I may have developed the ague,” she lied, sniffling.
“You look wretched,” Christabella observed, her tone sympathetic.
“Why are you hiding?” Eugie asked.
“Do you feel as if you are feverish?” Bea prodded, the only one amongst them to evince even a hint of proper concern.
“Why are all four of you here at once?” she asked, suspicion slicing through her.
“We came to check upon you, of course,” Pru said, her tone even and neat. Laden with reason.
“Lady Emilia asked us to,” added Eugie.
“Your absence has been noted,” confirmed Christabella.
“Your cheeks do not appear flushed, nor do your eyes look glazed, as if you are feverish,” noted Bea, who found great purpose in science and medicine.
On a sigh, Grace stepped back, gesturing for her sisters to enter her chamber. “You may as well come in, all of you. There is no sense in you lingering in the hall.”
All four of her sisters bustled into the chamber, and Grace closed the door behind them before turning to face them at once.
“Well?” she demanded. “What is the reason for you coming here in the midst of the afternoon? I should think one lady attempting to take a nap is hardly of note.”
“Of course not,” Pru agreed shrewdly, “but you do not look as if you were napping, darling.”
“You look as if you were sobbing,” added Christabella.
