And then he was gone, and her heart was still beating wildly. Belatedly, it occurred to her that she hadn’t bothered to correct him when he had declared himself a suitor. She wasn’t certain why.
Tick,tick, tickwent the mantel clock.
From his vigil at the fireplace, Brandon tried not to count the seconds that had passed as he waited. Instead, he concentrated on sounds.
Thump, thump, thumpwent his daughter’s feet on the Axminster.
Bark, barkwent her silly hound.
He had been waiting for Lottie’s arrival one quarter hour, but it felt more like a century had passed. Likely, his interminable pause wasn’t helped by Pandy’s enthusiastic and boundless energy. She was like a watch spring, too tightly wound and then suddenly set free.
Brandon watched with mild amusement as his daughter galloped in a circle around the drawing room, Cat trailing happily at her heels, occasionally offering a cheerful bark. Likely, he ought to take her to task. Tell her to seat herself like a lady and calmly await their guest’s arrival.
But he didn’t have the heart to chastise her. He’d leave that duty for Miss Bennington.
“Pandy girl, you shall wear yourself out before Lady Grenfell even arrives,” he cautioned as she made another gleeful circumnavigation of the chamber.
“I’m assited for her to visit,” Pandy explained unapologetically.
“Excited, my dear,” he corrected out of sheer habit.
Her vocabulary was large for a girl just approaching five years of age. However, her elocution was decidedly lacking.
“Ass-ited,” Pandy repeated, still mispronouncing the word, although she did so with painstaking care.
Oh well. He had tried, hadn’t he?
“Quite.” He smiled at her as she breezed by yet again, her cheeks tinged pink from her exertion.
“Do you think she’ll wanna play hide ’n seek?” Pandy called over her shoulder.
Cat barked.
He watched their procession, a swell of love rising in his chest, making his throat go tight. It was difficult to fathom he’d once had a life without his precious daughter and her ragtag spaniel in it.
Brandon cleared his throat. “I’m not certain Lady Grenfell will be in the mood to play games today, Pandy girl.”
Hell, he hadn’t the slightest notion of whether she would even deign to call. She had spent the last few days in a campaign of avoidance, fabricating all manner of excuses to keep him at bay. He knew why—she was stubborn and determined, and her disastrous marriage with that arsehole Grenfell had left her feeling that she should never trust a man again.
But he was every bit as resolute. He would prove to her that he was nothing like that bastard. Slowly. Carefully. He didn’t want to send her fleeing in the opposite direction, and he had no doubt that if he pressed his suit too far, she would. Lottie was beginning to feel something for him. Recognition had flared within him when he had looked into her eyes yesterday. And it had been those tender emotions that had sent her into hiding.
Pandy raced past him again. Was it her thirteenth or fourteenth lap of the room? He’d lost count, trapped in his own ruminations.
Just then, Shilling appeared at the door, dour and unsmiling. “The Countess of Grenfell to see Your Grace.”
“Missus Lady Grenspell!” Pandy shrieked, clapping her hands in delight.
Cat barked uproariously.
Brandon winced at the din. “See her in, if you please, Shilling.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” his butler said, displaying an astonishing ability to show no reaction whatsoever to the commotion in the drawing room.
He felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as Lottie sailed over the threshold wearing a violet gown that made her glorious hair appear even more vibrant. Although the bodice was modest, her delicious curves were on full display, from her waist to her bountiful breasts.
Pandy rushed toward her, so eager that she scaled a settee that was in her way, fearlessly launching herself over the gilt-edged backrest.
“Pandy, you mustn’t climb the furniture,” he chided, watching as Cat followed suit, landing on all four paws with a soft thud before scrambling toward Lottie.
