“I fancy you, Olivia,” he confessed from down on one knee despite her protests. “I’ve fancied you for a long while, and I’m tired of pretending as if I don’t.” Gently, he shifted his grip on her hand until he was cradling it within both of his, as if it were something special. Precious.
Over her fingers, he whispered, “I even think that you might fancy me, too.”
Ha. She wanted to laugh in his face. She wanted to hotly deny having any feelings at all for him beyond pity and derision. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t do it.
The words stuck in her throat.
“You don’t know a thing about me,” she pointed out instead. “You don’t even know my family name.”
Solemn and matter-of-fact for once, he countered, “You’re illegitimate. You don’t have a family name.”
At that, a mad laugh escaped from her at last. If only that were true. Oh, she was illegitimate all right. That was no secret. But everyone had a family name, even her. She just kept it a secret from everyone.
Everyone.
Even the Umberlys.
Even Seraphina. Because even her best friend would disown her if she knew the truth.
She could nearly taste Sir Tristan’s confusion. No doubt none of this was going according to his plan. But what had been his plan?This? That she would…what? Swoon into his arms and beg him to marry her and make her a lady? Was that his true desire? To dress her up in silk and parade her about?
She was a kitchen rat raised up to be a Spymaster.
She would never be more than that in anyone’s eyes, including her own.
“You’re a Dacre,” she reminded him once her laughter had subsided. “A baron’s son.”
“That doesn’t matter to me.”
Her nose wrinkled. “It’ll matter to your father. To your family.” Finally ripping her hand free from his grasp, she gestured vaguely and added, “To the world.”
“I don’t care.”
Frustration welled up inside her again. Trying to reason with him was like trying to reason with a brick wall. Except even brick walls had more sense. “I don’t have time for this.” She turned on her heel and started back down the corridor, carefully picking her way over every uneven stone. “My best friend needs me.”
But Tristan’s voice followed her, calling out, “And what about what you need?”
Those words stopped her dead in her tracks. “Nothing,” she hissed, her tone turning venomous. “I need nothing.”
What did she have to do to get this through his thick skull?
What did she have to say?
“I want you gone in the morning, Dacre, riding out with Coreto and his crew.” The command lashed from her tongue before she could think it through. It made no sense for the knight to leave court with Lord Tiberius and the Duke of Coreto. She already had several spies assigned to that particular party—perfectly inconspicuous spies that wouldn’t draw unwanted attention like the pretty man before her.
But it was too late now. She couldn’t very well take it back.
Now it was Sir Tristan’s turn to laugh. The sound echoed strangely against the stone walls.
“That won’t change a thing, you know,” the bullheaded man insisted, “sending me away. But have it your way, Mistress Olivia.If you want me gone, I’ll be gone. But when I get back, know that I’ll be right here again—begging you for the chance to let me court you properly and show you how much you mean to me.”
Her teeth clenched. This man was even more ridiculous than she had first thought. “You’re wasting your time, you know,” she coldly informed him. “You’d have far better luck chasing a lady of the court than a rat like me.”
Finally, she left him there in the passageway, fleeing from him like a noblewoman fleeing from a sore-pocked beggar.
But that didn’t stop him from calling out after her, “I’d rather waste a lifetime chasing after you than spend a single moment considering anyone else. I’ll see you in two weeks, Mistress Olivia. That’s a promise.”
Really? Was it truly?
