Greyson descended the grand stairwell with the crisp precision of a man who had every minute of his day accounted for. His steward awaited him in the west corridor with a stack of reports regarding tenant leases.
He was halfway down the stairs when the front doors burst open.
It did not drift open. It was not eased open by a footman either. Itburst.
Hazel swept inside like a gust of sunlight, and her eyes were dancing with a brightness that struck him as almost dangerous. She looked incandescent.
Greyson stilled mid-step. He had seen her calm, composed, anxious and determined. He had never seen this storm of joy, whirling through his entrance hall.
Before he could think to greet her, Hazel spotted him, and her face lit even further. “Your Grace!”
Greyson straightened automatically, preparing to give his customary, perfectly measured bow. “Hazel…”
Hazel flew up the last of the stairs and, without hesitation, without warning, without any regard for his carefully constructed emotional architecture, leaned up and pressed a quick, warm peck to his cheek.
Greyson froze. So did time.
The steward, waiting in the corridor, dropped an entire sheaf of papers.
Hazel stepped back with a bright, breathless smile. “Good afternoon.”
Greyson could not speak. For the first time in his very controlled adult life, he did not know how.
He felt the imprint of her lips burning against his cheek and spent every ounce of willpower he possessed not to lift his hand to the spot like some besotted fool.
“I…” he began, then stopped. Started again. Failed again.
Hazel’s smile only widened. “Yes?”
Greyson cleared his throat with unnecessary force. “You appear… in unusually fine spirits today.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Do I?”
“Yes.” His tone was too dry and stiff, but he could not help it. He was still recalibrating his existence. “You are… evidently… very uplifted.”
“That is one way to put it,” Hazel said lightly.
Greyson narrowed his gaze just slightly. “Is there a reason?”
Hazel hesitated. It was only a fraction of a pause, but he noticed it. “I am simply feeling happier. Lighter, I suppose.”
She did not elaborate. This bothered him more than it should have. And yet, there was something about her glow that kept him from pressing further.
“I see,” he said, though he did not. Not at all.
Hazel tilted her head, and her voice lulled into a conspiratorial softness. “I am going for a ride with my friends in Hyde Park… a spontaneous one.”
Greyson blinked. “Spontaneous,” he echoed, as if tasting a foreign concept.
“Yes,” Hazel laughed. “I was just going to change.”
She placed her foot on the first stair, then paused, turning back toward him with a sudden, curious brightness.
“Are you very busy, Your Grace?”
Greyson stiffened.Yes, he meant to say. He had a steward waiting. He had estate matters to review. He had an entire life calibrated around avoiding precisely these sorts of spontaneous, unpredictable invitations.
But before he could answer, Hazel’s gaze flicked to the steward standing down the corridor.
