I wave. “Patrick, Claire, hi.”
My ex-fiancé stops in his tracks, his fingers curling protectively around the arm of my ex-best friend. “Winnie? Is that you?”
From his tone, I deduce that his question is really, “Winnie, is that you out of the house on a weeknight, socialising and being spontaneous? Because I’m getting strong Cylon vibes.”
“It sure is.” My smile wobbles at the edges. “It’s such a lovely night. We were just having a spot of dinner. What brings you to Argleton?”
“Um …” Patrick’s face twists awkwardly. I like smooth, slick Patrick looking all flustered in the presence of Alaric. “I had to come on business, but we heard how picturesque the village was so Claire and I … well …”
“We’re looking at wedding venues.” Claire blurts out, her face reddening as her words knife me through the heart. “I’m sorry you found out like this. It’s what I wanted to talk to you about when we got back to London. I know it’s an awkward situation, but I was hoping … you might forgive me and be my maid of honour?”
Not three months ago, Claire came with me to a converted warehouse in Mayfair to sign the contract atmywedding venue. And then the next day, she and Patrick sat me down and told me that they’d fallen in love.
And now she’s asking me to be her maid of honour?
I have no words.
No, that’s a lie. I have words. None of which can be repeated in the company of a lord.
“You’re … you’re getting married?” I manage.
“Patrick asked me last week.” Claire sheepishly holds up her hand, wiggling her fingers so the enormous rock glitters in the moonlight. “I tried to tell you, but …”
… but I threw my old phone into the fountain at Black Crag so you couldn’t get ahold of me.
“Oh, well, congratulations,” I managed to choke out.
“Thank you, Winnie,” Patrick doesn’t look at me. He stares at Alaric as if he’s sprouted a second head.
“Thanks so much, doll!” Claire jumps up and down. “We’re so excited. We weren’t sure whether we wanted to stay in London for the wedding, but we’ve just seen this lovely oldmanor house outside the village called Lachlan Hall. It’s going to be perfect. We’re thinking next summer and I want?—”
“You didn’t say what you’re doing here.” Patrick frowns. “You weren’t following me, were you?”
“Oh, no!” I wave a hand, frantically trying to come up with some lie that’s better than the truth, that Faye forced me to come since I’m the one without a flat or a life. “I’m … um … I’m working?—”
“Winifred is my betrothed,” Alaric’s deep voice booms in my ear.
Wait, what?
I glance over at Alaric. He sits ramrod straight, those dark eyes of his fixed on Patrick with a look I cannot fathom. A surge of gratitude washes over me.
That grumpy, aloof, sweet bastard is coming to my rescue again.
This is a bad idea.
I shouldn’t let my client pretend to be my fiancé, especially after he rejected my profoundly inappropriate kiss on the potter’s wheel. But in the moment, I couldn’t care less.
I’m living by my intentions, and seeing Patrick’s shocked face makes me very, very happy.
I lean against Alaric’s cool shoulder, trying to look as if it were completely natural for me to be getting snuggly with a lord. I expect Alaric to tense, the way he did in the moment before he ran away from me. He must hate every moment of being this close to me after he made it clear he’s not interested.
But he doesn’t act as though he hates it. He wraps his arm around me, his fingers splayed across the small of my back, pressing me into him.
The weight of his fingers makes me feel as though this is deeper than putting on a show for Patrick, as if I’ve been waiting my whole life for him to declare me his.
Patrick opens his mouth, but it takes a few tries for him to make a sound. “Your …?”
“Lord Alaric Valerian, at your service.” Alaric extends his free hand towards Patrick. “I’m pleased to meet you. Are youfriends of Winifred from London? We must have you at the castle for tea. My soon-to-be wife enjoys entertaining, and our chef is world-class.”
