The more she got to know him, the less she believed that that was his only motivation. He had a caring, noble heart even if, for some reason, he refused to admit it.
“Enough about me.” He set his empty plate down with undue care. “Tell me about you and Sam Taylor.”
Heat pulsed in her cheeks at the sudden change in topic.
“There…there ain’t much to tell,” she stammered.
“Your brother Tommy disagrees.”
“Tommy ’as a mouth like a tap,” she said darkly. “’E doesn’t know when to turn ’imself off.”
“He’s not the only one with an opinion about you and Taylor.” Knight lifted his brows. “I heard your father and Mrs. Taylor talking about how grandchildren could connect your families.”
Why does Knight care about my relationship with Sam? Could ’e be…jealous? Or is ’e just showing the concern that any friend would?
“It doesn’t matter what they say. I turned Sam down in the spring,” she admitted. “’E’s a good decent fellow, but I think o’ ’im like one o’ my brothers.”
“He doesn’t think of you in the same fashion.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact.
“Because ’e doesn’t know me, not truly,” she said earnestly. “If ’e did, ’e would know that I’d make ’im a terrible wife.”
“You couldn’t be a terrible wife if you tried.” As her heart soared, he frowned. “That is, for the right man—a man who shares your background—you have all the skills to recommend you. Your father is quite proud of your accomplishments.”
“Sure, I can cook, sew, clean. But what if I want to be more than a good tinker’s wife?” She blew glumly at a strand of hair that had escaped its plait. “What if I want more than to travel in endless circles bartering my skills?”
He studied her. For a tense second, she feared he might gainsay her. And she didn’t want to know what that would feel like, to have her dreams mocked by the man who starred in them.
“You are different from your family,” he said.
The quiet statement didn’t feel like judgement. A part of her considered sharing the truth: the reason she was different from her kin was because she was not a Sheridan by blood. Yet her budding friendship with Knight already had a vast social chasm to bridge. She wasn’t ready to put even more distance between them by admitting that she was a foundling.
An unwanted babe who’d been abandoned in the fields.
“I’m a Sheridan in the ways that count.” That was no lie.
“All right, Miss Fancy Sheridan.” He looked into her eyes. “If you don’t want to be a good tinker’s wife, whatdoyou want?”
His husky question teased over her skin like a feather. Goose pimples prickled, her nipples rising into hard, tight buds. Mesmerized by his intent gaze, she swayed toward him…and gave him the truth.
“I want a faerie tale,” she whispered. “I want a prince who thinks I’m a princess even though I’m ordinary. I want ’im to love me with all ’is ’eart because I’ll love him just as madly. I want to settle in one place with ’im and ’ave a family, one we would nurture and love together. That’s what I want.”
Knight’s eyes darkened, his pupils edging out the light. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she saw his nostrils quiver. Below the granite ledge of his jaw, his throat worked above the loosened knot of his cravat. A magnetic force pulsed between them, his head lowering toward hers, her own tilting up…
He drew back sharply. “You would be better off with Taylor.”
“B-beg pardon?” she said, startled.
“He seems like a reliable sort,” Knight said brusquely. “And a constant one, if he’s still waiting on you despite being turned down. Take it from me, Fancy: it’s better not to gamble on love.”
Looking into his eyes, she felt as if she’d run headlong into a steel wall. His features were hard and impenetrable, all hints of desire gone.
“Love ain’t a gamble,” she whispered.
He rose abruptly and offered her his hand. “I had better escort you back before the others wonder where you’ve gone.”
Ignoring his help, she got on her own two feet. “I can find my way back, Your Grace.”
