An awkward silence followed Lorelei’s and Corinne’s departure. Ginny gave herself a stern mental shake. “Would you care for tea, Lord Brockway?” Formality was the only shield she could manage on such short notice. “Mrs. Couch just brought in sandwiches.”
“For starters.” His husky resonance sent quivers over her skin.
She poured a cup with a dash of cream and handed it over, her fingers brushing his, sending a firestorm of sensations racing through her veins. A sudden grin split his perfectly formed lips. She could have kicked herself. That she remembered how he drank his tea gained him a distinct advantage. As if he didn’t have enough over her.
He set the cup aside and caught her unprepared, tugging her onto his lap. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. His lips brushed hers. Sweet and nostalgic. Warm and soft. Each bringing to the forefront how very conflicted her feelings were. This man had been her first love. He’d been the one to awaken the passion buried deep within. He’d been the one to quell the incessant criticism she’d grown up with.
Virginia! Young ladies do not laugh loudly. Young ladies do not consume large bites. Young ladies do not express excessive emotion. Dear heavens, you’ll disgrace us all…
Ginny shut her eyes, wishing she could shut out the criticisms and memories as easily. His fingers moved across her forehead and, before she realized it, he’d parted her hair. His other hand framed her jaw, immobilizing her at the horror of what he looked at. Rather than saying anything, he laid his lips on the deep scar where her hair no longer grew.
Mortified, she tore out of his hold, stumbled to her feet. Her leg hit the table, sending her cup teetering to the floor. “How dare you!” Her voice didn’t come out indignant as she’d intended. No, it came out strangled and tearful and… breathless, blast it all.
Impatience flashed from him. But then he let out a resigned sigh, his arms falling to his sides. After a long moment, his expression turned serious. He stared her down, his brows meeting, his mouth a full frown. “You’re attending Griston’s party in the country? Are you sure you’re up for such an event? You haven’t left this house in almost a year and now you are flitting from place to place with no care for your reputation.”
“My repu—” She pointed to the door. “Out.”
“I’m not leaving. I’ve waited years to have you to myself, though God knows why.” He snagged a sandwich from the nearby tray and dropped into the chair the earl had vacated. “What was that man doing here anyway?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“It damned sure is.”
“What of it? He arrived unannounced, just like someone else I know.” She hated how petulant she sounded. But then nothing was going right for her that morning.
Brock popped a second triangle in his mouth. He was certainly making himself at home, sitting back, legs outstretched. “Probably coming to claim the homestead,” he said, mouth half full.
His words struck Ginny in the chest with the force of a wooden mallet. “Dear heavens. You may be right.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t be living here long anyway. Once we’re married—”
Shock rendered her speechless.The utter nerve.
He pulled his legs in and leaned forward. Reaching out with a long, elegant finger, he tipped her lowered jaw shut.
She snatched her head back. “I’m not marrying you. You had your shot, remember? I’m not marrying anyone. Ever.”
“You need protecting. Your girls need protecting.”
“And I have every intention of… of seeing them protected.” Outrage colored her vision in a brilliant shade of scarlet. The color of blood depicted in paintings of war. “We don’t need you. I’m going to teach my daughters to protect themselves.”
Sudden silence boomed the morning room. She’d stunned him. His shock should have had her falling to the floor in gales of laughter, but she knew all too well how headstrong this man was. He’d been her downfall once before.Never again, she vowed.
“How do you expect to teach your girls to defend themselves?” he sputtered. “You couldn’t even protect yourself.” His voice likely reached the rafters.
Her hand flew, an automatic response, that would have landed a solid crack against his cheek but for his reflex that snagged her right wrist in mid-motion.
His eyes glittered with his fury, his nostrils flaring.
“How dare you,” she bit out through gritted teeth. Ever the gentleman, he released her the minute she jerked her hand.
“Darling,” he said gently. “Girls are not taught to fight.”
“Well, maybe they should be.” She plopped down on the settee, her hand this time catching the edge of the tray that held the sandwiches. What the devil was wrong with her? Again, Brock’s quick reflexes saved the moment. This time the tray, but her cup tottered and hit the floor a second time, rolling to a stop near the toe of her slipper.
With a patience that surprised her, he scooped up her fallen cup and set it on its saucer. “I don’t mean to undermine your idea. It’s a good idea, but...” He took in a deep breath as if to gain time. “How do you propose to manage this improbable task?”
Her fingers twisted in her lap. Another sign of his advantage. She stilled her fingers and reached for a sandwich. “I’ll manage. I have no wish for my daughters to end up at some wicked man’s mercy.” He gave her a pained look. She ignored it. “Regardless, it’s none of your affair.” In a huff of temper, she tossed her head. “I think it’s time you left. I have no wish to discuss the matter any longer.”
