“That means nothing to me.”
Yes, well, it apparently matters to a future lord.
God, I loathe myself.
“Obviously. I could tell from the paint stains on your threadbare overalls.”
Now, I’m unsure why I said that. I like a good sparring session—makes you feel alive, you know? But not sure talking about her overalls is going to gain me any ground with getting her to accept my hand.
“Not the way to win her over,” Rupert mutters from the side of his mouth.
“You’re right.” I take that moment to collect myself, and when I’m ready, I get back down on one knee.
Carefully, I open the ring box back up, showing off the diamond I picked for her, and start, “Renley…uh?—”
“Lynn,” Rupert assists.
That’s my boy.
“Yes, that’s right. Renley Lynn Gossage.” I pause for a second to see if there are any objections, and when there are none, I continue. “Will you do me the greatest honor of my life and be my wife?”
“Nice rhyme,” Rupert says.
“Thanks, mate.” I turn my attention back to Renley, waiting to see what she’s going to say, even though I have a solid guess what it will be.
Because there’s a pinch in her brow that is, dare I say, bordering on a scowl.
Her arms are crossed.
There’s no smile.
No elation.
No heart-beating moment where she’s so overjoyed that she can’t possibly say yes fast enough.
Nope, there’s disdain, irritation…frustration.
I’ve known her for a day, and I can’t think of a solid moment within the past twelve hours where she was actually happy to see me. And sure, that might sting a little, since I came here looking to meet my bride—as insane as that sounds—but what she doesn’t know just yet is how determined I actually am.
And how much I’m willing to do to stay as far away from Neil’s daughter as possible.
“So?” I nudge. “Will you be my wife?”
“Absolutely…”—my breath catches in my throat. Holy shit—“not.”
Well, isn’t that fucking rich?
I stand back up and snap the lid to the ring box shut, annoyance billowing inside me. For a second there, and I mean a minor second, I actually thought I might have worn her down.
Her delivery was rude.
“Why did you have to say it like that? With the pause? That was spiteful. I thought you were saying yes for a moment.”
Arms still crossed, she says, “I told you I didn’t want to marry you from the beginning.”
Yes, but I clearly chose to ignore that.
“That’s not what your profile said.”
