“So that leaves only one question before we announce it.” She lifted her chin. If she was going to marry the most dangerous man in England, she would do it with her eyes open. "What do you actually want from this, Edward?"
The amusement left his face. He stepped closer. "To do something that matters."
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
"I've spent years doing things no man should be proud of. I'd like the chance to do something worth a damn." He held her gaze. "The orphans. The poor. The ones no one else looks after. I want us to discuss what we can do for them."
She studied him. His face gave nothing away; that was its default state. But his eyes held something unguarded that she did not think he knew she could see.
“We can find them work and houses,” she suggested. “If that’s what they need.”
He nodded. Then, without asking, he bent and picked her up again, arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and started walking.
“I can walk,” she hissed, though she made no effort to get down.
“Ye’ll only slow me down.”
She glared at him. He would have been annoyed if she were not so absurdly, stubbornly, magnificently cute.
“I still want the rest of the week,”she said.
“Haven’t I already won?”
“You have won nothing. You have been chosen for further consideration.”
“Further consideration,” he repeated. “Ye make it sound like a job.”
“Itisa job. Marriage is a job. The last man who held the position was terrible at it, and I fired him by outliving him.”
He looked down at her. She looked up at him. And then, for the first time, they both smiled at each other.
“It’s not just about the competition,” she explained, voice softer. “I haven’t attended a party in years. I haven’t played games or talked to people or stayed up past nine o’clock. I want the whole week, even if I already know the answer.”
Edward adjusted his grip. Pulled her closer. Said nothing. But he agreed. Whatever she wanted, however long she needed, he would play every game she invented if it meant she kept looking at him. Just looking at him. Like he was a person and not a cautionary tale.
They rounded the final corner, and the manor appeared ahead.
CHAPTER 8
As soon as Edward set her down on the front steps of the manor, the servants rushed forward.
Mary got there first and cupped Valeria’s face in her hands, checking for cuts and bruises. Behind her, the other servants pressed in.
Valeria touched their hands and said she was fine. Wet and foolish and perfectly all right. Then she raised her voice for the gentlemen hurrying down the steps.
“And we seem to have a winner in today’s little game.”
Edward felt something tighten in his chest. Pride, maybe. Then she smiled at him. It was small. Quiet.
Nobody had smiled at him. Not in years. People ran. People looked away. He was the Hound. If he was not the Hound, he was nobody.
He nodded to the men who stared at him. Some of them looked as though they wanted to challenge him, but nobody did. He turned and walked toward the manor.
His room was at the end of the guest wing. He shut the door behind him and stood in the quiet for a moment. The room smelled of clean linen and woodsmoke. His coat was soaked through, and his boots were caked with mud. His shirt clung to his skin, and he could still smell lavender on it.Herlavender. From the gazebo, when she had pressed her face into the collar of his coat and breathed in, thinking he had not noticed.
Hehadnoticed.
