“No, stay, Jemina and catch your earl.”
“I need to tell you something.”
“Later, Jemina.” She moved away, and I let her go. Maybe Lady Bodonel was right. I needed to move forward and turned to spy Daniel.
He’d disappeared.
Maybe that was for the best. It would give me more time to think through how to tell him I wanted to marry and that I was silly for delaying.
Then maybe, I’d be brave enough to say there was love in this crazy beating heart for him. He should be the first to know.
CHAPTER 33
DANIEL—JUSTLIKEHISFATHER
Daniel spent what he thought was an appropriate amount of time dancing with Lady Shrewsbury’s widows and making small talk. Now it was time to collect Jemina, whisk her away and kiss her until she accepted.
It was a difficult two weeks, just sending notes, not seeing her, or giving in to the temptation of letting Hope’s cute pouting face melt her resistance. His daughter asked about Jemina every hour. That week of recovery at Finchely changed everything in his household. It couldn’t change back.
“Ashbrook,” the Lord Mayor called to him.
Daniel groaned but went dutifully to chat with him and his law colleagues. Jemina signaled with her fan, but another man took her hand and led her to dance.
Torture.
He groaned at himself for making her dower so high. Her charms and his stupid incentive would make the draw to her beauty that much stronger. It was one of his secrets, as she’d called them, one that went awry.
If any of those men ever spent time with her and she didn’t slap them, they’d know that the fire in those eyes were true. Her soul was lovely. She bore the face of the mortal Helen, the queen Nefertiti, or the goddess Aphrodite.
Daniel fingered theTetched on his pocket fob. It was time to stop all these social rituals and spend the rest of the evening and the rest of her life with her, no other.
He glanced up from his conversation with the Lord Mayor and noticed that Jemina was nowhere to be found.
“Excuse me, Lord Mayor. I think I should—”
“Get some refreshment,” Lady Lavinia said. She clutched his arm and gave him a good excuse to move.
“Here,” she said as she handed him her glass. “Now take me for air.”
Still no sign of Jemina.
Perhaps she was getting air.
“Fine, Lavinia.”
They shuffled through the crowds and down a quiet hall.
“The parlors? I thought we were headed to the gardens.”
“No, this is the way to your girl. Buckles is your girl, right?”
He coughed a little and sipped her punch.
It was fire. Foul brandy.
“Here, this is definitely yours.”
“No, dear, it’s yours. Sorry, darling.”
