Page 65 of The Betrothal

He clapped his palm over where my hand rested against his chest, pressing down firmly so I could feel the thud of his heart.

“I just need someone who can love me despite my flaws.” He blinked down at me like he wasn’t a man who was adored almost everywhere he went. Or at least I suspected that was the case.

“Well.” I rose onto my tiptoes to bring our faces slightly closer together and his lips parted. “I need to see for myself how dire it really is.”

He slowly blinked, eyes glazing over.

“There’s only so much one can overlook,” I continued.

He shook himself from his daze, the following swat of his hand on my bum wasn’t such a surprise today, but it still stung. Something I was stunned to realise stirred a feeling akin to desire.

His accompanying growl shot through me, heightening the sparks of hunger and I created space, swallowing thickly.

I looked at the selection of baking ingredients already on the surface and saw a few cookery books sitting beside them.

“Are you ready to be my apprentice?” Why was my voice so breathy?

“I am, but before we start, I want to know what I get in exchange for my help?” He was suddenly in my space. The question half cheek and half hope, if the way he stared was anything to go by.

I ran my tongue over my teeth, Seb becoming spellbound by the movement so I dragged it out, empowered by the heat in his eyes.

I parted my lips, torturing him, and he mirrored me.

“You’ll receive payment in the form of…” I paused. Seb shuddered, his mouth so close to mine that the tiniest movement would brush our lips together. “Apple turnovers.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BENJAMIN

Icould still smell her.

I don’t know how.

She used the vanilla and lavender washes that I used. But underneath that there was the smell of her. And it was everywhere in the house.

Before now, even this much would have set me on edge, but with her it felt different.

“Ben?” I refocused on Alex from where he sat opposite me, leaning forwards in what was our father’s old office chair.

“Yes. That’s fine.”

He frowned. “What did I say?”

“There are more storms on the way. The windows are needed for the orangery. You need to go to the manor. Will I be okay here?” I repeated the gist of the conversation and his frown intensified.

“‘Yes that’s fine’ to which part?” He tried to catch my eyes, not wanting me to look away.

“All the above. The windows are almost completely treated. The glass is separate; you will need to take a toboggan.” I halted, thinking. “Two separate hauls ideally. The new frames and glass will need moving separately if you don’t want to damage them.”

Alex growled, the frustration he often hid from me was harder to smother at the moment. It was Isabelle, but I didn’t understand his issue.

He schooled his features, wrestling down his emotions to level a calmer gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Alex.” I shrugged. His anger at Isabelle the other evening, even lashing out at Seb, was out of character, and he was assigning me as the central focus of his concern so I refused to add to his worries.

“You’d tell me if you weren’t?” He looked so concerned.

“Alex. I’m okay.” Truthfully I was. Although there was a current of tension running under my skin. One that, based on experience, would come out sooner or later. Either through a healthy release, or infused into an episode.