by Grace Burrowes
Beatitude, Lady Canmore, has no intention of marrying again. Grey Birch Dorning, Earl of Casriel, must marry well and soon. Alas the course of true love sometimes does go stumbling down a woodland path to end up with unlikely declarations from unsuitable parties…
The sun shone through the trees at the same angle as it had a moment ago, the water on the lake rippled beneath the same breeze, and yet, Grey’s world had endured a seismic shock.
“You would like to have an affair with me,” he said slowly. Then, to make sure he hadn’t indulged in wishful hearing, “An intimate affair?”
Lady Canmore glowered up at him. “Is there another kind?”
“I would not know.”
She stalked along at his side. “You’ve never enjoyed the company of a woman outside the bounds of wedlock?”
“By London standards, I am retiring when it comes to those activities. I have reason to be.”
Lady Canmore took him by the hand and dragged him down a barely visible side trail. For a small woman, she was strong.
“The hermit’s folly is this way,” she said. “What do you mean, you have reason to be? To be a monk? I have been a monk for the past several years. Monkdom loses its charms. If you think that makes me fast or vulgar or unladylike, then I think such an opinion makes you a hypocrite. There’s not a man in Mayfair who doesn’t indulge his appetites to the limit of his means, and a few beyond their means. Roger told me swiving is all many men think about.”
“I most assuredly think about it.” That admission was not polite. Not gentlemanly. Not… what Grey had intended to say.
Her ladyship came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the trail. “You do? You think about it with me?”
Oh, how that smile became her, how that light of mischief transformed her gaze. “You have broached this topic, my lady, but are you certain you want to pursue it in present company?” A gentleman had to ask, for the discussion would soon pass the point where her overture could be dismissed as a jest or flirtation.
“You haunt me,” Lady Canmore replied, clearly not a disclosure that pleased her. “Men I’ve been dancing with for the past eight years now strike me as lacking stature, though I myself am short. When I arrive at a gathering, I look for you, even though all the way to the venue, I tell myself I must not do exactly that. You and I are engaged in a semblance of a friendship, I tell myself, only a friendship.”
Lady Canmore took a turn off the path that Grey would have missed. She knew where she was going, while he was increasingly lost.
“I don’t want to be your mistress,” she went on. “I want to be your lover.”
Grey almost sagged against the nearest oak. “Do you frequently make such announcements in the same tone of voice most people reserve for discussing the Corsican, long may he rot in memory?”
The way ahead opened into a clearing that held a small three-sided stone edifice on a slight rise. The surrounding woods had been carefully manicured to give the folly three views. One looked out over the lake, another toward Brantmore House. The third faced the woods sloping away to the east.
A circular portico framed the interior of the folly, where benches provided a private place to rest.
“I am not happy with myself for becoming interested in you,” Lady Canmore said. “But there it is. You are kind, gentlemanly, and a fine male specimen. Your flirtation is original without being prurient or presumptuous. You dance well. You humor Aunt Freddy. You love your siblings. You are not afraid of hard, physical work. In fact, I think you need it to thrive.”
She paced before the folly, listing attributes that made Grey’s heart ache. She saw him, saw him clearly, and appreciated who and what she saw.
“You are the comfort of your aunt’s declining years,” Grey said, “a ferociously loyal friend, a minister’s daughter who has learned how to manage polite society without being seen to do more than smile and chat. If I had to choose one word to describe you, that word would be courageous. I can’t help but watch you, even when you dance with others, because you have such inherent grace. I see you walking away, and I know I have nothing to offer you, but I want to call you back, every damned time.”
She came to a halt before him. “My lord, what are we to do?”
“My name is Grey, and as for what to do… I would like to kiss you.”
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