Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Priscilla glanced up at Lord Ware between her lashes as they made their way into the shop. Ralph had been a major question, and with an answer, she felt herself relax into their outing.
Of course he hadn’t touted that he had a bastard brother. That’s surely what Ralph was.
Lord Ware reached for a periwinkle ribbon, allowing the silk to run through his hand. “This would be an excellent color for you, I think.”
“I agree,” her mother replied, before she drifted off to the other side of the shop.
Priscilla inspected the spool, pretending to consider whether or not she’d take his advice. “What color dress should I wear it with?”
“Surely we could find you a matching gown.”
Her brow lifted. “A gentleman does not—”
“But a husband does. If you’d accept my proposal, I could help you with all sorts of facets of life.”
That was a fair point. And one he’d already articulated. And considering this morning’s events with Eugene, she was inclined to agree. But was this her desire to be rescued speaking or her rational mind that wished to make valid decisions? “Tell me more about yourself. What do you do for fun?”
His mouth twisted. “The title and lands take up a great deal of my time, but when I’m not doing that, I box.”
“Box?” she asked, her brows lifting. “Even with your injuries?”
“Injuries?”
Priscilla started, didn’t he have an injured leg in addition to the scar he bore on his face? “Forgive me. I saw you limping the other day.”
Understanding dawned. “The limp was a…boxing injury, temporary, nothing serious.”
She nodded, her mouth quirking down. Somehow each new discovery about him only seemed to create more questions. Perhaps it was the way he’d paused or the fact that he hadn’t met her eye when he said he’d been hurt in the ring. “Do you box at a club?”
“Not really. Ralph trains me, though. He used to be a professional.”
Had Ralph caused the limp? Did she ask? She struggled to find an acceptable question that would also provide her with some answers. For every mystery she solved with this man, another came to light… “Does boxing usually cause leg injuries?”
“It depends on how you go about it, I suppose. Many men consider kicking fair sport.” He steered her toward another display. “And what about you? What do you do for fun?”
She shook her head. “These days, not much. I used to spend quite a bit of time with my friends. But between Eugene and the fact that three of the ladies have recently wed…”
He nodded. “Is Clara soon to be married?”
Priscilla shook her head. “No. She’s had scores of suitors, though. How could she not, she’s so lovely inside and out. She doesn’t speak about it much but I think her heart still belongs to a man from her past.”
Lord Ware leaned down, close to her ear. “And you. Have you had scores of suitors?”
Heat filled her cheeks. “I’ve had a few.”
He cocked a brow. “You, my lady, deserve to have your pick of any man you wish.”
The words filled her with the sort of joy that made her feel light as a feather.
She knew that such compliments were another tool in courting.
Yielded well, they’d help a man earn the woman of his choice.
But Lord Ware didn’t seem prone to flowery flattery and so, coming from him, they made her feel…
appreciated. “Thank you, Lord Ware. Most kind.”
He leaned closer still. “My given name is Wyatt. No one but Ralph uses it and him not that often. Normally, he calls me something far more colorful.”
She giggled at possible list of names Ralph might use. “I can only imagine.”
“Now tell me. What else do you do with your time?”
She drew in a breath. “I’ve some feminine attainments. I…” The words she’d considered for her ad flitting through her thoughts. “I crochet admirably and I play the pianoforte well enough.”
“For fun?”
She supposed not. But did she tell him about the things that made her different from other debutantes? She wasn’t so certain.
But his gaze was riveted to her, as though he were truly curious and open to any answer she might give.
And truth be told, she wished to answer for the same reason she wanted to know more about him.
She didn’t need a love match, but she did wish for a compatible relationship with her spouse.
“Well, since I don’t go out much these days, I’ve been working on the investments my father has placed in my care.
I can’t access the money, but my father’s solicitor has been kind enough to allow me to offer opinions on how and where it should be invested. ”
She reached for a pale pink ribbon, fiddling with it as though she were considering it for purchase. Anything to keep her hands busy and pretend that she wasn’t avidly watching how he responded to that information.
“How so?” he asked, touching the same ribbon and her fingers as he did.
In a rush of words, she whispered her explanation of how the farms had not produced well for last year’s summer crop and how she was strategically converting their fields to wetter crops. By the time she’d finished, his touch and her revelation had made her thoroughly breathless.
“I’m impressed,” he said, his fingers quickly lacing through hers as he gave them a light squeeze before he pulled his hand away again. “You may have to give me some pointers on my viscountcy after we’re wed.”
“If we’re wed,” she answered, wincing slightly. She hated to break the spell that seemed to be wrapping about them both but she still needed to make certain he was the right man for her.
She wanted to claim that her personal preference didn’t matter. Only, whether or not he’d keep all the promises he’d made concerning her holdings. But somehow, she couldn’t quite make herself agree to the match without knowing more about the man.
“If,” he agreed, taking the pink ribbon from the shelf and moving to another display. “Tell me what still concerns you.”
She shook her head. “What concerned me yesterday. We hardly know each other.”
He stopped again, thin strips of lace on display before them. “I’d like to address your concerns and so I’m hoping you’ll be a bit more specific.”
Specific? How did one specifically ask a person one barely knows to reveal their inner self?
* * *
Wyatt felt—and witnessed—her hesitation. It was in the tension that travelled from her hand to his arm. The way her mouth tensed, the slight pulling back of her body.
Clearly, she had some reservations.
Who could blame her?
“I…” she started, her tongue licking at that little corner of her lip. His body responded without any reserve at all. “I don’t have anything specific…it’s more…” She drew in a breath, giving him a sideways glance. “I’ve been honest with you about Eugene. About my finances. My interests.”
“You have,” he answered with a nod.
Her other hand came to his biceps, physically pulling them closer.
“And you’ve been completely affable.”
“Good.” He sensed the but coming.
“It’s just that…” She drew in a long breath. “Whenever I ask about your life, your answers are always very vague.”
Inwardly, he grimaced. What had Ralph said? He kept people at a distance. Could she understand what being raised by a man very similar to Eugene had done to him? And what would Priscilla think if he told her about Angela? About how a woman had decided he wasn’t fit to be a husband?
“Vague?” He grimaced as he scrubbed the back of his neck.
“Yes,” she pulled a section of lace from the rack. “For example, when I asked you about boxing.”
Ah. He had been vague. Because she was uncommonly intelligent and too much information might lead to very probing questions.
How many people had met Ralph and never made the connection that he was his brother?
And if he shared a little, she was bound to start following the trail to his secret life.
Did one tell a prospective bride he spent his nights fighting crime?
Or that the demons of his dead father spurred him to do so?
Truth be told, he hadn’t intended to share much about himself at all. And certainly not those dark and gritty parts.
When he’d answered the ad, he assumed she’d be a ready-made bride. Few questions asked. But now, Priscilla wished to be persuaded. He had that effect…
And she had assets she wished to guard.
“You wish to know more about my boxing?”
“That’s an excellent place to start.”
He drew in a breath. “I told you how I received the scar.”
Her hand lifted as though she might touch it but then she dropped it back down on his arm. “You did.”
“Well, after that happened, I decided that I needed to know how to fight. And Ralph has been training me so that I’ll be able to defend myself should it ever happen again.”
She stared up at him as though searching for more information. He resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably.
“Ralph hurt your leg so that you limped the other day?” She finally asked.
He didn’t wish to lie to her, but he didn’t want to tell the whole truth either. “No. There are other places I can fight with other men besides Ralph. They’re not posh clubs you see…”
She gave him a small smile, her eyes still searching. “I see.”
Did she? Good. He longed to pull her closer, kiss her lips. It had been a long time since he’d wanted a woman the way he did her.
Was it a boon or a cross that he felt this attraction toward the woman he wished to marry? While it made the idea more enjoyable…it would also make it a great deal harder to keep her at a distance.
There were parts of himself he never meant to share.
She picked up another spool of ribbon, now holding three in her hand. “I think I’ve gotten what I need.”
“If we’re going to get to know one another, it would be nice to see each other again,” he said, making their way toward the clerk.
Priscilla placed a finger on her chin. “You’re right. I’ll have to think on it, but my mother can contact you with a place and time?”
“I’m at your disposal,” he said with a wink.
The clerk stopped, staring at them both with mild horror as he took in the jagged scar on Wyatt’s face.
Mentally, he cursed. He’d been so caught up with Priscilla, he’d nearly forgotten how people reacted, how he usually kept his face averted.
People were frightened by ugly things inside and out.
Priscilla cleared her throat. Loudly. The clerk blinked, looking at her as she began to fire off instructions for amounts of ribbon, colors and cuts.
The clerk rushed to obey, the chastisement in her tone clear even if she hadn’t spoken the actual words.
His hand brushed down her spine, leaning closer he drew in her gardenia scent.
Her small act of protection meaning more to him than he knew how to express.
Her strength was admirable, filling him with a longing that swelled inside him.
For a moment, his eyes drifted closed as he breathed her in.
It would be so easy to lose himself in Priscilla.
But if he did and showed her all the broken parts inside, what would she think then?
He didn’t want to find out.