3. Part III
Part III
“Iwill love you forever; whatever happens.”
~ The Amber Spyglass – Phillip Pullman
Persephone did not know what to think about the Earl of Ashford. On the one hand, he was more than she could have ever hoped for.
Handsome.
Charming.
Courteous.
By his third day in the manor (her parents had given up their own personal bedchamber so he could have the largest room in the house), her family was so enamored by him that she was quite certain one of her sisters would happily marry him in her place if something dire happened to her or she otherwise made herself unavailable.
On the other hand…
On the other hand, there was something about him she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Maybe it was how perfect he portrayed himself to be. Never a step wrong. Never a word out of place. Always the impeccable gentleman, every second of the day. But no one was without flaws. Some were just better at hiding them than others.
She’d seen the way his gaze shuttered sometimes, as if a shadow had stolen across his mind ever as his mouth remained fixed in a pleasant, albeit empty smile.
She’d heard how when he laughed it came from high in his chest instead of low in his belly and was tightly controlled, as if it was a sound that he was imitating.
And she’d felt the practiced, utterly impersonal touch of his hand at her waist, so different from the impulsive way he’d grabbed her hair in the garden and stared at her with an intensity he hadn’t displayed since.
On the morning of his fourth day, Persephone arose before anyone else and, stuffing Mr. Roundtop into the pocket of her simple, high-waisted green muslin dress, stole down the stairs and out the front door.
Red and orange leaves crunched beneath her practical leather ankle boots as she set a brisk pace along a woodland trail on the far side of the estate, its border comprised of stately oak trees and slender ash.
She could hear Mr. Roundtop sniffing away inside her pocket, his little nose tipped toward the opening as he greedily inhaled all of the various scents the forest had to offer.
Walking until she found a large, circular stump, she sat in the middle of it and carefully withdrew the hedgehog from his secret compartment, holding him up level to the bridge of her nose.
“Behave,” she told him sternly. “No running away like last time.”
Mr. Roundtop’s short legs spun gleefully in the air as she carefully set him down in a pile of fresh fallen leaves. Immediately, he dove under them, his claws digging furiously in his search for tasty grubs.
Smiling at his unfettered enthusiasm, she leaned back, bracing herself on her palms, content to watch her pet enjoy his freedom even though she knew it would mean a lecture from her mother for missing breakfast and thus an opportunity to converse with Lord Ashcroft.
It wasn’t that she was avoiding him, precisely.
More so avoiding the vague responses to any personal questions she tried to raise before he expertly steered the discussion to inane topics such as the weather or the crop rotation.
Nearly half a week dwelling under the same roof, and she felt as if she knew less about him now than she did before he’d arrived.
Thus, if she missed breakfast, or tea time, or even dinner (what a fuss that would cause), was she really missing anything of great importance?
“I think not,” she told Mr. Roundtop, whose head temporarily appeared above the leaves before promptly diving under them again.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the approach of footsteps until a branch cracked only a few feet away.
Both she and her pet jumped, dirt flying every which way as the hedgehog, no doubt fearing a predator, burrowed under the soft, dense soil and disappeared completely from sight.
Grabbing the closest weapon at hand–a long, heavy stick–she leapt off the stump and brandished her makeshift sword at…
The Earl of Ashcroft?
“Name your terms, fair lady,” he said, raising his arms in the air. “I surrender.”
Persephone dropped the stick. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. And why, she added in her head crossly, do you look as though you’ve stepped straight out of a London ballroom?
Despite the early hour, her betrothed was already fully dressed in a navy blue jacket smartly adorned with a fresh white cravat, gold pin, and satin black waistcoat.
His jaw was already shaven and his hair was neatly combed and swept back off his temple with a streak of pomade.
He’d even put on gold sleeve buttons, whereas she hadn’t even bothered with a sash or a pair of earrings.
For some reason, their difference in appearance filled her with an irrational surge of annoyance.
For once, just once, couldn’t he allow himself to be less than absolutely perfect?
“I could ask the same thing of you,” he said, his eyes widening ever-so-slightly when she bared her teeth. “Are you feeling quite well, Miss Persephone?”
“No.” She crossed her arms. “I am not feeling well.”
“In that case, we should get you back to–”
“We,” she interrupted, “are not taking me anywhere. Especially with you.”
Now his eyes narrowed. “My apologies,” he began in that polite, proper voice she’d come to loathe. “Have I done something do upset you?”
He’d growled at her, she recalled.
In the garden, he’d growled.
Where was that man? The one with fever in his eyes and fire in his touch?
She hadn’t seen him in three days, and part of her was beginning to fear that she’d made him up.
Because this man–the one that stood before her with his shiny boots and vacant smile–was not someone she could envision spending a lifetime with.
She didn’t need frenzied passion that would make a schoolmarm blush.
She didn’t even read those type of books, even though her younger sister swore by them.
But she needed something. Something more than this.
Something more than lukewarm water on a cold winter’s day.
Something that filled her soul with excitement.
“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “Yes, you have upset me.”
His empty smile slipped a notch. “And how have I done that? I was under the impression we were getting along splendidly.”
“Well, your impression is wrong. I cannot get along with someone I know nothing about!”
“What else is there to know?”
“E-everything,” she sputtered, stomping her foot.
Mr. Roundtop must have taken the vibration as a sign that things were all clear, because he abruptly popped his head up out of the leaves and swiveled around to see what all the commotion was about.
“Bloody hell,” her fiancée cursed. Before Persephone could tell him there was nothing to be worried about, he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her protectively into his chest, his arms wrapping around her like bands of steel.
“There’s a weasel! They can be vicious.” And then, in a low mutter, “This is why I don’t go in the woods. ”
“Oh for heaven’s–that is not a weasel.” She wiggled, trying to free herself, but the earl held fast, his breath, smelling of coffee with a hint of peppermint, warming the nape of her neck where an autumn chill had settled.
His body, all fine clothing draped over rigid muscle, tensed behind hers even as the broad hands on her waist softened and molded to the shape of her ribcage.
Suddenly, she understood the appeal of the books that her sister had spent many a midnight reading under the covers by candlelight.
“What is it, then?” he said, his voice a husky whisper in her ear.
She felt the faintest graze of his lips across her sensitive lobe, then the brush of his chin along the slant of her neck.
When her knees trembled, she leaned against him, bringing their bodies even closer together.
He supported her weight effortlessly, as if she was a bag of feather down instead of a flesh and blood woman.
“It’s… it’s a hedgehog,” she replied breathlessly. “He’s… he’s a pet.”
“You have a pet hedgehog?” His mouth curved against her cheek. “And you said you didn’t know anything about me.”
“I don’t.” Her own voice sounded foggy, as if she was listening to herself from a great distance. “Just your name, and what you look like, and that you prefer a spoonful of honey in your tea.”
“You’re right,” he said gravely. “That’s not much at all. What if you knew how I kissed?”
“Wha…” Her throat constricted around the word. “What?” she managed to squeak.
“How I kissed,” he repeated, as if they were having another conversation about the weather. “Before we are to be married, it only makes sense to ensure we are compatible in… every sense of the word.”
Compatible.
Yes, yes, she supposed it was important they were compatible.
Alec slowly turned her to face him, his hand gliding up from her waist to gently grasp her chin.
He tilted her head back and beneath a thick swell of lashes her gaze rose to his eyes, no longer a calm gray after the storm had passed but the dark, roiling slate of a tempest right before it erupted across the sky.
She trembled; a small, involuntary movement that he soothed by stroking his knuckles across the line of her jaw before sliding his fingers into her hair, stirring her brown curls loose from the pins she’d jammed in haphazardly before leaving the house.
For a panic-stricken moment, she wondered how it was all done. The kissing and the holding and the what not. But then it was happening, Alec’s lips, warm and firm, were on hers, and she was being kissed for the first time whilst standing in the middle of the woods on a cool autumn morning.
And it felt…
It felt wonderful.
Liking sliding into warm sheets.
Or a bright ray of sunshine through the window.
Or the first deep breath after removing her corset.