“Ye’r married,” Mrs. Shaw said, her Scottish burr rolling over the words so long they started to sound like church bells. Then, a wide grin filled her face, as if she suddenly understood a riddle.
Delaney shook her head. “We are not married.”
“Perhaps not in the truest sense . . .” Griffin interrupted, a look of supreme triumph flashing in his gaze. “Yet.”
If he thought that traveling all this way meant she would simply change her mind, he was sorely mistaken. Still . . . he said the words with such heated certainty that she had to blush.
“Ye poor wee lass.” Mrs. Shaw sidled up to her and draped the heavy shawl around her shoulders. “Now I understand why ye looked so frightened and alone yesterday. Many a young woman has fled out of fear . . . and then regretted it later.”
“Oh, but I didn’t—” Delaney attempted a denial, but the housekeeper had a dreamy look in her eyes and wasn’t listening anyway.
“That happened wi’ Mr. Shaw and me, so many years ago. I was so young ’n’ unsure that I ran away. He didn’t find me for nigh on a month. Ah, but when he did, I was glad he was my husband already.” She cast a knowing glance to Griffin, earning a chuckle that made Delaney’s cheeks burn.
He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug, as if he hadn’t any control over the older woman’s incorrect assumptions.
“Though I cried for shame, because I’d wished that had been our wedding night.” Mrs. Shaw nodded sagely and then took Delaney by the shoulders and turned her to face Griffin. “Now, what ye need to do is walk over to the smithy’s ’n’ say yer vows over the anvil. Ye can still have your weddin’ night with nae regrets after.”
Griffin smiled and proffered his arm. “And where is the nearest blacksmith?”
“Back toward town.”
Ignoring his bent elbow, Delaney skirted around him. “Mr. Croft, might I speak with you in private for a moment.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Croft.”
Delaney drew in a quick breath. In the same instant, she felt a familiar warmth ignite deep within her. Her inner flame had returned.
Griffin followed her out the door, fighting the urge to take her in his arms with every step and every angry swish of her braid. He wanted to kiss her until the crazed unrest that had claimed him this past week faded away. He wanted to slip that shawl from her shoulders, strip her bare, and make love to her right here, right now. He wanted to prove to her and to the world that she was his.
Suddenly, she turned on her heel, violet eyes blazing. “Stop this at once. I am not part of a cat-and-mouse game. You cannot chase me across the country as if you’ve the right. I am not yours.”
Those last words came out as a taunt, testing the last of his control. “If you did not want me to chase you, then why did you run away? You could have remained in town and made your point perfectly clear by refusing my suit directly to your father.”
“And risk his not listening to me, the same way you haven’t?” She scoffed.
“It’s not the same at all.” He took a step closer and gently shook his head. “I listen to every word your lips speak. I hear every secret your eyes tell. I know exactly why you fled London. We both know.”
Her perfect bosom rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. That haunted look he’d witnessed before flashed across her gaze. He regretted being the cause of it. Yet at the same time, he knew the cure.
“I realize now that my initial proposal did not convey the . . . the depth of my obligation to marry you,” he said before taking a deep breath. Had he known how difficult it would be to tell a woman he loved her, he would have practiced on the way here. He felt his tongue thicken. His heart was beating so fast, he feared it would climb up his throat, fall out of his mouth, and drop onto the ground at her feet.
He was so concerned with his next words that he hadn’t even noticed the alteration in her expression.
She took a step toward him and pushed the tip of her finger into the center of his waistcoat. “I believe we explored those shallow depths quite succinctly when I stated there was no obligation on your part.”
He reached for her hand to press it flat over his chest, intending to for her to feel what he was trying to say, but she pulled away from him. Again.
“You’ve misunderstood,” he said, frustration adding bite to his words. “I did not come here to continue this cat-and-mouse game, as you’ve called it. I came here to tell you—”
“Mr. Croft,” the housekeeper called from the doorway. “Will you be needin’ a room prepared?”
Delaney’s gaze rounded, flitting from him to the door and back to him.
A sudden realization struck him. Here he stood, exhausted, covered in mud and filth from his journey, and steps away from an eager audience inside the house. Perhaps this was not the time to profess his undying love.
He dropped his head back toward the sky for an instant, exhaling deeply, and then he turned. “Thank you, no. I have a place nearby.” And then to Delaney, he bowed. “It is probably best that I leave you now. I must warn you, however, that if you choose to flee before dawn on the morrow, I will find you again.”