Thirteen days to go.
The letter from the Duchess of Redditch arrived at Monsale House early the following morning. An eager Monsale broke open the seal on the paper and unfolded it. He took one look at the names and swore. Naomi’s name wasn’t on the list.
“Bloody stubborn woman. All you had to do was offer up your name. After I had briefly met and then ruled out the other ladies, you would have been the last one standing. Then we could have started planning the wedding,” he muttered.
Deuce. I think I might have misjudged this whole list thing. Naomi has clearly taken this the wrong way, and not put her name up.
He stared at Kitty’s note for a time, in two minds as to what he should do next. The obvious would be to march straight over to Redditch House and ask Naomi to marry him. To confess that, he had made a mistake and that she was the only woman he had ever considered as being the right one.
And she will make me pay for it every day for the next fifty years.
What was he to do? The other and possibly riskier option was to call her bluff. Go ahead with the list and see how long it took until Naomi finally came to heel. She might have her pride, but he was certain that she wanted to be his wife.
Yes. That’s what I will do. Make her be the one who does the groveling.
He could just picture how that would look. She would be in tears, pleading her case. Begging him to marry her. Confessing her love. Giving him what he wanted.
Offering up those sweet rosy lips for my hungry kisses.
That was a much more attractive solution.
Monsale was a man who had lived his entire life managing threats and solving problems. There were few perils he hadn’t already faced and conquered. Getting Lady Naomi Steele in front of a priest shouldn’t be too difficult. And the wedding vows did include her having to promise to obey.
She just has to be made to see sense.
A sly grin crept across his lips. He still had one perfect weapon at his disposal.
Jealousy. He intended to fully exploit it.