Hedley had never slept better in her life. For the first time in years, she had a feather pillow and mattress—both as soft as clouds—instead of rough, lumpy straw that made crunching sounds each time she shifted.
Heavy blue satin bedclothes trimmed in white fur had kept her warm all through the night. This morning before dawn, a maid had even entered her room to light a fire in the hearth and sweep out the old ash. Hedley had thanked her, which ended up startling the maid because, apparently, people usually slept while she went about her work.
Hedley felt safe here at Fallow Hall and comforted by the lack of groaning and creaking coming from the walls surrounding her. Sometimes, she feared that Greyson Park would collapse on her.
Calliope’s chambermaid had found more clothes in the attic. Apparently, another crate hosted scores of day dresses, underclothes, shoes, and hatboxes. One of the dresses was a walking dress. Although more than a decade out of fashion, as Meg had told her, Hedley couldn’t wait to see what it looked like.
Throwing back the covers, she raced across the room and washed. Donning this design of dress took her quite a bit longer than she imagined. In the end, however, she enjoyed the fit.
The bright plum-colored muslin hugged her torso in a way that might have been scandalous if not for the short velvet-trimmed jacket that hosted two rows of buttons. At her waist, the dress fell in thick pleats down to the floor. There was even a pair of half boots. Of course, these too pinched a bit, reminding her that these clothes weren’t truly hers. But when she saw her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t mind at all.
This was all such a wonderful dream that she never wanted to wake from it.
Outside her bedroom door, she was surprised to find Boris, sprawled out and looking like a spilled vat of lumpy gray gravy. Lifting his head, he yawned before assembling himself into a standing position.
“Were you my guardian last night?” She reached out to run a hand from the top of his head down the length of his spine, earning a tail wag. “I don’t suppose anyone else is awake this morning.”
Boris’s tail wagged faster. He looked at her with his head tilted to one side. Then, as if he’d understood, he headed down the hall for a time before he looked back over his shoulder.
“Do you want me to follow you?”
She received a low woof in reply. So, with nothing better to do, she followed.
After a series of long halls adorned by polished tables topped with fresh flowers, beautiful landscape paintings on the walls, and even a statue or two, Boris suddenly stopped in front of a door.
Hedley knew enough from her tour of Fallow Hall to realize that this was a bedchamber door. “No, Boris, you shouldn’t have brought me here,” she scolded in a whisper.
But before she could lure him away, the dog lifted a massive paw and scratched the door.
Hedley reached down and took his paw in her hand. “I didn’t expect you to wake someone.”
Was she actually having a conversation with a dog? Perhaps she was mad after all. Yet just as she turned to slip away unnoticed, the door opened.
“Boris, is that—” Rafe Danvers appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing more than a pair of perfectly snug buff breeches. Perfectly . . . she swallowed . . . snug.
For an instant, they both simply stared at each other—lips parted, breathing halted, squishy pwum-pum-pum heartbeat. At least, on her part. She didn’t know about Rafe, but he didn’t appear to be breathing either.
Even though she knew it was rude to stand there, she couldn’t move. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Her eyes moved. Several times, in fact. At first, it was nothing more than a glance. And then a more lingering perusal.
Rafe Danvers was magnificent.
“You have hair on your chest,” she said, the words tumbling out unheeded. Short, dark curled hairs dusted the defined muscles of his chest and down the ridges of his abdomen, disappearing beneath the waist of his breeches. She wondered if the hair continued. Then, as her gaze slid down to the heavy fall of his breeches and past those thickly muscled thighs, she saw that the bottom half of his legs and even the tops of his feet were dusted with dark hair too.
Why the sight of it caused her stomach to dip and her body to heat, she wasn’t certain. But she didn’t mind at all.
Lifting her gaze, she took in the sight of his arms, the breadth of his shoulders, the tight cording of his neck, and prominence of his Adam’s apple. Hedley knew, from this point forward, she would never be able to look at Rafe without imagining him just . . . like . . . this.
She let out a slow, appreciative breath. Her palms grew damp and suddenly, she wanted to unbutton her jacket in order to breathe easier.
The cording of Rafe’s neck tightened as his Adam’s apple shifted. “Have you come to my door to barter yourself for Greyson Park?”
The gruff sound of his voice cut through the thick fog in her mind. Yet his words didn’t make sense.
“I already hold Greyson Park. It would make more sense for you to barter yourself.” Suddenly, she realized what she’d said. With a start, her gaze flew to his. She covered her mouth with her hand. “I did not mean to suggest that . . . I don’t even know why I’m here . . . Forgive me.”
And then, Hedley was even more thankful for the extra fabric of the walking dress, because she picked up her skirts, turned, and ran.
A quarter hour later, Rafe found Hedley in the music room. Sitting at the piano bench, she stared blankly down at the keys. The image of her admiring every inch of his form was burned into his mind. He wondered if the image of his body was burned into hers.
He doubted he would ever forget the heat and hunger he’d witnessed in her eyes. They’d turned dark, like indigo cloth. In that moment, he would have willingly—foolishly—taken her over the promise of Greyson Park. Then he would have regretted it for the rest of his days.
Thankfully, she’d run away and saved them both.
“I am appalled by what I said to you,” she whispered, apparently having noticed him after all.
He stepped into the room. “But not appalled by how you stood there, imagining me undressed?”
Her head snapped up as she glared at him. “You were already undressed.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
Carnation pink flooded her cheeks and she pursed those lips. “I am unwilling to bargain for Greyson Park, no matter the currency.”
“Pity.” He grinned and let his gaze wander over her form—what little he could see of it from her position behind the piano.
She straightened and pressed a hand over the buttons of her jacket, as if to protect them from his perusal. “Do you expect recompense?”
“No,” he said, though pure carnal desire made him amend his answer. “Not at the moment, at least.”
Her eyes grew wider as he stepped closer. “I was not offering.”
He sat beside her and put the topic aside for now. In order to keep his hands occupied, he played a simple tune that he’d first learned as a child. Or at least, it had been simple when he was a child. Now, his fingers trolled awkwardly over the keys, and he wished he hadn’t played at all.
“As you can see, I do not have Montwood’s innate ability to string notes together into a harmonious melody.”
“He is rather skilled,” she remarked.
Her blunt statement kindled a spark of jealousy within him. It was ludicrous to keep feeling this way when having her admire Montwood suited his own primary goal. “Perhaps you would care to try.”
Her fingers floated reverently over the surface of the keys. “I wouldn’t want to spoil it.” She whispered the words so softly that he almost didn’t hear them.
“Montwood bangs away on these keys day and night. I hardly think—” The rest of what he was going to say died abruptly when he saw her stark expression. She actually believed what she’d said. “You’re serious? No. That is utter nonsense.”
He shook his head and took hold of her hands. For an instant, he forgot his purpose. The feel of her bare flesh against his distracted him. Her skin was soft and cool but marked with tiny abrasions. He rubbed his thumb over the nearly healed scratch on her middle finger. Then tenderly, over another that marked her knuckles. Her palms began to heat as his fingertips caressed the barest of calluses. Placing her hands beneath his, he pressed down on the keys and made a harsh, discordant noise.
Hedley cringed.
“There. Nothing spoiled,” he said, lifting away his hands.
Looking down, she touched the keys, but barely. Her slender fingers mostly hovered over the ivory. Her breasts rose and fell in quick shallow breaths, as if she felt like a thief, afraid of being caught. “You don’t think he would mind?”
“Not at all.” Rafe was arrested by the sight of her. Had he once regarded her face as odd? Impossible. Especially now, with her eyes so bright and eager that it made him ache. The air around her hummed, and those copper strands in her hair seemed to possess their own light. Her world was fresh and new, every moment a first step. A first glance. A first touch. A first kiss . . .
A heady, drunken feeling arose inside him, making him dizzy and begging to be part of each one of her firsts.
“All right then.” She spread her fingers, each touching a different key. Starting with the little finger on her left hand, she pressed down, one note at a time. When she ended with the little finger on her right hand, she drew in a quick breath and faced him.
“That was . . . ” Her smile seemed to make her words evaporate.
“Lovely,” he supplied. “Now, try it again.”
She did. And then she repeated the motion in the opposite direction. “Oh, listen. These were the notes his melody started with. Do you remember?” She played three notes, two from her left hand and one from her right.
Distracted, Rafe found himself nodding. Were those the same notes? “Surely you couldn’t have remembered the first three notes after hearing the melody played only once.”
“It went like this.” She pressed her lips together and hummed a perfect representation of the cotillion that Montwood had played the night before.
The flesh of his brow furrowed. “How are you doing that?”
“I’ve always been fond of music.” She smiled and found a fourth and fifth note among the keys. “I used to hide behind the tapestry that concealed the servants’ hallway and listen to Ursa’s piano tutor for hours.”
Ursa’s piano tutor but not hers, he thought. A familiar rush of anger aimed at Hedley’s family filled him. She’d been kept a secret from the outside world and all because of a tragedy that had caused her to fear carriages. He could only imagine how accomplished she could have become with the right instruction. And yet . . .
If she’d had a different life, then he wouldn’t have had the pleasure of seeing her in this beautiful, unguarded moment. His utter enjoyment of watching her clashed with his complete loathing for her family. The feelings within him were as harsh and discordant as that first press of the keys had been.
He felt a keen separation in his thoughts. There was Hedley. And then there was her family.
He didn’t see her as the enemy, but she was still an obstacle in his path to getting what he wanted. He couldn’t risk losing Greyson Park when he was so close to achieving his goal. “Montwood would be an excellent piano tutor for you.” He bit back the bile that collected at the back of his throat.
“I wouldn’t want to impose. People have taken too much from him already.” She shook her head. Humming softly, she somehow managed to find the next note and then beamed. “I never knew it would be this easy.”
“It isn’t.” He laughed, trying to ignore the fresh wave of jealousy that rushed through him when she’d come to Montwood’s defense. Surely they couldn’t have formed an attachment already. “Otherwise, I would be able to play. Instead, all I do is whistle.”
Her attention on the piano ceased and she angled toward him, her knee brushing his. But she didn’t seem to notice—or mind—because she didn’t pull away. “I’ve heard you, and I’ve heard the servants whistle before, but I could never understand how it was done. Show me.”
“Demanding bit of baggage,” he teased, shaking his head. “It isn’t something you learn from watching. It is something you learn from practicing.”
She huffed. “I have practiced, but only air comes out, and I sound like a leaky window in a storm.”
Because he saw how earnest she was, he tried not to laugh. He wasn’t entirely successful. Holding up a finger, he said, “Now imagine this holds a candle flame you wish to blow out.”
He realized in the next moment that this was a terrible idea.
She puckered those lips and blew on the tip of his finger. A swift jolt of arousal tore through him.
“Like that?”
Yes. I like that very, very much. He cleared his throat and shifted on the bench. His hand grazed one of the folds of her skirt, directly above her knee. He tried not to linger, but the contact made him abruptly aware of the soft muslin of her dress. He’d noticed earlier how it matched the color of her lips. Those temptingly sweet lips . . .
Hedley looked down at his hand and then met his gaze. “As you know, I’ve had no experience with societal rules. Right now, you have that same look about you that you had last night when I expressed a desire to try a cheroot. It makes me wonder if I’m doing something improper.”
“You shouldn’t sit so close to me,” he warned, though still unable to draw his hand away.
She searched his gaze. “I sat this closely to Montwood last night, yet he did not rest his hand on my knee or look at me the way you are looking at me now.”
Her unguarded honesty was going to kill him. It was only fair that he give her some of his own. “Because I’m a scoundrel, Hedley. I cannot be trusted to do the correct thing. Not where you’re concerned.”
“You are leaving proper conduct up to me?” She frowned. “Essentially, you’re saying that I—or any young woman in society—is expected to draw back, even when everything inside of her is telling her not to. I don’t understand. Why am I meant to ignore the fact that I like the feel of your hand on my knee?”
He cleared his throat and withdrew his errant hand. “I still plan to take Greyson Park.”
“I still won’t let you.”
Neither of their threats came out with any vehemence. Instead, the words were hushed, like whispered vows.
“One battle at a time, sweeting.” Rafe exhaled and gripped the side of the bench when he caught himself leaning toward her. This was killing him. “Now, place the tip of your tongue between your teeth, just behind your lips, and then try to blow out this candle.”
Her sweet breath brushed over the tip of his finger once more, but no whistle came forth. Her brow furrowed in frustration. She raked her teeth over her top lip in a way that made him salivate. “I need to see you do it.”
He’d like to tell her what he needed, but it was probably wiser to whistle instead. He decided on the cotillion, adding his own trilling notes. Again, he earned one of her radiant smiles, and it warmed him far more than it should have done.
“Ah, I see. You whistle like you kiss. Your lips form a pout while your tongue lies in wait. It’s much easier to understand now.” She studied his mouth. Her lids blinked drowsily. A soft blush colored her cheeks. “But perhaps, a young woman in society should not make such a reference.”
“Perhaps not.”
Hedley licked her lips. “Even though we are at war, do you think we could—”
A throat cleared in the doorway.
Damn. Now, those words were bound to haunt him for the remainder of the day. “Do you think we could . . . ” continue the whistling lesson in your bedchamber? Study breathing techniques by removing all of our clothes? Yes. We could. Absolutely. For hours.
“Forgive me. Am I interrupting a lesson?”
With a low growl, Rafe looked over his shoulder to see Montwood lift his dark eyebrows in curiosity. Then, the blackguard strolled into the room, clearly glad to interrupt.
“Rafe was teaching me how to whistle,” Hedley said as innocently as if she truly believed that was all he was doing.
By the skeptical quirk of his mouth, Montwood knew better. “I’ll bet.”
Rafe stood, stepping behind Hedley to the opposite side of the piano in order to hide the evidence of the aroused state she’d put him in.
“Do you think we could . . . ”
Making an attempting of appearing unflustered, he gestured with a wave of his hand to the empty place on the bench beside her. “She’d never before played the piano until this morning and ended up revealing a natural affinity for music. Do you know that she hummed the music you played last night, note for note, after only hearing it once?”
Whatever mockery Montwood had planned for Rafe disappeared as his blatant interest alighted on Hedley. “This I would like to hear.”
She pulled her upper lip between her teeth, not realizing what it did to Rafe. Then without waiting longer than a deep breath, she played those first notes again.
Montwood became enthralled by Hedley, quickly guiding her to the next notes.
Rafe could only stand there for so long, watching his friend’s appreciation for Hedley grow. The satisfaction he’d anticipated was absent. In the end, however, he knew it would come to him.
As he left the room, Rafe reminded himself once again that this was what he wanted.
Hedley spent the next two hours beside Montwood, learning the piano. He never once laid his hand on her knee. Nor did she want him to. She didn’t feel an overwhelming need to be as close as possible as she had with Rafe. Then again, she didn’t feel uncomfortable near Montwood or repelled by him either. He emitted a pleasant sort of warmth but not one that she wanted to wrap around her. Yet she did feel as if they’d known each other for much longer than a single day.
“Your thoughts are no longer on the music,” Montwood said, facing her. “Ruminating over Danvers?”
Her shoulders were starting to stiffen from the position she held, and she lowered her hands in her lap. “No, actually I was thinking about how strange it is to feel as if I already know you.”
“I feel it, too. You’re . . . familiar to me.” He nodded sagely, continuing to play.
She attempted to mimic the quick work of his ring finger to the black key.
Noticing her struggle, he lifted his hand to the top of the piano and spread his fingers wide. Then, one by one, he lifted each finger. “This is a good exercise to practice wherever you are.”
She pressed her hands to the top and mimicked him. Or tried to. She could barely lift her ring finger. Never before had she noticed how little strength that finger possessed. It was as if an unseen weight pressed down on it. Concentrating, she managed an almost imperceptible jump and found herself breathing heavily from the effort.
“Ah, there you are, Hedley,” Calliope said from the doorway, arm in arm with her husband. The pair of them possessed a rosy glow and bright eyes, as if both were suffering the same affliction.
Hedley wondered if that was what love felt like—an illness that one doesn’t mind catching. After all, both Calliope and Everhart appeared to endure it quite well. Thinking of Rafe, she wondered if the contagion was already inside her.
“Good morning. Montwood was just now teaching me the piano.” She played a few notes of a melody that her tutor had deemed rudimentary but which she’d found rather charming.
Calliope gasped. “That is delightful. I didn’t know you played.”
“Neither did I.” Hedley beamed with untapped pleasure.
“Our new friend had this locked inside, and all the while none of us even knew. Not even her.” Montwood’s expression darkened for a single instant before he masked it with a charming smile.
Quite abruptly, Hedley’s borrowed boots gave her feet a little pinch. A reminder that she didn’t truly fit in with her new friends. They’d all had full lives up until this point, while she was stumbling around like a newborn foal.
“I find that the later the talent is discovered and developed, the higher chance of success,” Everhart said in the easy manner he possessed. There wasn’t an ounce of pity in either his expression or his tone. And for that, Hedley was immensely grateful.
“And what latent talent have you discovered?” Montwood asked with a cheeky grin. “An affinity for making wagers and then losing them in record time?”
Everhart bit down on a smile, flashing his teeth.
“He has an affinity for being the best husband on earth,” Calliope offered, a wealth of pride ringing in her tone. “Far better than you lot will ever be.”
Montwood tsked as he lifted his hand, his index finger ticking back and forth like a metronome. “You cannot issue a new wager until the old one has concluded. And in a year’s time, the only one you’ll have to wager with will be Danvers, because I will be the sole winner.”
“Au contraire, my friend,” Everhart interrupted, gazing down adoringly at Calliope. “Thus far, I am the sole winner.”
Calliope slipped her arms around Everhart’s waist, lifting up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, my love, for proving my point.”
“What was the wager you won?” Hedley asked Everhart. Absently, she recalled Calliope mentioning something last evening about a wager between the gentlemen, but they were distracted before she could finish.
“It was a wager between three bachelors who’d vowed never to marry,” Montwood answered instead. “And quite obviously, Everhart lost.”
Calliope narrowed her eyes, but teasingly, at Montwood.
Hedley frowned, thinking about how this very house had changed hands. “I hope you are not saying that you forced a marriage upon Everhart and Calliope solely to win a wager.”
“Sadly, I cannot take credit.” Montwood dramatized a sigh. “The truth is, Everhart tightened his own noose willingly, and rather quickly, too.”
“Which leaves only you and Danvers, pitted against one another,” Everhart said with a grin.
Hedley looked from one man to the other, dread pressing on her as if she were beneath the piano instead of beside it.
“Everhart wants to ensure we are all married by year’s end so he won’t have to pay out ten thousand pounds,” Montwood explained, studying her carefully, as if he was waiting for her understanding. “Of course, Danvers and I are plotting against each other as well, which will leave a single victor all the spoils.”
Hedley caught on too quickly. “Pitted against each other. That means Rafe is attempting to marry you off . . . ” To me, she thought but couldn’t say the words aloud. A sharp stab of anger and hurt pierced her. She was being used.
“If it’s any consolation, he has chosen his bait quite well,” Montwood said, his voice quiet and sincere.
Hedley rose from the piano bench.
She met Calliope’s distressed gaze. “I’m certain Montwood is wrong,” her friend said. “I’m sorry Montwood, but I don’t believe Danvers is capable of such a scheme. He wouldn’t use Hedley that way.”
Montwood didn’t reply. Both he, and now Hedley, knew better.
“Mr. Danvers has already declared that he would do anything to secure Greyson Park,” Hedley offered, her voice surprisingly calm. Especially when she felt capable of murder at the moment. “Where do you suppose I might find him?”
Rafe watched Frit roaming the meadow beyond the stable yard and felt a pang of envy. His horse had a simple existence. The stallion’s day consisted of life’s basic pleasures—food, a clean stall, exercise, and a rubdown. He wasn’t forcing himself to stay out of doors in order for a ludicrous plot to form. He didn’t have this raw, twisted knot in his stomach at the thought of Montwood and Hedley together. He wasn’t plagued by jealousy. No, Frit was simply happy to nibble on new grass shoots.
Then again, if Frit’s stall were next to a wide-eyed mare that had turned his world completely upside down, he wouldn’t be out in the meadow, leaving Montwood’s stallion, Quicksilver, alone with her.
Rafe blew out a frustrated breath. Marrying Hedley off to Montwood was the perfect plan. Wasn’t it?
And Montwood already seemed taken with her, and she him.
Damn it all.
Rafe pushed away from the tree, whistled for Frit, and walked toward the stables, knowing his horse would follow.
Rounding the corner, he never expected to see Hedley coming straight for him. Instantly, he held out his hand. “Hedley, stop.” It was a harsh command but one meant to protect her.
Looking over his shoulder and past a hedgerow, he saw Frit trotting across the meadow. Quickly, he whistled the halt command. However, since he’d never made such an order without being on Frit’s back, he wasn’t certain the horse would understand.
“You warned me time and again, Rafe Danvers.” Paying no heed, Hedley strode forward, her hands balled into fists, her teeth clenched. “But I never once imagined that you would use me as the coin to purchase Greyson Park.”
Rafe shook his head and extended his arms, palms facing her. “Now isn’t the time for this—”
“If you want Montwood to marry in order for you to win your wager, then you will have to look for another convenient neighbor.”
“Hedley, stop—”
“No. You will not stop me. I’m tired of being invisible. All my life I have been nothing.” She stood toe-to-toe with him, hurt and anger flashing in her eyes. “Does my existence mean so little to you? In the end, when your plot doesn’t work, will you try to lock me away as well?”
He recoiled. “You’re comparing me to your family?”
“Right now there is little difference. You act as if I mean nothing to you.”
“I have been honest—”
She scoffed and threw her hands in the air.
“All right, not entirely honest,” he amended. “But I was up front about my pursuit of Greyson Park from the beginning.”
Hedley opened her mouth to respond and then suddenly went silent. Her eyes rounded in terror. The color drained from her cheeks, and her lips parted.
Rafe reached for her automatically, taking her by the shoulders. “Look at me, Hedley.” Then, when she didn’t respond, he tried again. “Sweeting, look at me. Yes. That’s right. Only me. Keep your eyes on mine. Good.”
Beneath his hands, her body trembled. She emitted no heat, and she wasn’t breathing.
“It’s only Frit. You’ve met him before. You know he won’t hurt you. He’s trained by the sound of my whistle, remember?”
She kept her gaze locked on his, and it seemed to take an eternity for his words to filter through. But when they did, her head moved in an almost imperceptible nod.
“Take a breath, sweeting.”
She did.
He took a breath too. “Good. You’re doing splendidly. Now, lift your hands and place them on my chest. I’m going to pull you closer to warm you.”
The rhythmic plod of Frit’s slow gait came closer.
“Rafe . . . ” she rasped.
“Just keep looking at me. I won’t let anything happen.” When he wasn’t met with a look of reassurance, he thought of an idea. “I’ll prove it. Frit knows a special trick. When I whistle, he’ll kneel down on one foreleg and bow to you.”
Without delay, he whistled. From the corner of his eye, he saw Frit’s head dip and heard him whicker with pride. “See? He listens quite well.”
For an instant, she nodded and started to relax. But then Frit stood and drew closer, nudging Rafe’s shoulder.
“What is he doing? Why is he coming closer?”
Damn. Rafe had forgotten the apple. But his horse had not. “I have an apple in my pocket, and he knows he deserves a treat for listening to my commands. All I need to do is reach inside and—”
She shook her head. “Don’t let go of me, Rafe.”
“I won’t.” He pulled her closer. He would pull her inside of him and keep her safe for the rest of her days if he could. “If you reach into my pocket, you can simply drop it, and then Frit will roam over to the stables to find a drink of water.”
Slowly, she lowered her hands from his chest and moved them down until she found the fruit in the pocket of his coat. Unfortunately, Frit had found it as well. Eager for his treat, he dipped his head to take it from her hand.
Hedley jerked her hand away, pulling it back within the protected space between them. The apple was still in her grasp.
Before Rafe could warn her that Frit was no fool when it came to apples, his horse lifted his head and pressed his nose to the top of Rafe’s shoulder.
In an unexpected display of bravery, Hedley lifted her shaking hand. Eyes still locked on Rafe’s, she stammered, “H-here i-i-is your-r-r apple.”
Frit wasted no time and snatched it up. But before he left, he then pressed his nose against Hedley’s hand and snuffed her affectionately.
She glanced down to her hand, eyes wide, as if to make sure it was still attached. As Rafe had promised, Frit wandered away in search of water. And Hedley relaxed beneath his hands.
“There now. You were absolutely marvelous.” Rafe had never known such pride or relief. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close and spun her in a circle. “You fed Frit an apple. Unbelievable! You know what this means, don’t you. You did it, Hedley. You’ve met your fear head on.”
“I fed a horse an apple,” she said in apparent disbelief. Then, she blinked and her pupils widened. “I fed a horse an apple.”
“I know,” he said on a breath, so damn happy that he didn’t know what to do with himself. So he spun her around once more. “You’ll have a friend for life now. Frit gave you his approval.”
“His nose was wet. He touched my hand with his nose.” Gradually, her stunned expression transformed into a smile.
Rafe’s heart pounded in a peculiar manner. It seemed to turn to jelly, all squishy and quivering. Words were lost on him as he stared down into her face. His reflection in her eyes was upside down. And that was exactly how he felt.
Hedley tilted her head, studying him closely. “Something is different in your gaze.”
He stilled. “You are mistaken.”
Her hands spread over his chest, no doubt detecting the odd cadence from within. She was too perceptive by half. “You say there is nothing between us. Nothing more than Greyson Park. Not when you kissed me. Not when you held me. Not even now. Does this truly feel like nothing?”
“There is desire,” he answered, giving her a portion of honesty. “I find you desirable. Your guilelessness is the most powerful aphrodisiac I’ve ever encountered. And what you feel for me is nothing more than the same. I am merely the first man you’ve responded to—there will be others. Someday, you may marry one of them.”
Her soft laugh caressed his lips, tempting him. “I’ve spent all my life watching people from a distance, studying the language of their expressions and actions. There is something between us, Rafe, whether you admit it or not. I can feel it vibrating beneath your skin. I can see it in your gaze.”
“Whatever we have is fleeting.” And to cement the point, he dropped his arms from her and took a step back. Yet already he ached to hold her again. Even with this small separation, his skin, his muscles, and his bones all throbbed in near agony.
She drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Then I am glad. I would not want either of us to feel this way forever.”
Then she turned on her heel and left.