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Well, he didn’t look so superior now. What he looked was miserable.
And ridiculously handsome, his sandy brown hair tousled, his cravat askew. A blue bruise decorated his jaw. And there were his eyes—that startling golden brown. He could well have been a large predator, so intent was his gaze on her. She could have been his prey, so much did she want to give in to him.
“Ned,” Jenny said. “Ned is responsible for this. I will shake him.”
He winced. “I convinced Ned to give me one last chance. I know you won’t give me one—you have every reason to despise me. But—listen—just—” He broke off and fumbled in his pockets. He pulled out a sheet of crinkled paper and handed it to her. “There.”
Jenny smoothed out the crumpled wad. “What is this?”
“Title,” he said, “to what’s inside the barn.”
“I already told you, you can’t buy me.”
His eyes raised to hers. “I know,” he said softly. “There isn’t enough money in all the world. But I’m begging you to let me—let me—” He scowled and scuffed his feet.
Jenny’s stomach turned over very slowly. Her toes curled inside her slippers.
“Just go inside,” he whispered.
She crossed the cropped grass and pulled open the heavy door. It creaked and sent a cloud of dust, woody with a hint of mold, whooshing around her. When she stepped inside, the temperature of the air dropped ten degrees. The familiar odor of clean hay met her. But there was a smell unlike anything she’d ever experienced. A whiff of acidity touched her nose, followed by a sweet, warm scent. Lions?
No.
There were no heavy iron cages. But nor was the barn divided into efficient cow-size rectangles. Instead, all the barn was open; one giant hayrick lay in the middle. And there, next to that golden pile, placidly munching hay, it stood.
Large and gray. Floppy ears wiggled in languid pleasure, as its trunk leisurely brought another bite of hay into its ivory-tusked mouth. It rolled its eyes when Jenny entered, but made no further movements.
Jenny was shocked into silence. Gareth came up behind her. Her heart was racing, a faint pitter-patter.
“What,” Jenny asked steadily, “am I going to do with an elephant?”
“I don’t know,” said Gareth. “What are you planning to do with all my points?”
Points? It took Jenny a moment to remember what he was talking about. Points, when he smiled. She turned around slowly and put her hands on her hips.
“Your points? Those are my points. I earned them. You can’t have them.”
Gareth scowled and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Bollocks. I had to smile very hard for every single one of them. And if you don’t take this elephant and marry me, I swear to God you’ll never get another point again.”
Jenny’s world froze. Outside, she could hear the clear voice of a blackbird singing. It was overwhelmed by the ringing in her ears. She turned to Gareth slowly.
“What did you say?”
“I said, you’ll never earn another point again. I haven’t smiled since you left me, and I miss it.” He kicked at the ground, his eyes tracing the dust. “I miss you.”
“No, before that.”
“Take this elephant—”
“After.”
He looked up. That feral light shone in his eyes again, but this time the wild look was a plea. A lion yearning to be freed from its cage. “Take me.” His voice was thick and husky. “Please. Jenny. I’m begging you.”
She didn’t know what to say in answer. He’d shocked the words right out of her skin. She could only stare, as some frozen expanse inside her tingled to life. It hurt to want.
“I can’t take this elephant,” she said, focusing on the one part of what he’d said that she could understand. “Do you know how miserable this poor beast will be in winter? This is cruel.”
“She’s African,” Gareth said disjointedly. “From the bush. I was thinking maybe she could go back.”
“Back? Back where? Back how?”
“Back to Southern Africa. Perhaps this winter. The trip might take six months.” His voice took on a wistful quality. “I’ve always wanted to go. It’s supposed to be a lovely place. Especially for someone with theories on bird migration…” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “But.”
“But surely Lord Blakely could not abandon his estates for so long.”
“No. Lord Blakely could not. Not unless he had someone he could trust to run his estates in his absence. And Lord Blakely…Well, Lord Blakely did not trust anyone.”
“Lord Blakely is talking about himself in the third person, past tense,” Jenny said. “It’s disturbing.”
“Then let me switch to the first person plural. What Lord Blakely could not do, we can. I would not trust anyone else to manage my estates, not for the shortest space of time, because I thought I was better than everyone else. I was wrong. You see, Jenny, I need you. I need someone who will see the strength buried deep in the hearts of men. Someone who can tap into that strength. I need someone who can look at a man and move him to become more. I can’t do it alone.”
Jenny looked at the elephant. No thinking man would ever have purchased an elephant as a wedding gift. And yet there it stood. It flicked an ear at the two of them—likely elephant language for, go on, this dramatic performance is quite interesting.
There was only one possible conclusion. Gareth had stopped thinking. For the first time in a week, Jenny allowed herself to hope. Really hope. She reached out and brushed his cheek. It was stubbly beneath her fingers. God knows when last he’d shaved. Probably before he’d obtained that bruise.
“Gareth.”
“I haven’t arrived at second person yet,” he said quietly. “You. You. Always you. I love you, Jenny. When you left me, all the warmth went out of my world. When I said those horrible things, I didn’t realize then how much I needed you—how superior you were to me.”
Jenny’s heart gave a little flip.
“This entire country suffocated me, cold and dreary and monochromatic. Then I met you. And you spread color everywhere I looked—in every aspect of my life. You put texture in a flat world. Before I knew you, I despaired of ever seeing Brazil again. I can’t think of a single reason why you should stay with me, but you’re a great deal cleverer than I, and I’m hoping you can imagine something.”
Gareth set his gloved hands on her shoulders. His golden-warm eyes were covered with a sheen that looked suspiciously like moisture. Inches from his face, she could see reddish veins throughout his cornea. The haphazard stubble on his cheeks stood out, darker brown than his hair.
“Gareth,” Jenny asked, “when was the last time you slept?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“And you call yourself a rational man.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, his fingers on her shoulders tightened their grasp just the smallest fraction.
“I can give you one thing,” he said huskily. “One thing besides myself, that is. Nobody will ever look down on you again. Not with my title, nor with my protection. My grandfather taught me to fend off those sorts of attacks. Let me put them in your service now. Let me stand beside you.”
It was in that moment that Jenny realized he would not abandon her. Not ever.
“Gareth,” Jenny said imperiously, “give me your hand.”
He froze, his head half-turned away. “What?”
She didn’t bother to repeat the question. Instead, she took his wrist and stripped off the riding glove. His breath hissed in when her thumb traced the lines of his palm.
“You’re a stubborn man,” she said. “A rational man. You’re excessively proud, damnably responsible and all too awkward.”
He hunched miserably under her analysis. “I can change.”
Jenny peered into his palm. “No.” She dismissed this with a sad shake of her head. “You won’t. Change is not what I’m seeing in the future.”
“I can try.”
&nbs
p; “You won’t change,” Jenny said briskly, “because I love you the way you are.”
