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He’d come to Stanton with every expectation that he’d be turned away. Still, Terric’s words had refused to leave him. If he didn’t try, he’d regret it always. And so he’d come. He’d been pleasantly surprised when he was granted an audience with both lord and lady. Lady Stanton appeared the very picture of health compared with the woman whose sickbed he’d visited.
He’d delivered his case to the couple, Lady Stanton had whispered something in her husband’s ear, and a moment later, the earl had nodded at him. “A man who risks his life for justice, be he a great lord or tradesman, is worthy of my daughter.”
Another whispered word from wife to husband.
“You will, of course, need her permission.”
“Of course,” he’d said, thanking the earl. And his wife, the person truly responsible for such a miraculous decision.
He’d left the meeting full of hope for the future, but later that eve, when he’d stood outside the earl’s door, waiting for Idalia to possibly denounce him, he’d realized his work was not done.
He would secure her good opinion again if it was the last thing he did.
Cursing again as he reached her chamber door—at least he hoped it was her chamber door, although Leana’s instructions had been quite thorough—he knocked softly.
Idalia opened her door almost immediately, indicating sleep had not come quickly for her either. His eyes inadvertently slipped down to her nightclothes, a simple cream chemise.
“I’ve never seen your hair braided before.”
“You’ve never visited my bedchamber before.”
Certainly not.
“May I come in?”
If he was caught here in the hall, it would not endear him to the earl.
When she opened it wide for him to enter, Lance did not take the gesture for granted. He intended to tell her everything he’d kept from her, including every single feeling he’d held back.
“Idalia, I’ve so much to tell you,” he said as he stepped inside.
She closed the door behind him.
“I would prefer you did not.”
His chest constricted.
“You hate me. Understandably.”
“Hate you? Nay, I could never hate you.” Her laughter, so genuine and spontaneous, surprised him. “But you misunderstand me. I’d rather you not tell me how you feel . . .”
She bit the side of her lip, a gesture that shot straight down to his cock, but Lance didn’t allow himself to interpret the gesture—and the leading remark—as he’d like.
“I’d prefer it if you showed me.”
He sucked in a breath. “Idalia,” he ground out. “I did not come here with the intent to seduce you.”
True enough, but she was making it difficult not to do so. When she looked at him that way . . .
“Pity.”
Idalia turned and walked toward the hearth, stooping to put another piece of wood in the flames.
He stood at the door, mouth open, more surprised than when her father had agreed to allow him to court her.
Who was this woman?
Certainly not the one who had so tentatively touched her lips to his that first time.
