Too Tempting to Resist

by Cara Elliott

  Gryff felt his heart lurch and kick up against his ribs. “To go where?” he asked softly.

  “North,” replied Augustina.

  “That covers a rather large area. Might you narrow it down just a bit?”

  “Might I ask why?” she countered. “She left to escape an unprincipled lout and his unwanted legshackle. As for any other manacles…”

  Hoping that his face wasn’t as beet red as it felt, Gryff hastily interrupted. “I repeat, Miss Haverstick, my intentions are honorable.”

  “Hmmph.” She eyed him askance.

  “Just ask her cat.” He spotted Elf flattened beneath the spreading foliage of a rose bush. “He will vouch for my good intentions.”

  Her mouth quirked upward. “Animals do seem to like you. A definite mark in your favor.”

  “Ah, good. That’s a start. I simply need to progress from felines to females.”

  The smile was no longer just a tiny twitch. “You’re making some headway, sir. And if you turn right at the end of High Street and take the road for Birmingham, you might go even faster.”

  He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t make me regret it.”

  “I shall do my best not to.” He turned to go.

  “By the by, what’s that you have under your arm?”

  “A message.” Gryff gazed at the sun-dappled garden. “In case my own words fail me.”

  “Ouch.” Curtaining the small window, Eliza leaned back against the squabs and massaged at her temples, hoping to dispel the growing ache in her head. Like the carriage wheels, her thoughts had been bouncing in a herky-jerky spin for several hours.

  Too much time for introspection was not always a good thing, she mused, trying not to replay her last two encounters with Haddan over and over again in her head. Each time, they seemed to get a little worse.

  At this point, she would welcome any distraction…

  THUMP.

  Something hard and heavy hit the roof, causing the carriage to jolt to a halt.

  Tipping her bonnet back from her eyes, Eliza untangled herself from an inelegant sprawl on the floorboards and climbed back onto the seat. “Barker!” she called to the hired coachman. “What is the trouble?”

  The reply was too jumbled to make out.

  “Drat. It would be just my luck if a falling branch cracked an axle or snapped one of the traces.” Her whole life seemed to be breaking apart like a walnut under a bootheel.

  Whack, whack, whack. She bit back a snuffle of self-pity.

  Whack, whack, whack. The kicks finally popped the doorlatch and a man swung down from the crown of the carriage, his caped coat flapping like great dark wings.

  With a small shriek, she slid to the far end of the seat, fumbling in her reticule for her penknife. “If you are looking for money or jewels, sirrah, you have chosen the wrong coach to rob. I haven’t anything of value to steal.”

  “Well then, I’ll have to demand some other forfeit,” said a low, familiar voice. “How about a helping of walnut shortbread? I know you have a basket tucked away here somewhere, with a batch fresh from the oven.”

  Her stomach did a slow, spiraling somersault. “Oh, this is not funny, Lord Haddan.” Pressing up against the paneling, she tucked her skirts tighter to her legs, trying to avoid them touching his thigh.

  He inched closer. And closer.

  “Th-that’s far enough, sir,” said Eliza haltingly.

  “I’ve been traveling for hours. I could use a bit of refreshment. How about you?”

  Eliza tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Oh, it was like a splash of pure, sparkling champagne to hear his voice, to see his smile. Happiness bubbled through her blood, its giddy effervescence tickling a lick of hope in her chest.

  Don’t. Don’t let fantasy overpower reality, she reminded herself, keeping her face turned to the window to hide her reaction.

  “Actually,” went on Gryff. “I was hoping for something a little more substantial than just shortbread. Like a picnic, complete with a custard tart.”

  Talk of tarts reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since dawn. Suddenly ravenous, she sighed. A short stop for one last little taste of happiness before heading into a bland future was awfully tempting. But…

  “We are in the middle of nowhere, Lord Haddan.” Her wave indicated the endless stretch of woodland and fields outside the glass panes. “A picnic is not going to whisk in on a flying carpet at the snap of your fingers.”

  “No, but it might appear from under the bench of my phaeton.”

  “It might?”

  “Yes, if I rub the magic lamp just so…” He reached up and brushed his fingertips to the brass carriage light. “Yes, I daresay that should do it. But perhaps you should touch it, too, for good luck.” In a soft whisper he added, “Please trust me, Eliza. You will not regret the delay.”

  Her resolve melting, as if a thousand candle flames had leapt to life inside her heart, Eliza lifted her hand. The metal was warm as a sunbeam.

  “Shall I tell your driver to turn around?” asked Gryff.

  “Yes.” She leaned back against the squabs. “B-but only because of the custard tart.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The iron-banded wheels crunching over the stones, the coach swung around. Puffs of dust flew up as the horses broke into a steady trot.

  Eliza picked at the threads of her cuff, listening to the jangle of the brass and the clip-clop of the hooves, uncertain of how to go on.

  Haddan, on the other hand, appeared completely at ease. Then again, he always did. His devil-may-care charm must be a talisman against inner doubts and fears. While I spin in circles, awkward and unsure.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked abruptly.

  “Enjoying the view.” He slanted a sidelong look at her and grinned. “I thought I might write another essay on the beauties of the countryside.”

  The hedgerows danced by, sun and shadow painting the leaves with myriad shades of green. Wildflowers dotted the verge in front of the weathered stone walls, vibrant splashes of color against the rainwashed grays.

  “I’m sure it would be wonderful,” she said softly. “Your writing makes me want to take off my shoes and run through dew-dampened meadows.”

  “I think that’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, I’m sure that the London ladies offer far more polished sentiments than that.”

  “Perhaps I prefer a gem in all its wild, sparkling, natural splendor to a piece of smooth, colorless glass.”

  Eliza blinked a bead of moisture from her lashes. “Your words are seductive, sir. But I am not sure that I should be doing this. Changing directions, that is. You see, I’m returning to some very difficult conundrums with my brother and his cronies—”

  “Actually, you are not,” replied Gryff. The boyish grin gave way to a more serious, sober expression. “Brighton and Pearce have been arrested on charges of theft and fraud, among others. They are no longer a threat to you. As for your brother, he is, as we speak, on his way to India. It is my hope that a few years of firm guidance and hard work will turn him into a man.”

  Shock kept her tongue tied in knots for a moment. “I—I don’t understand,” she finally stammered. “H-how did all this come about?”

  “I took matters into my own hands.” Bracing an arm on the back of the seat, he shifted to face her. “Miss Hawkins has informed me that you’ve been manipulated too much by the men in your life. So I hope that you will forgive me for interfering.”

  “I…” Her emotions were spinning faster than the wheels. “I don’t really know what to say. Except thank you.”

  His smile slowly reappeared. “I’m relieved to hear that I won’t be tied up and tossed onto the first ship bound for Cathay.”

  “Harry on his way to India,” she mused, shaking her head in amazement. “I pray it will do him some good. He wasn’t always such a lout, you know. Growing u
p, he was a sweet, good-natured boy. It was only when he went up to Oxford that he turned ugly.”

  “So you told me once,” replied Gryff. “That’s why I arranged this second chance. He’ll be working for a former comrade-in-arms, a fine fellow who wields a firm hand in molding the character of men under his charge. Harry has a good chance to shape up into a decent fellow.” A pause. “If he sinks into dissipation, that will be his own choice, and it’s better that he is far away, where he won’t do harm to anyone but himself.”

  Eliza thought it over. “Being oceans away, he must learn to sink or swim. But Leete Abbey—”

  “Leete Abbey is in good hands,” said Gryff. “Yours.” He went on to explain the legal arrangements. “With a good steward and prudent decisions, there is no reason the estate can’t soon be restored to its proper glory.”

  “I can’t begin to…to…”

  His finger touched her lips, silencing her stammers. “Let’s not talk about such serious things on an empty stomach.” The coach drew to a halt. “I can’t concentrate on anything when I’m hungry, save for a hamper brimming with rich cheddar, spiced chutney, and creamy custard.”

  Eliza allowed herself to be helped down to the edge of the road. The scent of sun-warmed grass floated in and out of the sunlight as a gentle breeze ruffled through the foliage.

  Gryff waved the coach on its way. “My phaeton is here,” he said, leading the way to a small clearing off a narrow side lane. “Whichever way you choose to go when we are done with our meal, I shall be happy to drive you to your destination.”

  Choices, choices.

  He reached up and took down a large hamper, as well as a package wrapped in heavy brown paper.

  “What’s that?” she asked. “And please don’t say it’s a box of shortbread. I have already gained several pounds since I met you.”

  “Are you saying I’m a bad influence?”

  His tone was teasing but she gave the question serious thought. “You seem to release a wild woodland spirit in me, Lord Haddan. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. All I know is it’s…uncomfortable at times.”

  “New sensations often are,” he replied. “Change can be prickly.”

  She studied his profile as they climbed a low stile and walked through the high fescue. The crystalline country light accentuated the chiseled angles of his features, showing more clearly the subtle texture and shading. “You speak of change, sir, and yet you appear so comfortable in your own skin.”

  “Do I?” He deflected her probing with a quick gesture at a spot halfway up the hillside. “That looks to be the perfect place for a picnic.”

  Quickening her pace to match his stride, Eliza decided not to pursue the matter. “You still haven’t told me what’s in the package.”

  “After we dine,” he murmured, spreading out a blanket and placing the hamper on a low outcropping of rock.

  As if by unspoken agreement, they talked only of trivialities as they ate, the fresh air sharpening the pleasure of the simple tastes, the friendly laughter.

  It was only when the last crumbs of the tart had been consumed that Gryff leaned back on his elbows and let out a long, contented sigh. “You asked earlier about change, Lady Brentford.”

  His gaze drifted over a stand of leafy oak and beech trees to the distant meadow filled with grazing sheep. “Look all around—there is constant change in nature. It is part of the great, glorious cycle of life, and in writing this book of essays about landscape, I have discovered that I greatly miss that elemental connection to the earth. So yes, I am making a change. I plan very soon to return to my family estate and, well, roll up my sleeves and feel the dirt between my fingers.”

  “You won’t miss the glittering ballrooms, the fancy soirees?” Eliza hesitated, then added, “The beautiful ladies, the seductive flirtations?”

  “I think I’ve experienced enough of those things to last a lifetime,” he murmured. “One tires of the cloying scent of heavy perfumes, whereas the subtle scent of wildflowers…” He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Never ceases to delight.”

  “Mmmm.” Eliza twined her fingers in a twist of clover. Simple pleasures had always resonated with her. “I think I understand what you mean.”

  “Yes, I know you do,” replied Gryff. “You have labored long and hard to preserve the essence of the Abbey—it’s your love and your spirit that have kept it alive.” His tone turned oddly tentative. “Have you never wanted a place where you could build something for yourself, and watch it grow?”

  “I plan to buy a cottage,” she answered. “In the Lake District, with views of the rugged hills and the setting sun painting the water with a palette of pinks and mauves.”

  “I was thinking of something rather larger than a cottage and a backyard garden.”

  Eliza watched a hawk soaring in slow, silent circles high in the sky, and for an instant the rhythmic motion made her a little dizzy. How effortlessly it floated through life, light as a feather.

  “You can see hills from Haddan Hall,” went on Gryff softly. “The sun sets over a lovely little lake behind the main manor house, setting it aglow with the fire of twilight. There is a small island in its center, with a Greek folly made of pale marble. The stone gleams as if lit from within. Sometimes I like to sit there and think up stories of ancient heroes and mythical beasts.”

  “You have a lovely imagination, Lord Haddan.”

  “So do you.” He paused for a moment to pluck a blade of long meadowgrass and hold it between his teeth.

  Closing her eyes, Eliza let the sun’s bright rays dip and dance over her face. “I shall probably have a hundred new spots tomorrow,” she mused aloud, feeling her skin soak in the tantalizing warmth. “I ought to feel horrible about it, but I don’t.” A hairpin had slipped, and a curl had escaped to tickle her cheek. “In fact, I ought to feel horrible about a lot of things, yet somehow I am content with being who I am.”

  “Hmmm.” He made a funny little humming sound around the grass. “I think you should stay exactly as you are.”

  Smiling, she laced her hands behind her head, feeling at peace with the world.

  “Save for one thing.”

  “Oh?” One lid slowly lifted.

  “I think you should marry me.”

  The other shot open.

  “The cook at Haddan Hall makes a custard tart that can turn cartwheels around the one we just enjoyed.”

  Eliza sat up and drew her knees to her chest. The breeze played through his hair, setting the long, silky strands to capering across his open collar.

  “You think I should marry you because of the tarts?”

  “Well, no, not just for the tarts. I was also thinking of books as well. Imagine it—with my writing and your drawings, we could create wonderful books for gardeners…for children.”

  She looked down, trying not to envision little boys and girls with his dark hair and glittering green eyes.

  “Sorry—that didn’t quite come out as the most romantic of proposals,” said Gryff. “So before you say anything, please allow me to add a few more words first.” Paper crackled as he lifted the package and placed it on her knees.

  “I thought you were going to speak from the heart,” quipped Eliza.

  “I am.” He smiled. “Go ahead, open it.”

  The ribbon and wrappings fell away. “Oh, Haddan.” With an unsteady finger, Eliza traced the outline of the Redouté rose.

  “Do you remember what you said when you first saw it?”

  “Yes.” She did not dare think seriously about the flower’s unspoken message. “I suggested selling it.”

  “No actually, you said that as you couldn’t afford to buy it for yourself, you wished that it might find a home where it would be appreciated for its true message. I am hoping that place is Haddan Hall—and that you will be there every day to hear its secret whisper.”

  She muffled a sniffle in her sleeve.

  “Eliza, please look at me.” A hint of humor colored his
voice. “The flower is paper—it doesn’t need to be watered.”

  “I know, I know.” She blotted the tears from her lashes. “It’s so beautiful. But…”

  “But a lady wants to hear the sentiment said aloud.” He cleared his throat with a mock cough. “Forgive me if I stumble a bit. I’ve never done this before.”

  Mixed with the sunlight, the delicate shades of the painting seemed to take on an ethereal intensity.

  “Not long ago, I knew I was ready to change my life for the better. I am excited about the future, and all the possibilities that it holds. But it would be so much better to share it with a kindred soul. I love you, Eliza. I love your laugh and your intelligence. I love your artistry and your passions. I love your appetite for fun.”

  Haddan loves me? She didn’t dare twitch a muscle or utter a sound for fear that the slightest movement might wake her from this glorious dream.

  “Silence? Dear me, that doesn’t sound promising.” His tone was light, but his eyes were dark, doubt shading their unique sparkle. Shadows flitted beneath the fringe of his lashes, making him look vulnerable.

  As if his heart, like hers, had stopped in mid-beat.

  “I’m silent because what I feel at this moment is impossible to express in words. So I’ll try to answer in a language all my own.” Brushing her fingers to his face, Eliza drew slow swirls over the contours of his cheekbones, sketching tiny hearts and roses. The sun had warmed his skin, and as her touch skimmed down the line of his jaw, she could feel his pulse begin to quicken.

  Or was it her own? It was hard to tell. The connection between them seemed to resonate as one.

  With the crickets chorusing in the background and the breeze whispering through the meadowgrasses, she leaned in and ever so lightly pressed her lips to his, hoping he could hear her heart singing with joy.

  “Could you translate that?” he murmured, his mouth tipping up at the corners.

  “Was I not eloquent enough?” She kissed him again, tasting the lingering traces of sugar mingled with his own ambrosial spice. “You wish to hear me say it aloud?”

  “Please.”

  “Very well—I shall try, though my phrases aren’t nearly as lyrical as yours are.”