by Bree Wolf
A deep smile came to her face, relieving the tension that had held her, and she laughed. “Not at all. I am merely concerned for my reputation.” She glanced at her half-finished painting. “Still, I could do with a little peace and quiet or my brother will never have a teasing likeness to hang over the mantle.”
Chuckling, Trent inclined his head to her. “What a marvellous idea!” Then he stepped back and took his leave, relieved to feel the ease between them returning, knowing that now was not the right time to reveal to her what intentions he had…untoward or otherwise.
Chapter Seven – Waltzing with the Enemy
Over the course of the next few weeks, Winifred found that choosing a husband was quite time-consuming…at least if one did it right.
As the new season began and London reawakened, Winifred followed her brother from ball to ball, attended performances at Covent Garden and promenaded through Hyde Park. Due to their five-year absence, the ton seemed quite intrigued to have the Earl of Amberly and his sister back in their midst; after all, they both possessed assets that made them quite desirable on the marriage market.
Dancing with a large number of eligible men−many of which were urged in her direction by overbearing mothers looking for a good match!−Winifred tried her best to discover who would suit her enough to be considered a potential husband. Although her intuition told her quite early whether she liked a gentleman or not, she urged herself not to draw hasty conclusions. After all, getting to know another’s character could not be accomplished during one evening, let alone within a few minutes.
Her brother usually stood off to the side, alternately watching her and conversing with the gentlemen he deemed worthy of his sister’s hand−quite to the disappointment of London’s eligible ladies!
As Lord Haverton guided her across the dance floor, Winifred once more glanced over his shoulder and spotted her brother, politely but insistently extracting himself from a young lady’s grasp. Smiling, Winifred sighed. He truly was most diligent in keeping his promise! She never would have expected him to do so, but it did warm her heart and reminded her of how much she meant to him!
“You seem amused,” Lord Haverton observed, his kind green eyes gliding over her face. “It suits you.”
Inclining her head at the compliment, Winifred considered how to reply. “My brother seems very…watchful this evening.”
Lord Haverton smiled, and as they turned he glanced in Griffin’s direction. “He does indeed.” His green eyes returned to her. “He seems very protective of you, Lady Winifred. That speaks highly of him and you.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Smiling back at him, Winifred realised that she was enjoying his company quite a lot. He was a decent man, kind and considerate. He always spoke truthfully as his eyes never seemed to disagree with his words, and his smile betrayed a caring heart and respectful demeanour. Her brother had indeed done well when he had encouraged her to get better acquainted with Lord Haverton.
When the music stopped, her dance partner inclined his head to her. “Thank you for this dance, my lady.” His green eyes held hers, and he seemed reluctant to take his leave. “I was wondering if−”
“May I have the next dance?”
Goose bumps raced down Winifred’s spine at the sound of Trent’s voice, and she turned to him wishing her face held more annoyance than she knew it did. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a touch of disappointment come to Lord Haverton’s face. However, her attention instantly focused on the mirth twinkling in Trent’s dark green gaze as he held out his hand to her.
“Or are you otherwise engaged?” he asked, the look in his eyes growing darker as though he dared her to refuse him.
“Not at present,” Winifred heard herself say before turning back to Lord Haverton, thanking him for their dance. When he took his leave, Trent instantly drew her into his arms as the first notes of a waltz began to play.
Reminding herself to be annoyed with his overbearing attitude, Winifred stepped on his foot as hard as she dared without it being obvious to those around her.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Trent turned wide eyes to her. For a moment, he seemed taken aback. However, that moment was short-lived. His lips curled up in a smile, and his hand tightened on her back. “You did that on purpose,” he accused, seemingly delighted with her actions.
“I did,” Winifred admitted freely, trying to straighten her back lest she sink into his arms. “As did you.”
A frown came to his face. His eyes, however, still held the same satisfied twinkle she had seen there before. “I’m afraid I do not know what you mean.”
Winifred scoffed, “Don’t play innocent, Trent. Every time a waltz is played, you appear as though out of nowhere.” A frown drew down her brows. “How do you know? Do you have an acquaintance among the musicians? Are you clairvoyant?”
Laughing at the teasing note in her voice, Trent lowered his head to her conspiratorially. “I assure you, dear Fred, it is merely a coincidence.”
Rolling her eyes at him, Winifred sighed, starting to feel annoyed. “Stop calling me that.” She glanced around. “What if someone overhears you? What if others start−”
“Calling you Fred?”
She nodded.
His hands tightened on her, and the air flew from her lungs at the intensity in his gaze as he looked at her. “If they know what’s best for them, they won’t.” He inhaled slowly, his gaze unwavering. “It’s mine. Mine alone.”
Staring up at him, Winifred could not help but think that he was saying a lot more than claiming her nickname as his. It was as though he was…claiming her…as his. Swallowing, Winifred averted her gaze, focusing her thoughts on the steps. Steps she knew in her sleep. Steps that provided little distraction from the man holding her in his arms.
“You seem quiet suddenly,” he observed, a touch of concern in his dark green eyes. “Is something wrong?”
Winifred sighed, groping for something to say. “I am…merely concerned about Lord Haverton.” Trent rolled his eyes. “The way you claimed this dance was quite rude as you did interrupt him. I don’t even know what he wanted to say. I must go and apologise.” Craning her neck, Winifred tried to spot the young lord among the sea of guests, glad to have somewhere to look but into Trent’s disconcerting eyes.
“Is he the one?” he asked unexpectedly, his voice strained as though her answer would determine the course of his own life. “Have you made your choice?”
Winifred swallowed, carefully raising her eyes to his. What she saw there confused her as she could have sworn that−
“Have you?” Trent prompted impatiently, his jaw tense and his voice almost a growl.
Winifred swallowed. “What is it to you?”
His lips pressed into a thin line, and his gaze was hard as it held hers. “Answer me.”
Winifred shrugged. “I have not.” All the tension seemed to leave Trent’s body. “However, I think we would suit each other. Still, it is too soon to tell.”
Trent drew in a slow breath. “Good,” was all he said, and when the music ended, he squeezed her hand one last time and then took his leave.
Still swaying from the effects of their dance, Winifred turned to her next dance partner, momentarily at a loss as to who he was.
Chapter Eight – A Sensible Match
A few days later, Winifred found herself bundled up in her warmest winter clothes sitting next to Lord Haverton in his open chaise as they took a turn through Hyde Park. After apologising to him for Trent’s rude behaviour, he had enquired if she would allow him to call on her. As Winifred had no reason to object, he had stopped by the following morning, accompanied by his mother, a woman who portrayed the evil witch with every fibre of her being.
Winifred had been more than relieved when they had left. Although she did come to care for the young lord, his mother was the making of nightmares. Ought she exclude him from consideration based on his family’s attributes? It was a new thought that hadn’t occurred to her before.
However, if she were to marry Lord Haverton, his mother would become an important part of her life as well. Could she live with that?
“Do you prefer watercolours?” Lord Haverton asked, guiding the two horses pulling their chaise around a bend. “Or oil?”
“Watercolours.”
“May I ask why?”
Winifred shrugged, wiggling her chilled fingers inside her muff. “I dislike the smell of oil colours.”
Lord Haverton nodded. “I agree. Painting is a very sensory activity. One ought to reduce negative influences as much as possible.” Glancing at her, he smiled. “Would you allow me to see your paintings?”
“Certainly, my lord. I’ve never thought to hide them. You’re welcome to visit and take a look.”
“I shall.”
As they came around a small grove, the Serpentine appeared before them, its waters glistening in the brilliant sun as it gave a magical glow to everything it touched. “What a magnificent sight!” Lord Haverton exclaimed. “I admit I am fascinated by the influence of light on everyday objects. It often seems to change how things appear. The lake, for instance, seems almost mystical in the sunlight. However, in its absence, the waters often appear murky as though danger awaited.”
“I agree.” Feeling eagerness course through her veins, Winifred gazed at the lake, remembering the orchid she had painted a few weeks ago. “When I paint in the conservatory, I can paint the same objects, but always have it appear differently depending on the time of day. It is truly fascinating.”
Again, Lord Haverton smiled at her, and Winifred could see that he was as pleased with their conversation as she was. Indeed, they had a lot in common and his disposition suited her. He never riled her, but instead was always attentive, always considerate. His smile was warm and affecting, and his green eyes held warmth and kindness.
Still, sometimes when she looked at them, Winifred could not help but see another pair of green eyes in her mind. Dark green to be exact, with a wicked gleam in them.
“Good afternoon, Lady Winifred, Lord Haverton.”
At the sound of his voice, Winifred closed her eyes for the barest of seconds, wondering if her thoughts had called him here. Why was it that he always knew where she was? Why did he always follow? It was quite aggravating, and from the way Lord Haverton’s lips thinned, he did not care for the interruption, either.
Turning toward approaching hoof beats, Winifred balled her hands inside her muff into fists, willing Trent to simply greet them and leave. However, judging from the look on his face, he seemed disinclined to be agreeable.
“Good day, Lord Chadwick,” Lord Haverton greeted their unwelcome acquaintance. “It is a beautiful day, is it not?”
“It is indeed.” Sitting atop his black gelding, Trent barely looked at Winifred’s companion as his dark gaze seemed focused on her. Still, he spoke politely as though their meeting had come about entirely by chance. Knowing Trent, Winifred was certain that chance had had no hand in this.
“What brings you here?” she enquired as uncomfortable silence began to linger in the air.
Trent merely shrugged. His shoulders, however, seemed tense, and he gripped the reins rather tightly. Did something bother him? “After last night’s festivities, I had merely hoped for some fresh air.” He swallowed, and his gaze met hers once again. “To clear my head.”
After a little more uncomfortable and rather meaningless chitchat, Trent took his leave and they went their separate ways. Relieved, Winifred allowed Lord Haverton to take her home, accepting his invitation to have tea with him and his mother sometime soon.
Strangely exhausted, Winifred went up to her room and rested for an hour or two before heading back downstairs to the conservatory. If there were ever a place that had the power to soothe her raging emotions, it was the small glass pavilion. Although it was late afternoon, the sun streamed in, setting everything aglow, and the myriad of flowers beckoned her forward, their scents, sweet and engaging, promising better days. Easier days.
Putting the final touches on her brother’s portrait, Winifred felt her muscles relax and before long a smile drew up the corners of her mouth. Despite Trent’s interruption, it had been a pleasant day. After all, it had allowed her a deeper glimpse at Lord Haverton’s character. He was indeed the kind of man she had been looking for. He would make her a good husband, would he not? Would she make him a good wife? Ought she to make her choice? Or was that premature?
As footsteps echoed closer, Winifred stepped back from the easel. “Griffin, what do you think? Would you say this is a fitting likeness?”
“I would indeed,” Trent spoke from behind her, and she whirled around.
“What are you doing here?” Winifred demanded as the cloud of peaceful tranquility that had engulfed her only a moment ago slowly evaporated. “My brother is not here.”
Grinning from ear to ear, Trent stopped in front of her. “I know. I came to enquire after your morning with Lord Haverton.”
At his frank admission, Winifred’s mouth fell slightly open. “You have no right to ask such a question.”
“I know. I’ll ask it nonetheless.” His gaze held hers, daring her to answer.
Winifred swallowed before stepping sideways to set down her paintbrush, thus giving her a reason to avert her eyes. “However, I will not answer.” Lifting her gaze to his, she squared her shoulders. “I need to ask you to leave. It is not proper for you to be here when my brother is not.”
A challenging gleam came to his eyes as he stepped closer. “You were out alone with Lord Haverton,” he observed, a touch of an accusation in his voice.
“Yes, we were out in the open,” Winifred retorted, annoyed with his overbearing attitude. Who did he think he was? Her brother? “For everyone to see. We, however,” she gestured to the two of them, “are alone.”
At her last word, a spark seemed to light up his eyes, and Winifred felt her courage falter. Swallowing, she took a step back before glancing over Trent’s shoulder, wishing her brother were here. How dare he leave them alone together?
As though he had read her thoughts, Trent took a step closer, unwilling to allow her to escape. A wicked smile curled up his lips, and his eyes teased her. “Are you afraid I have untoward intentions?” he asked as he had before.
Winifred rolled her eyes, knowing that the best way to deal with Trent’s affinity for mockery was to not take him seriously.
His eyes searched her face, and an amused smile came to his own. “You do not believe it possible, do you?” he asked, then shook his head. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should go. Perhaps it is not safe for you to be alone with me.”
Unable to hide her surprise at his admission, Winifred frowned, trying to make sense of this change in attitude. Deep down, there was a part of her that doubted that he was merely teasing her.
Holding her gaze, Trent leaned his head down to her. “I don’t mean to frighten you, dear Fred, but I thought you should know.”
Winifred swallowed. “Know what?”
A teasing grin came to Trent’s face. Still, his gaze remained serious. “That I have untoward intentions.”
Chapter Nine – Untoward Intentions
Seeing the understanding on her face, Trent fought to resist the urge to pull her into his arms and show her that she was his and would never be Haverton’s. When he had heard about their outing from Griffin, his insides had twisted painfully, and he had not been able to keep himself from going to find them. As predicted, it had taken all his willpower to not throttle Haverton, but instead allow Winifred to leave with him.
Never in his life had he found himself in a more trying situation.
Now, finding the woman he loved only an arm’s length away from him, her wide eyes fixed on his, her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath, Trent wondered what she would say if he were to kiss her. Would she reject him?
His teeth clenched. Would she reject Haverton?
Feeling his own nerves flutter, Trent glimpsed the paintbr
ush she had set down a few minutes ago. Instantly, it brought back the memory of a few weeks ago when she had accidentally gotten paint on his cheek. He remembered her closeness, her touch, her warmth, and a deep longing rose inside him.
Flashing a teasing grin at her, he leaned forward, noting the way she in turn leaned back and drew in a sharp breath, before he reached for the abandoned paintbrush. Straightening, he held her gaze, then quickly brought up the brush and in one fluid motion drew it across her cheek, leaving a trail of black paint. “Quite untoward, I assure you,” he laughed, delighted when her eyes widened in outrage.
Shrieking, she slapped his hand away, her own touching her cheek. Then she brought it before her eyes, which widened even more when she saw the black smudge on her fingertips. “How dare you?” she demanded, her eyes ablaze with sudden fury.
Smiling, Trent could not bring himself to feel remorse. After all, it was that fire in her that he loved most. He could never live a life without teasing her. Could she?
Before he knew what was happening, she threw herself at him like a wild fury, snatching the brush from his grasp and attacking him with equal measure. The brush still moist with paint surged toward him, and only in the last instant did he manage to sidestep her attack.
Turning on her heel, she came after him again. “You’ll regret this!” she snarled, once more raising her arm, once more aiming the brush at his face.
Laughing, Trent turned, then to his surprise managed to grasp her wrist, the tip of the brush only a hair’s breadth from his skin. “Dear Fred, be sensible,” he teased, delighting in the way her jaw clenched and she growled at him.
As they struggled, he managed to twist the brush from her grip and tossed it across the floor where it came to rest next to a large flowerpot at a safe distance. With the weapon disposed of, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, noting with satisfaction the widening of her eyes as her hands stilled. “I never knew you had such passion within you,” he whispered. “Or perhaps I did know.” Then he grasped her chin−the way she had grasped his−and tilted her head upward, her lips only a hair’s breadth away from his own. “Did you kiss Haverton?”