“Only?”
Lily nodded. “Had he struck the femur, then poor Lord Moray would likely be dead by Midsummer. It has to do with the dangers of blood congealing in the area of the upper leg. Isn’t that right, Uncle George?”
For pity’s sake! How did Lily know these things?
Her uncle knelt beside Lord Moray. “As my niece said, my lord. You had a very close call. Had Brutus struck you above the knee… well, fortunately he didn’t.”
All the fight drained out of Laurel in that moment. How could she forget that she’d almost killed Eloise’s grandson? She owed him a great debt and had to repay it, even if it meant sacrificing her happiness, setting aside her hopes and dreams, and marrying for reasons other than love. She had opened her big mouth and would now be the first Farthingale to sacrifice herself at the altar of convenience. Although marriage to Lord Moray would be anything but convenient.
Indeed, it was quite inconvenient. Surely he’d come to the same realization once his pain subsided, and then he’d be eager to release her from her promise. She merely needed to be patient and not ruffle his feathers any worse than she already had today. Ah, patience. Unfortunately, it was a virtue she had never acquired.
She cast the big oaf a hopeful smile.
He frowned back.
Her smile faltered, but she refused to despair for she had a month to gain her release from the hastily made promise. He would relent.
He simply had to.
She’d do all in her power to help him realize his mistake. No man wished to be stuck with a wife who loved another. That was it, her way out. She’d tell him all about Devlin. Not now, of course. Perhaps in a day or two when his pain had subsided.
“Lass,” he said with a wry arch of his eyebrow, speaking softly and with seeming regret, “I can’t let you out of the bargain. Don’t think to change my mind with tricks or pleading or…” he paused for a lengthy moment, “seduction.”
She curled her hands into fists again. “Me? Seduce you? Hah! You need have no fear of that.” Since I wouldn’t know how, in the first place. “And why would I want my freedom from you, an utter stranger who took advantage of my good nature to trick me into a cold and loveless alliance? That’s right, an alliance. For you and I shall never have a true marriage.”
“Suits me fine, lass. I have no intention of imposing myself on you.”
“What?” He didn’t want her? Then why propose? She resisted the urge to strike him even though her fingers were still curled into fists and she was angry. No, not just angry. She was blazing, fiery furious!
Although she had a retort at the ready, she clamped her lips shut instead because she needed to think and not merely respond like a prickly hen to his goading. Lack of thinking got her into this predicament in the first place. She studied him again.
Did he have a weakness?
If he did, it wasn’t obvious. Drat, he really was quite handsome. There was a brooding intelligence about him, the sort of quiet confidence that other men would trust and follow. He wasn’t one for glib words either, but seemed to command attention when he spoke. He certainly had her attention now.
In truth, she could not draw her gaze away and he seemed smugly aware of it.
She didn’t wish to like anything about him, but had to admit that he had nice eyes. They were a deep green that drew one in with dangerous appeal. He had nicely formed lips as well. She stole a glance at the rest of him. His clothes were of good quality, or had been until Brutus knocked him to the ground and forced him to roll onto the street to avoid being trampled under his massive hooves.
Lord Moray was a gentleman, being Eloise’s grandson and a baron. Yet he did not possess a polished air of refinement. No, nothing polished or refined about him. While of good quality, his clothes were not the height of fashion. He was too big and brawny to cut an elegant line. Quite the opposite, he had the mark of
Lily nodded. “Had he struck the femur, then poor Lord Moray would likely be dead by Midsummer. It has to do with the dangers of blood congealing in the area of the upper leg. Isn’t that right, Uncle George?”
For pity’s sake! How did Lily know these things?
Her uncle knelt beside Lord Moray. “As my niece said, my lord. You had a very close call. Had Brutus struck you above the knee… well, fortunately he didn’t.”
All the fight drained out of Laurel in that moment. How could she forget that she’d almost killed Eloise’s grandson? She owed him a great debt and had to repay it, even if it meant sacrificing her happiness, setting aside her hopes and dreams, and marrying for reasons other than love. She had opened her big mouth and would now be the first Farthingale to sacrifice herself at the altar of convenience. Although marriage to Lord Moray would be anything but convenient.
Indeed, it was quite inconvenient. Surely he’d come to the same realization once his pain subsided, and then he’d be eager to release her from her promise. She merely needed to be patient and not ruffle his feathers any worse than she already had today. Ah, patience. Unfortunately, it was a virtue she had never acquired.
She cast the big oaf a hopeful smile.
He frowned back.
Her smile faltered, but she refused to despair for she had a month to gain her release from the hastily made promise. He would relent.
He simply had to.
She’d do all in her power to help him realize his mistake. No man wished to be stuck with a wife who loved another. That was it, her way out. She’d tell him all about Devlin. Not now, of course. Perhaps in a day or two when his pain had subsided.
“Lass,” he said with a wry arch of his eyebrow, speaking softly and with seeming regret, “I can’t let you out of the bargain. Don’t think to change my mind with tricks or pleading or…” he paused for a lengthy moment, “seduction.”
She curled her hands into fists again. “Me? Seduce you? Hah! You need have no fear of that.” Since I wouldn’t know how, in the first place. “And why would I want my freedom from you, an utter stranger who took advantage of my good nature to trick me into a cold and loveless alliance? That’s right, an alliance. For you and I shall never have a true marriage.”
“Suits me fine, lass. I have no intention of imposing myself on you.”
“What?” He didn’t want her? Then why propose? She resisted the urge to strike him even though her fingers were still curled into fists and she was angry. No, not just angry. She was blazing, fiery furious!
Although she had a retort at the ready, she clamped her lips shut instead because she needed to think and not merely respond like a prickly hen to his goading. Lack of thinking got her into this predicament in the first place. She studied him again.
Did he have a weakness?
If he did, it wasn’t obvious. Drat, he really was quite handsome. There was a brooding intelligence about him, the sort of quiet confidence that other men would trust and follow. He wasn’t one for glib words either, but seemed to command attention when he spoke. He certainly had her attention now.
In truth, she could not draw her gaze away and he seemed smugly aware of it.
She didn’t wish to like anything about him, but had to admit that he had nice eyes. They were a deep green that drew one in with dangerous appeal. He had nicely formed lips as well. She stole a glance at the rest of him. His clothes were of good quality, or had been until Brutus knocked him to the ground and forced him to roll onto the street to avoid being trampled under his massive hooves.
Lord Moray was a gentleman, being Eloise’s grandson and a baron. Yet he did not possess a polished air of refinement. No, nothing polished or refined about him. While of good quality, his clothes were not the height of fashion. He was too big and brawny to cut an elegant line. Quite the opposite, he had the mark of
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