Page 4 of Lady Tamsyn and the Pixie's Curse
At Gryff’s nod, the steward continued. “Then perhaps you will consider spending some time here? There will be several days before the reading of the will. No celebrations or parties of course, but everyone will gather for dinner and spend time together in various activities while they wait.” He raised a brow at Gryff. “As one of the beneficiaries yourself, you should feel free to come. You could use a bit of socializing, lad—and there will be five prettydaughtershere.”
Four pretty daughters—and one beauty who wore charming freckles, smelled of lilac and disdained to know him. He shuddered. “Thank you,butno.”
“Come now, it will be winter soon enough—and you’ll be hunkered down at Lancarrow until the thaw. Why not have a bit of fun before—” The steward paused, his head cocked. “That’s a carriage. No, more than one. It must be the earl’s party. Come on, man!” He hurried toward the front door. “Here’s your chance to beneighborly.”
He didn’t want to be neighborly. He wanted tobegone.
Gryff had no disillusions about who he was. He was a gentleman landowner, and a damned rich one at that. But he was no London beau. He was too big, too rough, too gruff. He had blistered hands and scuffed boots. He was as happy in a tenant’s cottage eating hevva cakes as he was dining on lobster patties at a lord’stable.
He’d known plenty of women who’d liked all of that about him—especially after they glimpsed him working shirtless in his fields. But other women, especially the young, marriageable ones, raised their brows at him and his odd ways. Gryff was only human—it stung to be found wanting—but no rejection had ever hit him as hard as thefirstone.
LadyTamsyn’s.
He hadn’t expected it. Their regard had been mutual—he was sure of it. She’d felt the same rising heat of interest turning to hope. The burn of intrigue transforming toanticipation.
But something had happened to change her mind. Perhaps someone had pointed out his lack of title or town bronze. She’d missed their forest meeting and refused to see him afterwards, no matter how many times he called or how many notes or bouquetshesent.
The last time he’d stood on this side of the bridge it had been misting rain, just as it did now—and he’d been turned away without apology orexplanation.
And there she was, across the way, climbing down from a carriage with a couple of her sisters closebehind.
He swore the sun liked her best. Even in the drizzly gloom her hair caught the light, turned to flame, and cast the rest of the girls into shadow. He was caught, just as he’d been so long ago, helpless in the face of her perfection. That gossamer skin and the determined, pointed chin. Her cat eyes, flashing green—until they landedonhim.
And there it was—exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. That instant, haunted look of dismay. A vicious stab in the gut. What had he done to earn suchalook?
He turned away, unable to bear the thought of her hiding it behind a polite mask. And then someone calledhisname.
* * *
She was back.Back at Castle Keyvnor, the scene of her greatest humiliation—where she had no wishtobe.
Marjorie was as unhappy as she—for different reasons. Her sister worried about not meeting any eligible gentlemen. Tamsyn worried about meeting one particular gentleman again. Waking from her feigned sleep as the carriage pulled to a stop, she climbed down as soon as the footman set the stairs, hoping prodigiously that since this was a solemn occasion it would seem natural to stick to the castle grounds, to avoid the villagers andneighbors.
Or at least oneneighbor.
“Gryff!”
Tamsyn’s heart stopped. Gwyn had descended from the other coach and now her sister stood grinning and waving toward the portico in the inner wall. Slowly, Tamsyn turned to follow the direction ofhergaze.
And there he stood. Practically the first person they all saw, when she’d been praying he’d bethelast.
Hmmph.
He had not obliged her and grown stout. Or a snout. Or ogre’s ears and curved tusks, like she had imagined so many times since that afternoon of utter embarrassment. If anything, he looked more handsome. Bigger, broader and more splendidlymasculine.
It didn’t matter, of course. She was long over her embarrassment, just as she was no longer interested in the hard, even-more-sharply-chiseled lines of his face. Or the intriguing, undeniably old-fashioned, long hair he’d fastened into aqueue.
No, she wasn’t interested. But her parents had moved over the bridge that spanned a dry moat and into the courtyard to speak with the castle steward. Marjorie’s friend Jane was chasing a windblown wrap. Her sisters all flocked to Gryff where he stood just outside the arched entrance. Not wishing to appear rude, Tamsyn followed them, her heart pounding. He smiled and greeted the girls all around, until he came to her, when his grin faded and he offered afrostynod.
She stiffened. Truly?Hegreetedherwith a pained look and afrostynod?
“Gryff, do you remember when you showed us around the village?” Gwyn asked. “You carried me over the fish guts on the dock.” She sighed. “No one has acted so chivalrously toward mesince.”
“He allowed me to hide behind him when I was afraid of the apothecary,”Morgansaid.
Her sisters were reverting to the children they’d been on that long ago visit. Tamsyn wouldnotbe acting the same,trustingfool.
“You must come to dinner,” Marjorie said with asmile.
