Page 35 of Romancing the Heiress
“Just a handful of people, and I was very discreet. People tend to find me warm and genial—they like talking to me.” He shared this information as if it were the gospel truth and not his own opinion.
Phin hardened his gaze. “No.”
Mercer blinked. “No what?”
“No, I won’t sell mybotanicalgardens to you. I am fine. They are fine. Everything isfine.” Except nothing was. “Go back to London, Mercer. Marrywell isn’t the place for you.”
Before the man could respond, Phin hurried off, taking long strides to carry him as far away as possible as quickly as possible.
Damn it all to hell. If he hadn’t been willing to use the gardens to turn a profit, he certainly wasn’t going tosellthem. Especially not to bloody Mercer. Phin realized the man’s name was suspiciously close to “mercenary.” The word fit him perfectly.
Phin needed to bring his heiress plan to fruition. The time had come to make his own offer—for Genevieve’s hand. He changed course toward where he’d left her after their dance.
Hell, he’d see Leah too. He nearly tripped and wished he hadn’t drunk that third tankard.
His gait slowed as he neared the benches where they’d been sitting. He came upon them from behind a grouping of camellias, but hesitated when he heard Mrs. Selkirk speaking to Mrs. Dunhill in a low tone. “We’re so close to getting the money. Less than a fortnight.”
What money? Was she referring to Genevieve’s dowry?
Mrs. Dunhill turned her head, and Phin realized she saw him, so he walked forward, forcing a smile as he looked about for Genevieve. She wasn’t there. Thankfully, neither was Leah.
“Mr. Radford, you’ve returned,” Mrs. Dunhill said.
He came around the benches to stand before the one where the two women were huddled together. “Yes, I was hoping to speak with Gen—Miss Selkirk.”
Mrs. Selkirk’s brows shot up at his faux pas, but she didn’t address it. “She is currently dancing. You’ve had your dance for the evening.”
“I didn’t come to ask her to dance. I thought we might promenade.” He didn’t think that would be possible. He really shouldn’t have had that last tankard. His brain was becoming a little soft. That, or this day was finally defeating him. “Perhaps I might call on her—and you—tomorrow at the New Inn?”
Mrs. Dunhill gently elbowed Mrs. Selkirk, who sat up straighter. “I see. If it’s all the same to you, may I ask until you wait until the day after? Tomorrow is the Grand Picnic, and Genevieve needs to be able to spend time with each of her suitors. Including you,” she added with a smile.
That meant his plan was not assured. This was heading for disaster. Perhaps he ought to go and find Genevieve and compromise her.
Get ahold of yourself!
He wasn’t that sort of man. That he’d even considered such a thing, even for a second, made him ill.
“Very well,” he said, somehow managing to summon another smile. He bowed to them. “Good evening.”
Then he pivoted and strode off in the direction of Radford Grange. He was ready to lift the white flag of surrender and quit this day entirely.
Except this day apparently wasn’t done with him. He ran square into Leah.
Well, notintoher, but he might have if she hadn’t said his name, startling him from his increasingly drunken thoughts. God, she was beautiful, her golden blonde hair pinned atop her head with a dark green ribbon threaded through it. The color matched the emerald of her gown, a jewel of a color, perhaps to compensate for the fact that she wore no adornment, save another ribbon around her throat. Ribbons, not jewels—simple accessories for a simple girl. Except she didn’t look simple. She looked regal and elegant in her London finery and with her mature confidence. She carried herself differently than before she’d left Marrywell. But she’d been barely more than a girl then, just nineteen. Now, she was a full-fledged woman, and didn’t he know it. He couldn’t see straight for thinking of her body against his and her tongue in his mouth.
He somehow managed to form words in spite of his ale consumption and the lust raging within him. “Excuse me, Leah. I was just on my way home.”
She stepped in front of him as he made to walk around him. Lifting her chin, she speared him with a demanding stare. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m n—” He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her. Not about this anyway. He stepped off the path into the shadows. They were far from the nearest torch, but he could see her face well enough. She looked up at him with hurt in her gaze, and it tore him apart.
He started again. “I’m sorry. I just…I should not have kissed you since I am courting Genevieve. It was exceedingly awful of me, and I hope you can forgive me.”
She stared at him a moment before her lids dipped over her eyes and seemed to cloak whatever she was feeling. The hurt was no longer there. Indeed, nothing was there.
When she remained quiet, he pushed on, hating her silence and needing to fill the air with…something. “I suppose I was overcome with memories of the past and perhaps wanted to relive a little of it. That was silly of me.”
“We can’t go backward,” she said, softly. “You should know—and I say this because I care about you—that I don’t believe you and Genevieve will be happy in the long term. You scarcely know each other, and I’m not certain your preferences and sensibilities align. But you must decide for yourself. I only thought I should share my opinion, as someone who has known you a long time.”
