Hadrian: Lord of Hope by Grace Burrowes

Author:Grace Burrowes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2014-06-15T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Of all the gifts Hadrian wanted to restore to his intended—for Avie was his intended—her capacity for anger ranked at the top of the list. He wanted every form of ire put back in her hands—fury, simple testiness, irritability, fuming—for if she could locate her indignation, perhaps her courage might be returned to her too.

“I hadn’t thought any lady could be jealous of my situation,” she said. “But what does that matter? I now have you for my fiancé, Hadrian, and without having accepted your suit. Not well done of you.”

Not well done of you . He usurped her future, albeit with the best intentions, and that was the scolding he received?

“You want to marry me, you just can’t admit it, and I’m damned sure I want to marry you.” His assurances sounded more pugnacious than he’d intended.

“Of course I want to marry you.” Now, when Hadrian would have taken her hand, Avie rose and made a production of poking at the already blazing fire. “You’re toothsome, wealthy, and my friend.”

Though not quite her lover. Not yet.

“And you care for me,” he reminded her, “and you’ve seen me as God made me.” She’d done considerably more than that—and enjoyed herself thoroughly.

As had he.

“Hadrian, you’re newly free of the church, at loose ends, mindful of the need for heirs, and I’m a familiar old friend. You’re at sixes and sevens, and I’m—”

She was daft, also exhausted, and too willing to cope with any and all challenges on her own.

“Am I familiar to you, Avis?”

She settled on the low table facing him, an indication of how badly he’d rattled her. Miss Prentiss would have been scandalized by such abuse of good furniture.

“You are wonderfully familiar to me, Hadrian Bothwell, and yet you are also wonderfully new.”

“Stop flittering around, Avie.” He took her hand and tugged. “I could not stand to hear your name bandied about among the gossips when you’ve done not one thing to merit their contumely. We can have a long engagement, a year if you want, but let me give you this much protection, and you can see if you like it.”

“Oh, I’ll like it,” she said, letting him pull her to his side. “Though you have to promise me two things.”

“I’m listening.” Listening, but he wasn’t promising blindly. He’d learned a few things in his years as a husband.

“First, you cannot use your appeal to coerce me to the altar.”

“Love, you’ll have to translate that. If you think this will be a chaste engagement—” In Hadrian’s experience, a chaste engagement was a rare beast, unless a fellow had proposed to a clergyman’s youngest daughter.

“I don’t want a chaste engagement.”

Bless her and the fresh Cumbrian country air . “Well, then—”

“Promise you won’t withhold your favors to inspire me to accept your proposal.”

“You think I could withhold my favors, so to speak, and render you biddable?” She had a poor grasp of her effect on him if that was the case.

“Wretch.” She took a leaf from his book and bit his earlobe.

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