been unable to ignore him, to allow him to walk away. Not when he represented what she had yet to obtain. He was a gentleman. A gentleman in need of financing.
And she was a woman, a woman who longed to belong, who desperately wanted children. A little one to love who would return that affection untainted.
How could she turn away from the opportunity to live with a man who’d spoken of his home with such affection, as though bits of silver and gold threaded his voice. She did not expect him to ever extend that emotion toward her, but it comforted her to know he was capable of expressing it.
He’d said the situation wasn’t easy for him. But neither was it easy for her. To give herself to a man she barely knew…or to never give herself at all.
What had she been thinking to accept? Here in the garden, surrounded by shadows, it had all seemed dreamlike, and she’d succumbed to the lure of at long last finding a place where she belonged. A home.
And in time a child. Someone who would love her as her father did—simply because she existed.
Dared she believe that he would keep his promise to come for her? The secret place within her that longed for all the things she’d been denied hoped that he would.
She pressed her balled hand just above her breast. The ache in her chest increased as the tears slowly leaked onto her cheeks. She knew worse things existed than a marriage without love. But was anything lonelier?
She could stand on a windswept prairie and not feel lonely. She could stand in a crowded ballroom and know a lonesome ache that defied description.
Which would her marriage resemble?
Her father’s money had purchased her grandest dream: to become a wife. She could only hope his taste in men far exceeded his taste in women’s clothing.
Quickly she swiped the tears from her cheeks. Although she did not need love, she dearly wanted it.
She was grateful Lord Huntingdon had approached her early in the evening. Now she could sneak away and dream of a love that would never be…one last time. After her marriage, she would never again dream or look back or regret what might have been. She would content herself with what was. She never wanted her father or husband to realize she was unhappy.
Her husband.
She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the possibility.
She strolled into the ballroom. Happy sounds floated toward her. Flirtations always carried such a musical lilt to them. Women blushed. Gentlemen’s eyes warmed with pleasure. She’d always watched from the edge, never having been invited into the circle.
A shame she hadn’t added one waltz at each ball to her list of conditions. She had a feeling that once Lord Huntingdon had his fist around her father’s money, he would seldom be tempted to close his hand around hers.
Wending her way through the crowd, she listened as the gentle strains of a waltz floated across the room.
“I believe this is my dance, Miss Pierce.”
She spun around, her heart thundering. The Earl of Huntingdon stood before her in his finely cut jacket that had seen better days, and his somber eyes that she was certain had seen more joyous evenings.
He extended his hand toward her. As though in a dream, she placed hers on top of his, and he escorted her onto the dance floor. Her breath caught once she realized exactly what she’d allowed. She’d never in her life waltzed. Of course, she’d never been married either, but that hadn’t stopped her from accepting his proposal—such as it was.
In rhythm with the music, he waltzed with her, his gaze holding hers captive. She would look into those blue eyes every evening for the remaining years of her life. She would watch his black hair turn completely silver and the shallow grooves etched onhis face deepen. She would witness the slowing of his gait and his acquisition of wisdom. Would his shoulders slump with the burden of age? Or would he stand tall against all the challenges that life would toss their way?
Slowing his
And she was a woman, a woman who longed to belong, who desperately wanted children. A little one to love who would return that affection untainted.
How could she turn away from the opportunity to live with a man who’d spoken of his home with such affection, as though bits of silver and gold threaded his voice. She did not expect him to ever extend that emotion toward her, but it comforted her to know he was capable of expressing it.
He’d said the situation wasn’t easy for him. But neither was it easy for her. To give herself to a man she barely knew…or to never give herself at all.
What had she been thinking to accept? Here in the garden, surrounded by shadows, it had all seemed dreamlike, and she’d succumbed to the lure of at long last finding a place where she belonged. A home.
And in time a child. Someone who would love her as her father did—simply because she existed.
Dared she believe that he would keep his promise to come for her? The secret place within her that longed for all the things she’d been denied hoped that he would.
She pressed her balled hand just above her breast. The ache in her chest increased as the tears slowly leaked onto her cheeks. She knew worse things existed than a marriage without love. But was anything lonelier?
She could stand on a windswept prairie and not feel lonely. She could stand in a crowded ballroom and know a lonesome ache that defied description.
Which would her marriage resemble?
Her father’s money had purchased her grandest dream: to become a wife. She could only hope his taste in men far exceeded his taste in women’s clothing.
Quickly she swiped the tears from her cheeks. Although she did not need love, she dearly wanted it.
She was grateful Lord Huntingdon had approached her early in the evening. Now she could sneak away and dream of a love that would never be…one last time. After her marriage, she would never again dream or look back or regret what might have been. She would content herself with what was. She never wanted her father or husband to realize she was unhappy.
Her husband.
She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the possibility.
She strolled into the ballroom. Happy sounds floated toward her. Flirtations always carried such a musical lilt to them. Women blushed. Gentlemen’s eyes warmed with pleasure. She’d always watched from the edge, never having been invited into the circle.
A shame she hadn’t added one waltz at each ball to her list of conditions. She had a feeling that once Lord Huntingdon had his fist around her father’s money, he would seldom be tempted to close his hand around hers.
Wending her way through the crowd, she listened as the gentle strains of a waltz floated across the room.
“I believe this is my dance, Miss Pierce.”
She spun around, her heart thundering. The Earl of Huntingdon stood before her in his finely cut jacket that had seen better days, and his somber eyes that she was certain had seen more joyous evenings.
He extended his hand toward her. As though in a dream, she placed hers on top of his, and he escorted her onto the dance floor. Her breath caught once she realized exactly what she’d allowed. She’d never in her life waltzed. Of course, she’d never been married either, but that hadn’t stopped her from accepting his proposal—such as it was.
In rhythm with the music, he waltzed with her, his gaze holding hers captive. She would look into those blue eyes every evening for the remaining years of her life. She would watch his black hair turn completely silver and the shallow grooves etched onhis face deepen. She would witness the slowing of his gait and his acquisition of wisdom. Would his shoulders slump with the burden of age? Or would he stand tall against all the challenges that life would toss their way?
Slowing his
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