Page 20 of Beguiling the Baron

“I’m not crying, and I’m not afraid,” she lied. “I have wounds of my own to deal with, and sometimes they get the better of me. That is all.”

“I’m sorry. I must try to curb my temper. It has always been a failing of mine. I had thought I no longer cared enough to be angry about anything, but no matter. Come, let us sheathe our weapons and be friends, or at least call a truce. I suppose you will now tell me to make amends to Polly. As for music, I’ll consider the points you’ve made.”

Hope sprang to life, and Tia almost grinned. This was the first time Ansford had offered to consider making a concession. And he’d spoken more in the last fifteen minutes, revealed more of his true character than he had in the last month.

To her astonishment, he embraced her, his hands awkward and shy. He pressed her only lightly against his chest, but it was long enough for her to notice the softness of his clothing and the firmness of the muscles flexing beneath it. His head bent close to hers, long hair brushing her cheek.

She sniffed. And sniffed again. “My lord,” she said as he released her, “I hope you won’t think me rude, but you smell most peculiar.”

“I beg your pardon?” The dark brows shot up.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say your hair smelled of pondweed.”

“Ah, Miss Wyndham is herself again,” he retorted, taking her hand.

An instant connection throbbed between them. Had he felt it too?

If he were to try that embrace again, she’d make it work much better. And last considerably longer.

Hal’s blue eyes glittered. Had he divined her thoughts? She hoped not.

“You really are the most critical female I’ve ever met. Let us agree I’ll never come up to your exacting standards and you won’t come up to mine. I can promise you no more comforting embraces if all you’re going to do is make personal remarks. I’ve been swimming in the river, as I do virtually every day. My valet neglected to tell me it made my hair smell of pondweed. Would the application of a perfumed oil satisfy you? Or perhaps a simple rinse in rosemary-water?”

Obviously not offended, he was looking happy now, sporting the first true smile he’d given her. His fingers caressed her wrist, sending a jolt of sensation right up her arm. What allure this man possessed. God forbid he ever chose to use his power.

“That might indeed serve.” She was desperate now to break the spell he’d cast on her. “Although it badly needs cutting too. As does Polly’s. Her maid Paulet is good at styling but has an unsteady hand when it comes to scissors.”

What was she prattling on about? She needed to get out of here before she uttered something completely idiotic.

“Granted. I bow to your superior knowledge, Miss Wyndham. If you do a good job on Polly, you may cut my hair as well, in whatever way it pleases you.”

Tempting. Extremely tempting. It was a frightful mess. “You jest with me, sir.”

The fingers on her wrist stilled, but his expression didn’t change. She wondered if he was even aware of stroking her.

“I’m not known for my jokes, Galatea.” He rolled her name around on his tongue as if tasting it and finding it sweet. His eyes held hers and the air between them crackled like summer lightning.

Tia’s mind went blank. Damn the man for undermining her certainties and prejudice. He was a bad-tempered boor. She hated him, and the last thing she needed was to fall under his spell. She shook his hand away.

“No sir, it would be most improper. What do I know of styling a gentleman’s hair? I’d make you into a scarecrow or a . . . a Frankenstein monster and you wouldn’t thank me for it. I must go now and check on Polly. Will you come back with me and apologize?”

He edged away and opened the door for her. His voice sounded hollow as he replied, “You’re quite right. I’ll order Polly a new doll and some fabric to sew clothes for it. Will that make her happy?”

Tia paused on the threshold and gave him a helpless look. Did he genuinely not know what Polly needed? Could he not even make a pretense at affection for his daughter? Even the briefest of hugs from her papa would do wonders for the girl, as would a ride on those broad shoulders.

Or even just a smile.

“Lord Ansford,” she returned stiffly, “a doll would distract her, but it’s a cowardly solution. Come and talk to her, calm her, soothe her. Be a father to her, sir. It’s all I ask.”

With that, she hurried away from him and clattered down the stairs into the cloisters. Choosing the archway as the quickest path to freedom and the air she so much needed, she headed into the sunshine and reveled in its warmth while she willed her heart to a more comfortable beat.

Her eye was drawn to the folly in the distance, the tall, dark edifice that embodied Lord Ansford’s stubbornness and his pride.

She lifted her chin. One day she would breach its walls and discover its secrets, at which point she would finally have power over its owner.

Enough to begin the process of exorcising the spirit that haunted him.