Page 9

Y ou could have anyone.

Well, yes. That was entirely true. Or mostly true. A marquess was a prize of sorts. The next best thing to a duke. A trophy. Like the mounted heads of the animals Lord Patsen hung on the walls of his study. Finley expected any day he might be stuffed and stuck in some young lady’s drawing room.

Not Miss Peregrine’s. She’d stick me to the wall with a bloody pin. Like a beetle.

Being so sought after was wonderful for the ego, at least at first. But after a time, you came to the realization that it wasn’t really you all those lovely young ladies wanted.

Only the honor of becoming Lady Tenburgh.

David had warned him while they were riding in the park, moments before he frowned and slipped from his horse.

Dead before he hit the ground. An unknown heart ailment. That’s what the physician claimed.

Finley took a long, slow breath.

At any rate, after several years of being hunted like wild game, Finley had decided he wanted more .

And when Miss Peregrine appeared, speaking in such an authoritative manner, with her sparkling green eyes and tiny tweezers, he knew she’d disappear if he told her he was Tenburgh.

Finley hadn’t bedded a woman for nearly a year because the idea held little appeal. Until Miss Peregrine.

Nearly everything about her appealed to Finley.

Miss Peregrine had wanted him , not the Marquess of Tenburgh which was an important distinction. If he had told her his identity earlier, she would have fled.

“And I was bloody right,” he yelled at the line of trees.

He hadn’t been amusing himself with her, not that Miss Peregrine would believe him now.

How could he explain to her that he felt alive in her presence?

Seen as merely a man and not the marquess he’d been forced to become?

He’d claimed to be a horse trainer or a groom because the idea came to him naturally.

Because that was what Finley truly wished to be.

I’m going to breed horses.

If nothing else, he had Miss Peregrine to thank for focusing him on a purpose, though it was unlikely she realized it. Finley didn’t want to spend his days idling, swilling scotch, and dancing with debutantes. He wanted a purpose. Miss Peregrine would understand. She felt the same.

He glanced into the trees again, wishing she would reappear.

Finley’s heart had never once beat for a woman. He’d never been in love. But that fickle organ had thumped wildly at the touch of Miss Peregrine’s lips. Finley had known then that she would become…of utmost importance to him. Beetles and all.

Unfortunately, she thought him a depraved, cynical marquess— fine possibly some of that was true —who lacked sincerity. So, he was going to wait for her. Explain himself. Even if she refused to speak to him, Finley wasn’t about to let her row the boat back across the lake on her own.

Searching about the basket— there was an enormous amount of food for one bookish young lady —he finally found a corkscrew to open the wine. He wouldn’t drink it all. That would be rude. But he couldn’t speak for the roast beef.

And it depended on how long his little beetle collector was gone.

*

Analise straightened hearing the crack of her neck.

She’d been bent over this same log for the better part of the day studying her beautiful, wonderful psyllobora vigintiduopunctata.

She’d made dozens of drawings. Taken notes.

Specimens. Her paper, one she would present to the Entomological Society would be spectacular.

She would receive the recognition of her peers.

Perhaps Ware might even allow her to assist him with his research.

Her stomach grumbled. Loudly.

Looking up, Analise could see the sun was starting to dip in the sky. She’d had nothing to eat since breakfast and assumed Finley—

Tenburgh .

—had eaten everything in her basket. Why wouldn’t he?

Deception often made one hungry, didn’t it?

Perhaps it would be best to retreat to Orchard Park.

The notes and specimens she’d collected would be enough.

Tomorrow, she would spend the day in Ware’s study, compiling her research, and leave the following day.

Analise shut her eyes. She would relive those moments with Tenburgh over and over while lying in bed at night.

No matter that she’d meant little to him.

There had been a space of time, when he’d held her close after pleasuring her, and Analise’s heart had stirred.

Not that she believed in…love. She did not.

No, that wasn’t right.

Analise didn’t believe in love for her.

Sighing, she collected her things and started back towards the folly, humming softly to herself trying not to think overmuch about rowing back across the lake while the sun was setting.

And Tenburgh. Analise didn’t want to think about Tenburgh.

Unfortunate then that when she burst through the trees, her progress was halted by the sight of a pair of broad, naked shoulders.