death, if that were possible, than perhaps even she.
Brentwood took a menacing step toward the intruder. “What are you doing here, Blackmoor?”
“I came to call on Lady Anne. I didn’t realize it would be my good fortune to come to the lady’s rescue. Or perhaps I am mistaken.” His gaze shifted to hers. “Perhaps the lady would like me to leave?”
“No! Don’t go.”
“As you wish.”
Griffin Blackmoor entered the room as if he owned it and sat on the settee. He leaned back against the cushions and waited quietly.
The Marquess of Brentwood straightened the lapels of his jacket and tugged at his jacket sleeves. “Now is obviously not the time to finish our discussion, my lady,” he said, then made his way to the door. “I will return in a few days. When you have had time to think over my proposal.”
Without a by-your-leave, the marquess stalked from the room. He slammed the cottage door behind him and was gone.
Anne leaned against the wall and clutched her hands around her middle. Her body refused to quit shaking. She took several deep breaths and when she was more in control, she turned her gaze to where Blackmoor sat. Their gazes locked and Anne experienced a strong connection to him. She attributed that feeling to their common tie to Freddie.
She took in Blackmoor’s appearance. The cut of his suit and the pristine whiteness of his shirt exhibited a subtle wealth. His hair was overly long, as it had been the day of Freddie’s funeral, but unlike that day, today he seemed more in control of himself. His cravat was not perfectly tied, but he struck a handsome figure that made him a man to notice. Today more than before he resembled the retired military officer Freddie had admired.
She focused on his features, his broad shoulders, towering height, and long muscular legs. His forehead was wide, his cheekbones high. The strong cut to his jaw gave him an intimidating appearance.
He was clean shaven, which revealed the hard angles of his face. They hinted at a dark, brooding emptiness. The taut flesh at his cheeks sank to shallow hollows, as if he’d recently lost weight he didn’t need to lose. And yet each of these attributes placed him in a unique category of his own.
He presented a striking air, strong, powerful, the type that made women overlook any obvious flaws he might have. Anne did not need to be told Griffin Blackmoor’s flaw. She recognized it.
He was a drunkard.
Although he was not overly inebriated at the moment, she still could tell he’d had more than his share of liquor. She would always recognize the signs: the look, the smell, the speech. She’d lived with it her whole life.
“Are you unharmed, my lady?” His question brought her back to the present.
“Y-yes,” she stuttered, trying to make her voice work. “Thank you.”
“Just what proposal was the marquess speaking of?”
She took a deep breath. “A marriage proposal.”
“Do you need to think over your answer?”
“No. Even if I were looking for a husband, which I’m not, the marquess would be the last man I would consider. No offense, sir, but deferring to any man would be impossible for me.”
He paused for a moment as if to think about her words, and when he spoke, her blood turned to ice.
“Then I’m afraid you are not going to like my proposition any better.”
Anne had to remind herself to breathe. When she did, she was filled with a fury that made her tremble. She marched around the sofa and stood before him with her hands on her hips. “I’m not interested in finding a husband, Mr. Blackmoor. In fact, I am adamantly against it. My sister and I will get along just fine without either of us being tied to a man.”
“Your sister and you will not get along fine, and you know it. How much longer do you think Brentwood is going to let you stay here? Especially if forcing you to leave means you will become more dependent on him?”
She blanched. How did he know?
“How long do you think you are
Brentwood took a menacing step toward the intruder. “What are you doing here, Blackmoor?”
“I came to call on Lady Anne. I didn’t realize it would be my good fortune to come to the lady’s rescue. Or perhaps I am mistaken.” His gaze shifted to hers. “Perhaps the lady would like me to leave?”
“No! Don’t go.”
“As you wish.”
Griffin Blackmoor entered the room as if he owned it and sat on the settee. He leaned back against the cushions and waited quietly.
The Marquess of Brentwood straightened the lapels of his jacket and tugged at his jacket sleeves. “Now is obviously not the time to finish our discussion, my lady,” he said, then made his way to the door. “I will return in a few days. When you have had time to think over my proposal.”
Without a by-your-leave, the marquess stalked from the room. He slammed the cottage door behind him and was gone.
Anne leaned against the wall and clutched her hands around her middle. Her body refused to quit shaking. She took several deep breaths and when she was more in control, she turned her gaze to where Blackmoor sat. Their gazes locked and Anne experienced a strong connection to him. She attributed that feeling to their common tie to Freddie.
She took in Blackmoor’s appearance. The cut of his suit and the pristine whiteness of his shirt exhibited a subtle wealth. His hair was overly long, as it had been the day of Freddie’s funeral, but unlike that day, today he seemed more in control of himself. His cravat was not perfectly tied, but he struck a handsome figure that made him a man to notice. Today more than before he resembled the retired military officer Freddie had admired.
She focused on his features, his broad shoulders, towering height, and long muscular legs. His forehead was wide, his cheekbones high. The strong cut to his jaw gave him an intimidating appearance.
He was clean shaven, which revealed the hard angles of his face. They hinted at a dark, brooding emptiness. The taut flesh at his cheeks sank to shallow hollows, as if he’d recently lost weight he didn’t need to lose. And yet each of these attributes placed him in a unique category of his own.
He presented a striking air, strong, powerful, the type that made women overlook any obvious flaws he might have. Anne did not need to be told Griffin Blackmoor’s flaw. She recognized it.
He was a drunkard.
Although he was not overly inebriated at the moment, she still could tell he’d had more than his share of liquor. She would always recognize the signs: the look, the smell, the speech. She’d lived with it her whole life.
“Are you unharmed, my lady?” His question brought her back to the present.
“Y-yes,” she stuttered, trying to make her voice work. “Thank you.”
“Just what proposal was the marquess speaking of?”
She took a deep breath. “A marriage proposal.”
“Do you need to think over your answer?”
“No. Even if I were looking for a husband, which I’m not, the marquess would be the last man I would consider. No offense, sir, but deferring to any man would be impossible for me.”
He paused for a moment as if to think about her words, and when he spoke, her blood turned to ice.
“Then I’m afraid you are not going to like my proposition any better.”
Anne had to remind herself to breathe. When she did, she was filled with a fury that made her tremble. She marched around the sofa and stood before him with her hands on her hips. “I’m not interested in finding a husband, Mr. Blackmoor. In fact, I am adamantly against it. My sister and I will get along just fine without either of us being tied to a man.”
“Your sister and you will not get along fine, and you know it. How much longer do you think Brentwood is going to let you stay here? Especially if forcing you to leave means you will become more dependent on him?”
She blanched. How did he know?
“How long do you think you are
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