Meagan glanced away, as if seeing faces from another era. “She was not more than twelve when I married Thomas and came to live here. A rare one, she was. Bright and lively as a spring lamb. So in love with young Ransley. It’s no wonder they ran off to Gretna Green.” She slapped her hands against her thighs. “There now, I’ve said too much.”
Meg bent and pulled up an allium. “Here’s garlic. Make a paste with butter and spread it on his toast. Strengthens the blood.”
Valen stood at the window beside his grandfather.
Pater slapped him on the shoulder. “She’s a fine-looking woman.”
“Too haughty by half.” He watched Meagan stack a bouquet of garlic into Elizabeth’s arms. The long stalks had white flowers that brushed against Izzie’s chin. She tried to adjust the plants but only succeeded in shifting the blossoms so they brushed against her nose. She sneezed.
“Doesn’t look haughty at the moment,” his grandfather observed.
“No, but put her in a ballroom and she has enough arrogance to float an armada.”
“And, of course, you have none.”
He frowned. “I am not arrogant.”
“No, of course not.”
Valen could tell by the crinkled corner of Pater’s mouth that he believed he was.
“You know perfectly well that I despise arrogance. And you know the reason why.”
“Yes.” Pater nodded. “You hate it so much that you run the risk of being proud about not being proud.”
“You’re speaking in circles.” Valen shrugged and turned back to the window. Elizabeth had dropped her load and was bent over picking up garlic and a host of other green things.
“Is that what they taught you at college?” His grandfather chuckled. “Avoid the truth by arguing about the form of the argument.”
Izzie swatted at some flying insect and danced sideways to avoid its counterattack.
“Could be, you don’t see her correctly.” Pater chuckled at her antics. “The woman heats your blood. I can see it in your eyes.”
He had never discussed such things with his grandfather. Everything else under the sun, but not this. Valen shifted uncomfortably. “There are far more important things than hot blood.”
Pater sighed deeply. “Undoubtedly. But I wonder, Valen, is a man’s fire kindled before, or after, he observes the character traits of a woman?”
Her traits. Oh yes, aside from the haughtiness, she was headstrong, devious, and had a viperous tongue. Exactly when did he first develop this irritating attraction to Lady Elizabeth? He couldn’t recall. All too soon in their acquaintance. It certainly wasn’t owing to her fine character.
His grandfather paused, giving him time to answer, but when Valen failed to respond, he argued on without him. “It could be your body is telling you something your mind is hardened against hearing. Have you considered that?”
“An unorthodox notion, Pater.” Valen folded his arms across his chest and broadened his stance. “Unfortunately it’s flawed. My stallion heats up over any eligible mare within a ten-mile radius, regardless of her characteristics. I daresay even if it were a broken-down donkey he would be quite content to roger her.”
“And you, Valen? Are you like your stallion? Do you heat up over every female within a ten-mile radius?” His grandfather turned on him—spearing Valen’s defenses with that knowing stare that always pierced him to the marrow. “There are some unscrupulous men who do, but I cannot for one minute believe you are one of them.”
Valen took a long, deep breath and turned back to the window to watch Lady Elizabeth Hampton, the daughter of an earl, walk side by side through the garden with Meg, the daughter of a Harwich fisherman.
17
Unraveling a Tightly Knit Paradox
The sun passed its zenith before they set out on Hercules, riding back to Ransley Keep. She sat silent, clutching a bag of herbs, and he held her across his saddle with a hand on her belly and an ache in regions he did not wish to acknowledge. His grandfather’s words kept marching in circles in his head. Was his randy body telling him something his mind simply refused to hear? Devil take it! He would prove it wasn’t so.
“So, now you know.” The declaration burst out of him like a challenge.
She tilted her head, tickling his chin with flighty strands of silky black hair. “What is it I know?”
“My birthright. Half blood.” He spat it out in curt, businesslike snippets. “Father an aristocrat. Mother a commoner.”
“I don’t see that it is of much consequence. Your father is a nobleman. That makes you a nobleman.” She shifted the bag of herbs, holding it a little tighter. “Does it trouble you?”
“Only the noble half.”
She turned to look up at him. “You would rather—”
“I’d trade with Thomas in a trice.” He averted his eyes from her face. He would not look at that mouth of hers, wouldn’t allow his gaze to linger on the inviting curve of her cheek, refused to meet her disturbingly blue eyes.
“Oh.” She turned away, fiddling with the drawstrings on the burlap bag. “Well, I can see why. They’re very happy.”
“That’s not the reason.” He practically growled it. “I detest the Ransley blood. The sixth Lord of Ransley—” he struggled to bite back his rising fury. “—was an arrogant prig. And my father was too weak to stand up to him.”
“And yet he had the courage to marry your mother, against his formidable father’s wishes.”
“Apparently that was as far as his courage extended. He stood by, allowing my mother to be belittled so severely that she left the manor and went home to live with Pater and my uncle. They all believed the old man would soften after I was born. To the contrary, he fought even harder to have the marriage annulled and declare me a bastard—my common blood insulted the Ransley name.
