“Never mind the birds.”
“I mean, there would be feathers everywhere. Not to mention their droppings.”
“No birds. Forget I said anything about birds.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “What I’m attempting to say is this. You shall have everything you want, and nothing you don’t. We’ll spare no expense.”
It was just as Bruiser said. A wedding was like a championship bout, and Clio’s head wasn’t yet in the ring. She needed to step into some gowns, plan a menu or two, start envisioning herself as the admired and envied bride on Piers’s arm. Triumphant. Victorious.
This would work. It had to work. He could not let her dissolve this engagement.
“It’s no use, Rafe.” She went to retrieve her slippers.
He tried not to watch as she lifted her skirts to slip her toes inside.
Tried, and failed.
“Even if I were so easily persuaded . . . It’s not as if my Uncle Humphrey left me a seaside cottage or a string of matched pearls.” She bounced up and down, wriggling her foot into the slipper.
Other parts of her wriggled, too.
Really, she was just torturing him now.
“I have a castle,” she said. “My very own castle. How can a wedding—even a lavish one with dozens of birds—possibly compete with this?”
“So it’s a castle. There are castles all over England. I’m certain the Granville title comes with one or two. If it’s a great, fancy house you’re after, you’ll be mistress of Oakhaven.”
“It’s not just a great, fancy house I’m after. It’s . . .” She looked to the corner and sighed. “You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?” His pride was piqued, the way it always was when someone questioned his intelligence. He might not have graduated Oxford with top honors the way Piers had done, but he wasn’t a lummox.
“It’s hard to explain in words. Come along. I’ll try to show you.”
He shook his head. “Downstairs. The guest list.”
“Not yet.” She came to his side. “You want to understand why this place is different? Why I’m different now, too? Give me a chance to show you, and I promise I’ll join my sisters in the drawing room for the rest of the evening.”
He stood unmoved. “The week.”
“What?”
“I want a full week of bridal compliance. You’ll make lists and menus. You’ll choose flowers. You’ll be fitted for gowns. No grousing, no evading.”
“Let’s say I agree to this plan. I allow you to stay for a week. I keep an open mind about marriage. You promise to keep an open mind about me. If at the end of the week, I still wish to break the engagement . . . what then? Will you sign the dissolution papers?”
He inhaled slowly. He was putting a lot of faith in the power of lace, silk, and Bruiser’s competence, but he didn’t seem to have a choice. The preparations couldn’t sway her if she didn’t take part.
“Very well,” he said. “It’s a bargain.”
“Shake hands on it?”
He clasped her small hand in his and pumped it once.
She squeezed his fingers tight and didn’t let go. “Excellent. Now come along. I’ve been dying to show someone around this castle. We’ll see how much trouble we can find on our way downstairs.”
As she led him through the opposite end of the gallery, a sense of foreboding gathered in Rafe’s chest. Above all things, he had a talent for finding trouble.
And a week suddenly seemed like a dangerously long time.
Clio swelled with a modest amount of confidence as she tugged him out of the gallery and down the spiraling flights of stairs.
A quarter hour would be more than enough time to prove this place wasn’t just another heap of stones littering the English countryside.
Of course, then came the trickier part—making Rafe see what Twill Castle meant to her.
“Quickly,” she whispered, peeking into the corridor to make certain no one observed them. “This way.”
“But—”