“You didn’t call to hear me complain. What’s going on? Except that you’re having to dress up like a Jane Austen book cover, that is.”
“I wondered if you’d been told about that.”
“Of course I was,” Rory said. “The grandparents wanted to know all about your little girlfriend.”
“What did you tell them?”
Rory was quiet for a moment. He knew this call wasn’t merely social. “What’s bothering you?”
“I like her,” Graydon said. “I’ve never felt this way before. But right now she isn’t happy with me.”
Rory heard the longing in his brother’s voice, but he wasn’t going to give him any sympathy. “If you want to come home, let me know.”
It was Graydon’s turn to hear the underlying emotion in his brother’s words. “And separate you from Danna? I value my life too much. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up.
In Lanconia, Rory collapsed back against the bed pillows. So his brother did know how he felt about Danna. How long had Graydon known? What had given him away?
Getting out of bed, Rory went to the window and pulled aside the heavy brocade curtains to look out on the lawn below. To his shock, there was Danna astride that big gelding of hers, riding on the path toward the stables.
Rory knew he shouldn’t go outside, but even as he thought it, he was pulling on a pair of jeans. He grabbed a shirt and slipped it on as he ran barefoot down the old stone stairs. He shouldn’t do this. He knew that. Moonlight and Danna were not things he should put together. She was to marry his brother, not him. He was the UYB and he would never be able to give her what she deserved.
But his thoughts didn’t stop him running across the lawn toward the stables.
When Toby opened the bedroom door into the sitting room, Graydon was standing there waiting for her—and she drew in her breath at the sight of him. If anyone had ever been made for Regency era clothing, it was him. The trousers, the jacket, it all suited him so perfectly that he looked like a time traveler. At the moment, she couldn’t remember what she had been angry about.
As for Graydon, he was staring at her in a way that made the blood rush to her cheeks. He looked her up and down, slowly, lingeringly, and when their eyes met, his were blazing.
Usually, when a man looked at her like that, Toby turned and ran away. If possible, she would refuse to ever again get near him. But tonight, she took a step toward Graydon—and he opened his arms to her.
She didn’t know what would have happened if music hadn’t suddenly come blaring from downstairs. It was a waltz that Graydon had found on the Internet. The sheer volume of the music jolted both of them out of their trance.
Stepping back, Graydon extended his hand to her. When she took it, he began to lead her in a dance. She’d danced with Rory and had enjoyed it, but dancing now with his brother was something else. Graydon was strong but graceful. He held her closely but not intimately. They moved together so perfectly it was as though they were one person.
It was several minutes before someone turned down the player, but she and Graydon could still hear the music clearly. He led her all around the sitting room, swirling about the furniture, close but never touching it.
Her dress was made for dancing. The thin, fine fabric didn’t hinder her movements and it clung to her legs in a way that made her feel weightless, like she was clad in something made by elfin hands.
At one point, Graydon put his hands on her waist, lifted her up, and swung her through the air to the other side of him. Toby’s laugh could be heard over the music.
When the music stopped, he pulled her to him, her cheek on his chest, and she could hear his heart beating. She wasn’t sure but she thought he kissed the top of her head.
For a moment she and Graydon didn’t move, just stood there with their arms about each other.
It was Graydon who broke away and held her at arm’s length. “You are more beautiful than I imagined. You should dress like this every day.” He glanced down at the very exposed top of her.
Toby smiled. “Cleaning the house, weeding the garden, all while wearing a dress with the top half missing,” she said as she stepped away from him. “But you … You finally actually look like a prince.”
“But I don’t think I’ve been acting like one lately.”
She pulled away from him. His words had broken the spell and she remembered their argument. “I think we should go downstairs.”
“I have something to show you.” He handed her a rolled up piece of parchment with a blue ribbon around it.
She unrolled it. It was a very pretty document, done in what looked to be hand calligraphy, but it was all in Lanconian. At the bottom was a wax seal and a bold black signature. “What is it?”
“Basically, it’s Daire’s freedom. He can marry whomever he wants and he’ll still inherit the title and lands in his family. Daire’s father is an irascible old man, and without threats from the king, he would disinherit his son if he married someone unsuitable. Everything would have gone to Daire’s cousin, who is a nasty little character. Daire didn’t want to be the one who destroyed his very old and distinguished family.”
“You got your father to sign this?”