Page 58 of Tusk Love

“Apologies for the state of her, m’lord,” Illiard said nervously. Guinevere’s smile faded, and Oskar decided that he wouldn’t leave until he’d thrown her father into a ditch.

“You cannot be implying, Master Illiard, that my betrothed could look anything less than a vision.” Wensleydale took Guinevere’s travel-roughened hand and pressed a gallant kiss to her knuckles. Oskar added throwing Wensleydale into a ditch to his list of things to do before leaving. “Such slander shan’t be countenanced.”

“You are too kind, Lord Wensleydale,” Guinevere murmured, relaxing, glowing for him like he’d lain the world at her feet.

Oskar couldn’t even be mad—because, if Guinevere had to marry someone, it might as well be a wealthy and powerful man who could defend her not only from mid-level mercenaries but also from her stupid parents. He might not respect Wensleydale all that much for offering for her, sight unseen, on the basis of her dowry, but it was clear that the noble was now smitten. Who wouldn’t be? He’d treat her well, lavish his fortune upon her, and in time…

In time, he might come to love her as much as Oskar did.

Damn idiotic, to be struck by this epiphany—to finally,finallyadmit it to himself—right as he was transferring her into the care of another man.

Guinevere withdrew her hand from her betrothed’s loose grasp. Only then did Wensleydale notice Oskar standing beside her. What was it with these upper-class folk relegating him to the status of shrubbery?

“I do not believe that we have been introduced,” Wensleydale hinted.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Illiard cleared his throat. “My lord, this is—er—Othello—”

“Oskar,” Guinevere and the man formerly known as Othello corrected at the same time.

“Right. Oskar,” Illiard mumbled. “He, ah, escorted my daughter over the Amber Road.”

“My wagon was attacked by bandits shortly after leaving Rexxentrum,” Guinevere elaborated. Swiftly, earnestly. “Oskar rescued me from their clutches and has since then gone out of his way to keep me safe the whole journey to the Coast.”

“Then I am in your debt, good sir,” Wensleydale said in a solemn tone, extending his hand for Oskar to shake. Oskar got it over with as quickly as possible. “You shall be well compensated. Ask anything of me, and it is yours.”

Oskar glanced at Guinevere. He couldn’t have helped it any more than he could have helped turning to the warmth of a roaring fire in the depths of winter. There was an ache in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. It was like being underground.

“That won’t be necessary,” he gritted out in response to Wensleydale’s offer.

The lord frowned. “Surely a man of your station must be in need of gold, or a mighty courser—”

“Oskar already has the finest warhorse in Wildemount,” Guinevere cut in. “In all of Exandria, as a matter of fact.”

Even Oskar knew that it was the height of rudeness to interrupt a noble. Illiard and Betha both looked like they were going to drop into dead faints, but Wensleydale was unperturbed. He shot Guinevere anindulgent grin. “Be that as it may, my dear, he surely requires some reward for his service.”

“I really don’t,” Oskar said curtly. This was the most humiliated he’d ever felt, but he would die before showing it. “As far as I’m concerned, I helped someone who needed my help, and any other traveler would have done the same for me. And that’s the end of the matter.”

Wensleydale sighed. “In that case, I insist that you come to the engagement ball I’m throwing in Miss Guinevere’s honor tomorrow night—and that you avail freely of my estate’s amenities until then, and for as long as you desire. I’ll have a room made up for you.”

Oskar’s first instinct was to refuse. He wasn’t going to aball.If anyone back home found out, he’d never be able to show his face in the Dustbellows ever again.

But it occurred to him that staying two nights would probably be enough to assess Guinevere’s future well-being and find out if Illiard and Betha truly were hiding anything. Then Guinevere turned to him with a beseeching expression that made a mockery of his flimsy attempt to resort to logic to disguise the plain and simple truth that screamed within him.

Namely, that he couldn’t bear to say goodbye to her just yet.

“Fine,” Oskar heard himself grunt. “I’ll stay until the day after tomorrow.”

“Wonderful!” said Wensleydale. “I have commissioned none other than the Opal of the Ocean to perform at the ball. It shall be a splendid evening.”

There was a long, expectant pause.

Suspicion began to kick in. “You’re not going to have me drawn and quartered if I don’t bow with gratitude, are you?” Oskar snapped at Wensleydale.

The noble threw back his golden head and let out a booming, urbane laugh. “You’re all right, Master Oskar.” He clapped Oskar on the shoulder. “You’re all right.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Guinevere

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