Page 59 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
With a satisfied grin, he turned back toward the view. “You are a lucky girl having grown up in this small pocket of heaven. How was your childhood?”
How was my childhood?There could not have been a more evident attempt at getting to know her. Perhaps he intended to glean something that could work against her.
“My childhood was fair. You would know, you were there for much of it.”
“Yes, I was, and what a gift that was, to see you blossom into the . . . the . . .” His eyes widened as he regarded Cecilia. Seemingly, even his imagination had its limits.
“Into thewhat, Lord Radcliff?” Cecilia asked through a smile. “A thriving thistle? A rambunctious rose? A candidly captivating carnation?”
“You are poking fun at me.”
Cecilia grimaced despite herself. She was not sure she had meant to say that out loud, but the damage was done. Thankfully the Earl of Radcliff did not seem too displeased with her. In fact, he was smiling.
“I was merely . . . taking on your air,” Cecilia explained.
“By acting a dandy?”
“If the shoe fits.”
To her surprise, the earl laughed. It was not a filtered laugh. It did not seem like something he had done to impress her. His ruddy cheeks glowed with genuine delight. For the first time in years, Cecilia found herself not dreading what next would come out of the earl’s mouth.
He had not always been a would-be sophist, a charmer, abore. When they were children, when he was Gregory Elgin, Little Greg, he had been shy and contemplative, affable by nature. What had happened for him to feel the need to hide himself, to regurgitate the words of poets in the hopes of making people like him?
“Then I am a dandy,” he replied at last, holding his arms out, “and you are cruel,” he added in good nature.
“I am not cruel, my lord. Only I see no point in entertaining this farce of yours for all of time. Oh, no. Have I said too much?”
“No, I would encourage to say more.”
“You do realise that you did not use an adjective in that sentence. What has the world come to? Why, I feel the very fabric of the universe unravelling before my eyes.”
Lord Radcliff regarded her curiously, East Anglia stretching out behind him, desaturated by the overcast. It made him seem brighter. “If these are the things you allow yourself to say aloud, I dread to imagine what you think of me truly and do not say.”
It was better he did not know, especially since they seemed to be forming some sort of bridge. Cecilia shrugged one-shouldered. “Let us not spoil the moment, Lord Radcliff.”
“We have come this far. Call me Gregory, Cecilia.”
“As you wish, Gregory. I enjoy hearing you speak normally to me.”
“Is that the truth? It must be or you would not have said it.” He smiled, though she supposed it was only for his benefit. “All right, you’ve caught me. I am not as verbose as I make myself out to be. But is it so wrong to want to speak in lavish terms? To capture the beauty of the world around us?”
Cecilia looked behind her, making sure that Daphne and Edward were out of earshot. She did not want Edward to report back to her father that she and Gregory were making progress. A set of orange and brown heads were bobbing past a line of heather a safe distance away.
“It is not wrong, Gregory, but it is notyou. Not everything that comes out of your mouth must be spoken as a Petrarchan sonnet, especially not when you seem to speak this way to try and impress me. You are nine and twenty—”
“Eight and twenty.”
“Of course, that makes all the difference. You are eight and twenty, you are kind and clever . . . not that this is a particularly good example of that, mind you . . . I mean only to say that you have much and more going for you. There is no need to pretend.”
“You say all that but still you do not want me.”
“Well . . .” Cecilia paused, averting her eyes to the approaching clouds. He was not wrong. Thankfully he had not spoken the statement in a particularly maudlin manner.
“I’ve got you there.” He took a tentative step toward her, his eyes still dazzling with humour. “Say I have not.”
“The quality of your character has no bearing on my desire to be your wife,” Cecilia replied earnestly. The words felt like freedom on her tongue. “You are a decent gentleman, Gregory, but attraction, love . . . these things cannot by decided on decency alone.”
“You are scared.”
