Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,16

of this rivalry, even if he did not realize it. Could he even fathom how much pain she felt at the mere thought of him marrying another?

And what about Miss Lloyd? She had seemed eager for this rivalry, for anything that would help end her engagement. Was it not possible, however, that her reputation would be damaged by all this? If Priscilla was successful, and with every passing moment in Charles’s company, she was more sure of it, then Miss Lloyd would be a jilted bride. Who would marry such a woman?

Priscilla swallowed. She had not really thought this through, had she? But her feelings for Charles, complex and new and yet always present, seemed to blot all those concerns away as a streak of sunlight gleamed on his hair.

“Ah, the chestnut tree!” Charles’s voice cut through her thoughts as he dropped her arm and ran toward a tree just outside the church. “Do you remember gathering chestnuts every autumn?”

“Conkers,” she corrected, shaking her head as she raised a hand to the tree. The bark felt warm, the last of the summer heat pouring through its veins. “We used to battle with them on a string, and I think I beat you every time.”

“Not every time, surely?” Charles looked up at the golden leaves. “This tree must be what…a few hundred years old? I wonder how many Orrinshires have battled with its conkers.”

Priscilla walked around the trunk of the tree. Every knot, every branch was a familiar part of home.

“I wonder whether any of them actually won,” she teased.

His mouth fell open with mock outrage. “Slander, slander on my good name! I can think of…well, at least five occasions when I beat you!”

She laughed. No matter what was happening in the world, there was always Charles. “I let you! Besides, I always won back my money. Remember, I do not have the Orrinshire fortune and lands behind me. I’ve only ever had two thousand for my dowry – I had to get a few coins from you!”

He joined with her laughter, and the bolt of love she had been ignoring shot through her heart.

Charles Audley, Duke of Orrinshire. She was so desperately in love with him that she would take a bullet for him. The idea that he would shackle himself with a woman who did not even like him? It was intolerable!

It had always been him. As Priscilla watched him root around in the fallen leaves for this year’s conkers, she realized that no other gentleman had ever come close. A few girlhood crushes, perhaps, but nothing comparable.

Charles drew her to him like no one else ever had, and now her body was responding as a woman, not a child.

“Priscilla? What are you thinking?” He examined her closely, concern etched onto his features, and she colored at the thought that he could somehow see what was on her mind by the mere intensity of her feelings.

“Nothing of import,” she said hastily. “Did you find any conkers?”

But the childhood toy from nature was forgotten. Charles stepped toward her, a slight frown across his forehead.

“You cannot hide anything from me, you know,” he said seriously, taking her hands in his. “What is it?”

His sky-blue eyes met hers, and Priscilla’s heart started to race. Was this the moment? Could it be this simple? They would hold hands, he would look into her eyes, and suddenly he would realize he felt more passion for her than could even be attempted for Miss Lloyd?

Could he feel the frantic pulse in her wrist? Could he sense the desire in her soul?

“Priscilla,” Charles whispered.

She swallowed. They were so close, if she just leaned forward, their lips would touch. Hers tingled at the very thought.

“Yes?”

His eyes were wide, and he leaned forward very slowly. Priscilla could feel her eyelashes lowering. This was it. This was the moment that she experienced not only her first but her last first kiss.

“There is a fox behind you.”

Charles’s whisper was so delicate that she almost did not register the words, just the intimacy of his breathing. Then her eyes snapped open.

“Fox?” She turned slowly, her hands still in his.

He was right. A fox stood, startled, keeping a close eye on them. Then without warning, it slunk off into a hedge.

Priscilla’s stomach lurched with disappointment. It had all been her imagination, her own longing.

“Goodness, I do not think I have seen one this close to the market in years,” Charles said, his eyes still attempting to watch the fox. He dropped her