Love Is a Rogue (Wallflowers vs. Rogues #1) - Lenora Bell Page 0,49
removing of bonnets.
No more holding of sledgehammers.
He’d like to show her how to hold other hard, solid things.
Mother of God . . . he needed a drink. The wall was gone, only jagged edges remained, rather like his state of mind.
He’d accomplished enough for the day. It would be best if he were gone when she came back downstairs.
“I could use a pint. Or three.” Ford settled onto a stool next to Griff at the Captain’s Choice pub near the docks.
Griff caught the barmaid’s eye and gestured toward Ford with his head. “Not going so well with your new employer? Should have stuck with me, lad. I may not be pretty, but I’m far less complicated and less likely to work you into knots.”
There would be less peril involved in working for his old friend. They’d work hard until the task was complete, and then go out drinking.
End of story.
“I taught Beatrice how to use a sledgehammer today.”
Griff nearly snorted ale through his nose. He wiped away the foam coating his bristly white whiskers. “Did you now? And did she enjoy holding your hammer?”
“Not that kind of hammer.”
“What happened to the lady?”
“She smashed some plaster.”
“No, I mean what happened to Lady Beatrice. Holding your hammer made her your special friend?”
Ford gulped his ale. Griff didn’t miss a trick. “Not exactly.”
They’d shared only one very long and scorching hot kiss.
He gazed into his mug, and all he saw was the moment when she’d pressed up against him and he’d nearly lost his damned mind with longing.
“Something happened. I can tell.” Griff sipped his beer. “You’ve a guilty, tortured look on your face.”
Ford swallowed half his ale in one long swig.
“Out with it,” said Griff.
“We kissed.”
“Oh ho! Gave her a good tongue lashing, did you, lad?”
“She kissed me first. I know.” He hung his head. “That’s no excuse. She’s the duke’s sister. I have to talk to him about the embezzlement on his estate—I don’t want my father being blamed for timber going missing or profits disappearing. The last thing I need is for the duke to catch drift of me kissing his pampered sister. I’m an idiot.”
“A blithering bilge-drinking lug-headed idiot. Next you’ll be falling in love with the lass. Ahoy, Peg! Bring my friend another one to set his head on straight.”
The buxom barmaid poured another for Ford, giving him a flirtatious smile along with the ale.
“I’m not falling in love with her.” Ford pounded the ale and slammed his glass on the bar top. “Love is a choice, not an uncontrollable slide. There’s no falling happening here. I’m standing firm and heading back out to sea.”
“Sure you are.”
Ford gave him a sidelong glance. “My parents talk about love that way.” He stared at the scarred wood of the bar. “‘We tumbled madly in love at first sight. My eyes met hers and I knew she was the one.’”
“Now isn’t that sweet? My parents hated each other, far as I could tell.”
“If my father had made a different choice, he would have continued as a respected builder in London, made a decent living, married a woman of his own class. My mother would have married well, someone of her higher station in life. Perhaps she wouldn’t have loved the man, but she would have had all the comforts and luxuries she was entitled to from birth.”
“Ah . . . but opposites attract, Ford my boy.” Griff wiped his beard with his sleeve. “Tale as old as time. You’re a workingman and she’s a highborn lady. She swans around Mayfair, you sleep in a hammock on a ship. It’s the forbidden fruit we want to pluck the most.”
“Love is out of the question. Do you hear me? It’s not going to happen. It can’t happen. I won’t let it.”
His friend smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, mate, if it makes you feel more in control. Keep deluding yourself.”
Ford didn’t have the heart to voice any more denials, but he couldn’t admit that there was even a sliver of truth in Griff’s words. “She’s at the opera tonight with some foppish Earl of Maypole.”
“Maypole?” Griff snorted. “Sounds like a right tosser.”
“No, it was Mayhew.”
Griff’s hand closed around Ford’s forearm. “Mayhew. You certain that’s the name?”
“That’s the one—why, do you know him?”
“I do.” He spat on the floor. “And he’s not the sort you want near her if you care about her at all.”
“Why?”
“’ere, Peg. Tell my friend about the Earl of Mayhew.”
Peg approached, a look of contempt on her face. “Mayhew, that scum