her persecutors.
It looked brand new. Freshly buffed and impossibly shiny.
There was the torch in the middle; a symbol of competition. The year, just beneath. It was hers. He’d brought it back.
“I’ve been carrying it around. In case I saw you again.” He ran a finger about his cravat, his neck lightly flushed. “I cleaned it as best I could and kept it safe.”
Safe from whom, if he was her enemy?
The answer came to her just as quickly. Safe from his father. The marquess would not have liked his son exhibiting charity to the daughter of his rival.
Weston reached up as though to touch Olive’s cheek, then dropped his hand without making contact.
“You don’t need a medallion to prove how remarkable you are.” His eyes were fierce and unwavering. “But I’m glad you have it again.”
She curled her fingers around it. Pressed it to her heart.
He didn’t have to return the medallion. She hadn’t even known he possessed it. He’d dug it from the muck, kept it in perfect condition all these years. Just in case he saw her again.
In horror, she realized she was smiling without covering her face.
He didn’t look disgusted. His eyes were still locked on hers. This time, his hand did rise to cup her cheek.
“You were beautiful then,” he said quietly. “And you’re beautiful now.”
Lies.
Obviously.
And oh how she wanted to believe him.
He still held power over her, no matter how hard she tried to deny it.
She didn’t want his approval. She wanted him to be attracted. She wanted him to kiss her and not be embarrassed by it.
But she couldn’t fall for pretty words. No matter how long she’d yearned to hear them. He hadn’t come for her, but for her farm. She couldn’t let him possess either one.
Weston hadn’t taken his hand from her cheek.
She didn’t move away.
Her heart flailed against her ribs in alarm. She was fearless with external risks, but when it came to her feelings...
She smiled for him. Tentatively. On purpose this time. She didn’t show all of her teeth, but... yes, her lips were definitely parted.
It was the most terrifying feat she’d ever attempted.
He smiled back at her. Not a cruel smile. A slow, pulse-fluttering smile that sent shocks of awareness across every inch of her skin.
“I’m Elijah,” he said. “And I would have brought that medallion years ago if I’d known it would bring this smile to your face.”
“I wouldn’t have let you through the door.” It was true. It had taken her father’s machinations to make her think of Weston as anything other than a monster. She was no longer certain of much at all. “I’m... Olive.”
His thumb stroked her cheek.
She was no longer smiling. She was practically purring.
His voice was low and husky. “I want to kiss you more than anything.”
Yes. That was a fine idea. Exactly what Olive wanted, too.
“But we shouldn’t,” he continued. “Not unless you’re absolutely certain this is the path you want to take.”
The farm. He meant the farm.
He was reminding her of her reasons not to let him close.
These were not the actions of a monster.
Perhaps he’d been one, a decade ago. He had been her worst nightmare, and ruined London for her forever.
But he had also been sixteen when they met. Barely older than her.
Years had passed since then. She was different. Why wouldn’t he be, too?
Perhaps she ought to judge him by the man she saw before her now, not the boy that she remembered.
Her throat tightened.
She would never forget, and she was not ready to forgive, but she could no longer hold her grudge against him. It was time to stop allowing the past to define her life.
“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “Not that my feelings change anything.”
Didn’t they?
What were feelings for, if not to change things?
“Let me think about the right path.” She took his hand from her cheek and placed it on his chest. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “You have seven days.”
Chapter 7
The Fourth Day
Olive’s father was arranging cinnamon biscuits on a tray when she carried her dirty breakfast dishes into the kitchen.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You two seem cozy this morning.”
The back of her neck heated. She was glad the dishes in her hands gave an excuse not to immediately respond. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hold onto them forever.
“Weston... isn’t as villainous as I remember.”
“Weston?” Papa’s eyes gleamed. “Don’t you mean ‘Elijah?’”
Her mouth fell open. “You were spying on our breakfast?”
“I wanted to offer biscuits,” Papa said innocently. “I