Sawyer whacked his mallet through the grass, sending the croquet ball flying across the lawn. He had no finesse when it came to lawn games, and therefore he missed the hoop he was aiming for...by a lot. He shrugged and turned to his twin.

"Why did you not invite Lady Whitley to join us, Si?"

Simon shook his head as he lined his own mallet up between the blades of grass. He was much more careful than Sawyer was as he knocked his ball toward the appropriate hoop. "All the women folk are doing something. Shopping, I believe."

"All except me."

After watching his ball sail through the hoop, Simon spun around to face the golden-haired beauty who perpetually looked doe-eyed despite her pert personality. "You do not count, Tory," Simon pointed out.

A hand flew onto her hip. "I do not count as a woman?"

"No," Sawyer affirmed. Tory had always been a species all her own.

"As your future queen—"

"You know that doesn't work on us." The smiling face of Francis Graham came into Sawyer's view as the lord intercepted Tory's attempt to put us in our places. Francis slung his arm around her shoulder.

Victoria pretended to pout for a minute before her smile broke through. She'd never been very good at wearing a mask. Not like my mother or her mother, Adelaide, had learned to do. Tory had never had to pretend to be someone she was not and instead emulated her aunt more than anyone else. Emilia Graham, Lady Trotten, had always been unapologetically....forthright.

"Doesn't mean I can't try," the princess mumbled.

"True," Felix said, the other Graham brother joining the conversation and laughing. Then he drew his lip into his mouth, worrying it. "I do fear for Nora, however. An entire day with my mother. Who knows what that woman will tell my new bride."

"Nothing she probably hasn't heard before," Simon said, raising a brow. "Aunt Emilia does not keep your secrets well."

"Well—"

"Isn't that—" Tory began, cutting off whatever Felix was about to say. She pointed toward the sloping lawn that led to the estate stables. A small figure marched across it.

"Lady Blair," Sawyer finished dryly. He smiled without meaning to. Of course the infuriating woman would be skipping a shopping outing with the rest of the women. Sawyer reckoned she wouldn't even know what to do with a new bonnet or pair of gloves. She'd probably fashion it into some sort of animal trap and set about into the woods to capture something.

"Oy!" Sawyer whipped his head around at Francis' voice, his cousin waving his arms in the air to gain Lady Blair's attention. Francis looked eager. Too eager.

Sawyer didn't like it.

The lady stopped short at the sound of Francis' yelling. And then she spun on her heel, trotting toward their group. When she was within earshot, Francis called, "Fancy a round of croquet?"

Blair approached with a determined look in her eye, like usual. Sawyer just was not sure what, precisely, she was determined about. It was probably that she was determined to drive him crazy...because the damn woman was dressed the same as the day when they'd gone out for the hunt. In bloody trousers.

"I do appreciate the offer, but I am afraid I am not familiar with the game." Sawyer raised his brows, surprised by that. "And I was about to go riding," Lady Blair added. Now, that was not shocking at all. Especially not considering her attire. Dear god, her attire.

Riding did sound a hell of a lot better than lazing about with this crew, smacking balls with mallets. Perhaps Sawyer should also make his way to the stables.

But then Francis offered, "If you wish to learn, you may join me, Lady Blair.  I shall be happy to teach you as we go." Francis smiled widely.

A frown overcame Sawyer's expression. He could feel it pulling down on the corner of his mouth.

Sawyer waited for Lady Blair to toss Francis a cutting remark, a refusal. But then she grinned—politely, nicely grinned—at Sawyer's cousin. What the hell was this?

"I suppose I could join for a short while if it isn't a bother to you," Lady Blair replied demurely.

Oh, it was a bother, alright. It was very much a bother. Because as they all continued to play, Sawyer had to stand back and watch as Francis assisted Blair with a great many things that were mostly unnecessary. He did not, for example, need to continue to correct her stance whilst holding the mallet, weaving his arms around her from behind.

She just had to smack the bloody ball. It did not matter how she held the damn thing.

And Francis Graham, that licentious bastard, likely just wanted to brush against her behind. That perfectly curved derriere that continued to be on full display as Lady Blair hit balls about the lawn.

Sawyer seemed to be the only one bothered by it, and he did not understand. Tory was more than happy to have a female companion to titter with as they played. Felix and Simon were distracted by some conversation about politics. And Francis...well, Francis might have been attuned to Lady Blair, but he certainly wasn't bothered.

Not like Sawyer, who was positively uncomfortable with how he had to continually avoid looking at the woman so that he did not have to deal with his inappropriately timed arousal.

Finally, Sawyer had enough. Francis' attempts at flirtation were overdone and even worse than that, Lady Blair actually proved to have quite the arm on her. She and Felix were most definitely besting Sawyer, who simply continued to whack to the ball as far as possible.

Sawyer had to admit. It felt good to hit something.

He handed his mallet Felix, who merely gave him a knowing look. Another Graham bastard.

"Lord Pearce."

Sawyer rocked to a halt, glancing over his shoulder to see Lady Blair walking toward him with her own mallet tossed over her shoulder. He spun around.

"Lady Blair."

"So, you cannot handle defeat?"

"My lady, there are many things that I cannot handle about this," Sawyer drawled.

"Such as?"

He shook his head. "You needn't concern yourself with the specifics."

Lady Blair's eyes crinkled in the corners, revealing her amusement. She tilted her head to the side. "Why, I already am concerned with the specifics."

Sawyer rolled his eyes. "Go back to dear Francis and continue your play, my lady. I shall see you at the dinner table this evening."

The dinner table, where she wouldn't be wearing pants. God forbid if that wasn't the case.

He turned on his heel again, but Lady Blair's hand shot out, stopping him with a touch on his arm. Sawyer froze, looking at the dainty hand that did not seem to match the rest of her.

"How is your brother faring?" she asked.

"My brother?" Sawer was momentarily confused, distracted by the way she was touching him. She was not wearing gloves, and Sawyer had rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. He supposed they were both breaching etiquette, but it had grown warm this afternoon. And now her skin was touching Sawyer's skin. And he felt even hotter.

"Yes, your brother," Lady Blair retorted flatly. "How does he fare with my sister?"

Oh, yes. That.

"You tell me, my lady. What does your sister say about it? Simon takes Lady Whitley on a morning stroll every day, but I do not believe him to be getting anywhere."

Lady Blair shook her head. "I asked her this morning before they left, but she wouldn't tell me anything. Did you inform Viscount Payne of her hobbies like I told you?"

"Yes," Sawyer muttered. "But I will talk with him again. Now, if you'll excuse me."

The sun seemed to be doing things to him because the slight touch of Lady Blair's fingers on his skin affected Sawyer in ways it most definitely shouldn't be. He needed to get off this lawn and away from her.

"Yes, of course," she said softly. And Sawyer nearly did a double-take, curious of her expression as she murmured the quiet words. But he didn't. Sawyer soldiered on, strutting up to Rosecrest Manor. And then he retreated to the library and dove into Great Expectations for the rest of the afternoon. He also dove into a glass—or glasses—of scotch, but he wasn't going to speak of that considering the bottle was an expensive one belonging to his uncle Theo.

It was nearing dusk when he eventually withdrew from the leather armchair he'd sunk into. Venturing into the hallway, Sawyer found himself colliding with a warm body and a mass of blonde curls.

"Lady Whitley." Sawyer cleared his throat as he steadied himself. And her. "How was your outing?"

"It was fine," she said briskly as she straightened. And then she was quick to add, "Simon, I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh—" Sawyer tried to correct her, but her words plowed over his.

"You were right. The other morning in the gardens. I am ashamed to admit that I was...well, you know."

There was a long pause as Sawyer tried to wrap his brain around what was happening. The scotch was making everything hazy.

"Yes...I do know," Sawyer said, and rather awkwardly at that. Because he did not, in fact, know. But Lady Whitley appeared to be on the verge of saying something important, and he did not want to interrupt, fearing if he did, she might never spit it out again.

Whitley stepped closer to him. So close that he could see the light blush on her cheekbones and the sparkle in those lovely eyes of hers. She was lovely. But she did not affect Sawyer in the way that...well, she simply did not affect Sawyer.

"I was hoping we could start anew?" she piqued.

"Start anew?" Sawyer repeated, and he realized he was unintentionally doing a rather good job of impersonating his brother—merely repeating the things the damn woman said like an idiot. Sawyer could do better than this. He would do better than this. Lady Whitley thought that she was talking to Simon, but perhaps that could work to their benefit.

"Yes, start anew," she breathed.

Sawyer dipped his head, knowing that his breath hit the side of her face as he murmured, "I should like that very much, Lady Whitley."

"Really?" She looked up at him with big blue eyes.

"Of course, my lady." Sawyer flashed his very best smile, cocked a bit to one side. "I should wish for nothing more."

Lady Whitley surprised Sawyer by placing her hand on his chest. And Sawyer saw that as an opportunity. His brother would likely never—he'd surely be ancient before he ever made a move such as this. But Sawyer was not Simon. So he thought he might help move things along a bit.

"My lady?" he asked, blinking down at her.

"Yes?"

"How should you like to start anew?"

Her lips parted, but she didn't appear to know what to say.

Sawyer chuckled.

He snuck a finger beneath Whitley's chin and tilted it upward.

"Perhaps like this?" he murmured. He bent his head toward hers slowly, and Whitley did not move away.

So then Sawyer kissed her.

🤍

Hello! Just wanted to say a quick thanks to some of my new readers. Thanks for joining us! I do feel the need to mention that the characters in this story are mostly pulled from the Before series books, and I recommend reading those first to understand everything. But maybe it isn't necessary! You do you. Thanks so much for reading!
-amelie