Ever since we met I only shoot up with your perfume,
It's the only thing that makes me feel as good as you do
It was, he believed, beneath his dignity to grovel and scrounge for a woman he was entirely deserving of and had wooed with the utmost dedication. He was the injured party (and not because he'd been shot) Macnair had wrongly maligned him somehow and destroyed her faith in him. This whole thing wasn't fair, he should've been kissing her in celebration of their engagement. His thoughts should be on the wedding date, not wondering if there would even be one!
There was no question of whether he'd capitulate; of course he would, he couldn't let her get away. This would all be a hazy nightmarish memory when he was lying next to her in bed, intoxicated by the smell of her hair on his pillow. First he would have to inspire some familial disloyalty and he wasn't holding out a great deal of hope for Macnair's mother. He didn't know the woman well - he'd concerned himself more with Eustace Macnair than his wife - and fancied the chances were the woman was a lost cause and would steadfastly back her own son; if she'd disapproved it oughtn't to have reached this stage at all. Tiberius Lestrange looked like his best hope unless he was particularly close to his cousin or favored the match but he'd given his blessing initially, it would be a dishonorable thing indeed to renege without reasonable cause.
The odds were stacked against him it seemed. Somehow he was the underdog even though he'd been officially courting her for the better part of a year and had received multiple blessings for him to marry her, meanwhile Macnair hadn't bothered with any formality and had simply thrown his hat into the ring at the last minute. Of course it made a difference that Macnair was family but this was a scandal, an outrage! Sadly his body was overtaxed and lacked the capacity for proper outrage on top of everything else.
There was the possibility that this was some sort of exercise in feminine wiles, some final test she would have him pass.
Prove how earnest he was in his pursuit of her. He didn't care for such things at all but he cared too much for her to fail it willingly. Two weeks also gave him enough time to heal before he injured his pride by visiting Tiberius Lestrange and asking for a testimonial like a maid seeking references for a new job. God. The sooner this period of his life was over the better, it didn't matter how he got there as long as she was Mrs. Macmillan in the end.
He allowed himself to look slightly pained although it wasn't just her demand that was causing him discomfort. He didn't mind letting her know that he didn't care for what she asked, any man with self-respect would find what she asked a difficult pill to swallow and most would likely refuse. If he wasn't so determined to have
her in particular, out of all the women in the world, then he would have joined their ranks.
You ask too much of my pride, Miss Lestrange, and I have, to my knowledge, done nothing to deserve such mistrust or censure. Piece by piece he would try to rebuild the spinal column he'd ripped out and discarded the second he'd declared love and knelt at her feet.
But if this is what needs to be done then so be it. You will be mine. Contrary to how he'd expressed that sentiment in the past - very territorial and possessive - this time he said it with earnest determination, a reassurance that he would succeed and he needed to hear it even more than he thought she did.
For now though it was clear he could do nothing more, he needed to go home and lick his wounds and probably have a look at his wound to make sure it wasn't bleeding again.
Outfit | Tag: Tatiana Lestrange | Notes:
