Darcy Branwyn

He sat down on the trunk. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” John asked.

“You’re good for her.”

“Me?” He pulled the fresh tunic over his head. “Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?”

Matthew laughed. “Very sure.”

He couldn’t help but to think that Matthew’s faith was misplaced. He would do the best he could, but influencing young women for the better was one skill he’d never honed.

He’d known that sooner than later he’d need an heir, and an heir meant a lady of his own station. Very likely a virgin bride with little to no understanding of what she’d just gotten herself into. That he could at least touch her like one might a scared filly until she’d tamed, and then take her gently wasn’t in question. He was capable of that much.

But a relationship might have been more than he knew how to accomplish, especially with one as intelligent and capable as Alana.

Assuming he was going to do what he thought he was going to do. Which he shouldn’t, but he might. But he really shouldn’t, but he couldn’t let another man have her.

But he really shouldn’t. 

He was going to.

He was going to take Alana of Berkley from the Duke of Besville. Hopefully she wouldn’t despise him for it. And hopefully he wouldn’t get himself and Matthew killed.