Page 16 of Winning Winnie’s Hand

“Oh, that’s to be expected,” she said with an easy smile. “I’ve had my fair share of hate mail, so you don’t need to worry about me. I can hold my own.”

Mr. Wintour’s eyes shone in a knowing light, a light that made her slightly wary. What did he know that she didn’t?

To her disappointment, he didn’t explain. “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he said instead. “Let’s discuss more details after you’ve had the chance to observe the festival yourself tomorrow, yes?”

He pressed a button on the table nearby, then pulled his cane forward and made to stand, clearly struggling. Winnie looked away to allow the man some dignity.

“Will you be joining me around the grounds?” she asked, if only to draw attention away from his grimaces.

“I hope I’ll be feeling up to it,” Mr. Wintour said, taking a step toward the door as she followed. “But my wife will be there if I am not.”

She nodded, still following behind him. “May I ask if she is the one with the sentimental attachment to the faire? Or is it you?”

“Actually, it is neither of us.”

They reached the door, and he turned to face her, an amused smile lighting his eyes once again. What was she missing?

“It is my son.”

Son? Had Dad told her that Mr. Wintour had children? Now that she thought of it, she vaguely remembered a son and daughter being mentioned. Why hadn’t she considered them until now?

Questions swirled in her mind about them both, but her words were stifled as soft footsteps sounded behind her, and Mr. Wintour’s eyes traveled beyond her shoulder, twinkling once again.

“Speak of the devil,” he said. “Here he is now. Evening, Matthew.”

All at once, Winnie’s insides shriveled like the ends of a dying plant. She didn’t have to turn around to see exactly who stood behind her.

Matthew Wintour.

Of course.

CHAPTER SIX

Slowly, Winnie shifted around to face the knight who’d rescued her on the road.

Of all the people who worked at the estate, of all the people to have found her completely helpless, and of all the people she might have seen instead to ask after the faults of Foxwood, why did it have to be him?

Had he known all along that she’d been hired by his dad? Is that how he’d “guessed” that she was a consultant—because he’d been playing her?

She glued a smile to her lips, praying it was convincing enough to show that she wasn’t startled by his presence. That was another Knox rule—don’t let anyone take you by surprise.

Of course, when she turned to face the guy, that was easier said than done. Instead of being covered from head-to-toe in armor, face splattered with mud, water dripping from his curled hair, Winnie was met with the sight of a knight-turned-modern-day-stud-muffin.

In the brighter light of the study, his features were even more defined. His scruff was dark along his jawline, though it faded to a slightly lighter blond as it inched toward his cheekbones. The blue in his eyes shone brightly, enhanced by the thin, light azure color of the t-shirt he wore, and his shoulders—those shoulders. Obviously, the armor hadn’t been what made them broad all along.

He sure did clean up nicely.

And she sure was an idiot to not have realized who he was earlier.

Seriously. Riding across his estate at dark. Joking about his family being crotchety. Omitting his last name. Being offended by her criticism of his home.

Obviously all the signs were there.

Rather than admitting she was a total dolt, though, she blamed it on jetlag. That had to be why she was failing so abysmally at life right now.

“Matthew,” Mr. Wintour said, breaking through the silence that had filled the air. “I’d like for you to meet Winnie⁠—”

“Knox,” Matthew interrupted. His dad looked at him in surprise. “We’ve met.”