Page 20 of Winning Winnie’s Hand

Before another word could be said by anyone, movement by the door drew their attention, and mercifully, the butler finally arrived.

“Mr. Fernsby,” Mr. Wintour greeted, sounding just as relieved as Winnie was, “will you show Miss Knox to her room, please?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Fernsby waited by the door, and Winnie stifled a sigh of relief. Escape at last.

She shook Mr. Wintour’s hand in departure first. “Thank you for your vote of confidence, Mr. Wintour. I look forward to speaking more with you tomorrow.” Then she turned toward his son. “And I look forward to working with you and your faire, Matthew. Even if the feeling isn’t mutual.”

She held out her hand to him with an innocent smile, awaiting his reaction. If he didn’t accept her handshake, he would look even worse to his dad. But if he did accept it, he would appear to be surrendering. Either way, she’d come out on top. It was the perfect tactic.

And yet, when he did raise his hand to accept hers, his long fingers wrapping around her own, her smile faltered, and her mind froze as an energy coursed between them at their touch.

She glanced to their intertwined hands, then up to his eyes. His blue gaze met hers with such striking intensity, she knew he felt the same thing she did. A connection. An attraction. All the things she shouldn’t be feeling for a coworker.

Swiftly, she pulled her hand away and averted her gaze, walking to where Mr. Fernsby waited for her before the two of them departed down the hallway.

Part of her wished to be a fly on the wall in the study as the Wintours continued their battle, but Mr. Wintour was right. She needed to rest. She would no doubt be playing host to a plethora of her own battles at Foxwood soon enough. Battles with a pompous knight who had expected her to be a silent damsel in distress when she was the furthest thing from it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Matthew waited for the woman’s annoying click of her heels to disappear down the hallway before facing his dad again.

“I told you we should have waited until she was gone,” Dad said.

“And you should have told me your plan to hire her before she stood in our home,” Matthew returned.

Dad sighed. “Come. Sit down. We both need to relax.”

He didn’t wait for a response, moving to his usual seat on the large, red single-sofa as Matthew debated remaining in the doorway or perhaps storming out altogether.

He would have chosen the latter had he not still had so much to say, so with thumping steps, he made for the fireplace and warmed his hands that were still chilled from being out in the cold rain.

When he’d first met Winnie Knox, he had been enchanted, charmed. As if hypnotized by a snake.

Incidentally, that wasn’t too far from the truth. Winnie was like a snake. Callous and sneaky. Willing to do whatever she needed to get what she wanted.

Okay, he was coming on a little strong. But how else could he describe a woman who had criticized his home, then took over his festival when she knew nothing—and he meant nothing—about the medieval era at all?

He’d had every intention of entering the study that evening to ruin Winnie’s chances of working at Foxwood. But now? Now he was scrambling to maintain control of his festival. What a nightmare.

“Have you nothing left to say now that Winnie is gone?” Dad asked as Matthew’s mind continued to race.

“I do,” Matthew responded. “I’m only gathering my thoughts.”

“I’ll prepare myself for the barrage, then.”

That wasn’t too far from what Matthew wished to do. Honestly, Dad had lost his mind.

“I just can’t understand what you were thinking by hiring her,” Matthew finally said. “It makes absolutely zero sense.”

“That’s what I was trying to explain to you, but I couldn’t very well do it with the woman standing right there, now could I?” Dad looked away. “Although, you had no qualms with being monumentally unkind to her.”

“I wasn’t unkind,” Matthew said. He cringed at how petulant he sounded.

Truth be told, he had been rude, but he was still too angry to feel badly about it. He also wasn’t in any mood for another lecture, nor another look of disappointment in Dad’s eyes. Matthew had seen enough of that look over the last few years—specifically every single weekend the festival failed.

“Fine,” Matthew relented, if only to assuage his guilt. “I was a little harsh. But it wasn’t unwarranted.” He leaned forward. “Do you know what she said to me on the road when she didn’t know who I was?”