[center][h3][i][sup][sub]The First Dilemma of Lady Alyssana Grey[/sub][/sup][/i][/h3][h1][i][sup][sup][sup][sup]Part III[/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/i][/h1][/center]
	“𝓘 would beg to kiss the top of your hand right now, my dear Lady Alyssana,” his head lowered in a shameful manner, now with his eyes searching the wooden flooring for the script that he was supposed to read to make all of his wrongdoings better. He had been quite dreaful and awful to the other women — and most of all, to his sudden drugged horror, to Lady Alyssana. She had watched him pompously flounce around with other women and not even take any respect of her own delights or disdain for his behavior.

	“You over estimate me,” his eyes glanced up at her, in an act of pity that was then taken by her beauty, he dare not look away, even with the sudden shuffle of Walter's feet, uncomfortable in his own shoes as he bore witness to the scene playing in front of him. 

	The younger man wished it to stop immediately, but no matter how hard he wished, it never came true. It was times like these that he would feel feverish, and with that, he made a small motion to sit in the long legged chair by the table, as he collapsed his head, “Do not mind me...” he managed in a displeased wisp of a voice.

	And, Finnegan obeyed the man's command by ignoring him and his brown curly hair propped in the folded sleeves of his jacket.

	“How could I have been so thoughtless, so cruel...?” He drew in several breaths, trying to remain in his balanced position lest he end up as good as his younger, less intoxicated (or so the reader has been lead to believe this far) younger brother, “I cannot bare to think that I have done this to you, to us...” His body lowered onto one knee, reaching out for Lady Alyssana's hand pleadingly. There was a tearfulness in his eyes with flushed cheeks of something yearning to be honest.
	
	“I see you so differently, Alyssa. You are above the rest. How dare I, Lord Finnegan Oaks, get anywhere near a lady of such beautiful caliber? You are something so much more precious, rare, and to think the conquest — no, the honor of having danced with you in the library for the first time,” he was trying pathetically to read the emotionless expression on her face with his own eyes, bashful with memories, “Shall any woman be good enough to fair against you? How many of them shall I date to only realize that all the women in the world could not come close to the beauties of Lady Alyssana.” 

	His words were meant to be articulate, but alas, they slurred awkwardly. The poor man was on one knee, pleading in a voice that was less than gentlemanly as a listless woman stood before him, unforgiving. He could feel his heart breaking in two, and yet still, he had hope. The poor man still had hope. “Words are escaping me, Alyssa. My dear, dear Alyssa. Please, I beg your forgiveness.”

	And Walter let out a small moan from the corner of the Satyr legged table.