‘Arguing with you is like trying to reason with a cat,’ she said in exasperation. ‘You just sit there, calm as you please, licking your whiskers and purring to yourself and not attending to a word I say.’
‘Licking my whiskers?’ At least he sounded taken aback.
‘You know what I mean. And if you are so determined to marry me, why did you not appear on the doorstep with a special licence in hand?’
‘And confirm the scandal? Have everyone watching your figure for months in expectation of a seven-month baby? With a leisurely courtship honour is satisfied, your reputation is unharmed and society will simply conclude that the incident at the inn brought us together and roused my interest in you.’
‘Your honour may be satisfied, Ashe Herriard, but what about mine? Do you think a woman enjoys knowing she has entrapped a man, however unwittingly?’
‘Nonsense. You were so far from entrapping me that you refused all my persuasions to become my lover.’
‘Really?’ Perhaps insult would convince him how insane this scheme was. She could hardly tell him why she could never marry any man. ‘I hardly felt over-persuaded—you had not even begun on the inducements. Where were the offers of jewels and gowns and a luxurious apartment that I gather are a standard part of the negotiations? Or did you think that we could meet in the rooms over the shop and save money?’
Ashe flicked a rein and the pair began to walk on. ‘If I had thought you were a woman who could be swayed by mercenary considerations, I would have raised the subject immediately.’
‘So you thought your kisses were enough, did you?’
‘I had hopes that you did not find me entirely repellent,’ he admitted. ‘I cannot imagine what gave me that impression,’ he said mournfully.
Wretch. ‘I do not, and you know it, so you may stop play-acting,’ she said, smiling despite everything. ‘Why I like you I cannot imagine. You order me about, organise my life, attempt to seduce me—’
‘No,’ Ashe interrupted. ‘Never that. I tried to persuade you. Seduction involves bedazzling someone until they do something against their better judgement.’
‘So, you would not seduce me into becoming your mistress, but you will compel me to become your wife? It is a fine distinction I do not understand.’
He reined in again and this time shifted on the seat so he was three-quarters turned to her. His eyes were hooded and intense as he studied her face. ‘What will compel you is your understanding of what society requires and your need to protect your brother’s engagement to Miss Millington from scandal.’
‘And what of the many reasons against you marrying me?’ Phyllida half-expected him to deny that her birth, her unconventional way of earning her living, her lack of influence or wealth mattered. She would not believe him, of course, but it would be soothing to her pride and that was very much in need of something to heal it.
‘I put them in the balance against what honour demands and the scale tips most definitely to marriage,’ Ashe said with flattening honesty. That was one thing she could never hold against him, he had always been truthful with her.
Honesty or deceit. There was one way out of this, a way that would safeguard Gregory until his marriage was concluded and save her reputation. She could lie to Ashe, pretend that she agreed, allow the courtship to progress and then jilt him. Society would doubtless agree that it would be a lucky escape for him.
‘I see,’ Phyllida said slowly as she turned the idea over in her mind, trying to see beyond her instinctive feeling that this was a dishonourable thing to do. But if it saved Ashe from an unsuitable marriage, freed him to make a match that was everything his duty to his family demanded, then where was the dishonour in that? And she was hardly living a life of open, honest virtue now—she deceived the ton every day of the week.
‘Very well,’ she said with a show of reluctant capitulation. ‘How do you propose we carry out this
courtship?’
‘As publically as possible.’ He did not sound rapturous over her surrender, but then, what did she expect?
‘In that case, in the interests of openness, I suggest you drive back towards the more populated parts of the park. How long do you suggest we should wait before you are overcome with a passionate, if unwise, desire to marry me?’
‘Four weeks?’
‘Four weeks it is.’ The Millingtons, she knew, had been happy to have Harriet marry Gregory fairly shortly after their betrothal was announced. She had four weeks of simulating a growing love. Then there would be a few weeks after she ‘accepted’ Ashe, during which time Gregory would be married and then she could develop cold feet, or a nervous collapse or some other excuse for quietly breaking it all off.
Four weeks in the company of a man she was perilously close to wanting to make her own, a few weeks of pretending to be a happily engaged bride-to-be. She could not bring herself to look beyond that.
Phyllida was not happy and he did not trust her capitulation. Ashe turned the curricle and tooled it back over the bridge and along the now-crowded Rotten Row.
He was getting the same prickling between the shoulder blades that he had come to recognise as a diplomat when someone was lying to him with skill and conviction and yet he knew, deep inside, that it was a front.
She had accepted him and she was planning something. Probably to jilt him as soon as she felt safe to do so, Ashe thought with a grim twist of his lips. That would solve the problem of her unsuitability, but his pride rebelled at such a reprieve. Or was it simply pride and would it be so much of a reprieve? He glanced across at Phyllida’s profile. She was smiling slightly, her eyes darting from side to side, her hand lifting every now and again to greet acquaintances, acknowledge other waves.
Why had he not noticed before that her nose was very slightly upturned at the end or that her lashes were really ridiculously long? Probably because he had been focusing on her mouth with the intent of kissing it, he acknowledged.
‘What are you staring at?’ she asked. ‘Have I a dirty spot on my face or is my hair escaping?’