“No, I am entirely serious. I should like to understand what you mean.”
“It is simple, really. True love is a passion of the heart, shared equally by two people.”
“Equally, hmmm?”
Kate hesitated, puzzled by his reply. His expression was dispassionate, enigmatic. “Well, yes. The attachment cannot be one-sided.”
When Deverill was silent, she expounded. “Love is kind and generous and unselfish and self-sacrificing, powerful and wholly consuming. It makes you feel complete and fulfilled….Put another way, you can’t imagine living your life without the other.”
His grimace was slight but unmistakable. “You are speaking of ideal love, not reality.”
She studied him thoughtfully. “Is it that you don’t believe ideal love exists,” she asked, “or that you can’t see the possibility for yourself?”
“I suppose it exists. But it is extremely rare.”
“Well, I have learned that life is too short and precious to live without it. In fact, it makes life worth living.”
Deverill did not look convinced. “You have never known true love yourself.”
“Not yet. But I have faith that someday I will. The proof is not only in my immediate family. A number of our Wilde ancestors were famous lovers. One of our enduring traits is that when we fall in love, we love passionately and for life.”
His expression remained dubious. “I think you are creating a fantasy. A figment of your imagination. And you are bound for disappointment.”
“Perhaps. But love is worth waiting for, fighting for, perhaps even dying for,” she returned emphatically.
Deverill’s response was a hint of a smile. Evidently her intensity amused him.
Kate firmed her jaw, unwilling to concede the argument. “I see your problem. You are a cynic like my cousin Quinn. He felt the same way before he met Venetia and discovered he couldn’t live without her.”
“And your problem is that you are too choosy when it comes to suitors.”
“I am merely discriminating.”
“I wonder that any man could live up to your high standards. I can see you checking off your list of requisite attributes.”
Kate compressed her lips to hold back a retort. “It is not a matter of conforming to attributes or meeting standards. I intend to follow my heart, not my head. Love often has nothing to do with logic or intellect.”
“So you follow your heart and wind up disillusioned when your ardor isn’t reciprocated.”
Her exasperation returned. “Even if a romance ends badly, it can be worth the risk. Even painful emotions make you feel alive.”
“I would prefer to avoid the pain.”
“So would we all.”
She spoke from personal experience. Deverill’s rejection had been extremely painful, and yet he always made her feel keenly alive. Since his return to England, her senses, her very spirit, had come back to life, as if they’d been dormant all this time. Furthermore, all the ardent emotions and deep longings she’d carefully kept tucked away had come flooding back.
But Deverill did not seem eager to discuss emotions. Shifting to face her, he stretched one arm over the back of the sofa behind her. “Perhaps your beliefs are not to blame. Perhaps the fault lies with your suitors and how they regard you. You should be treated as a woman, not a princess.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your suitors worship at your feet. I doubt if any have dared seduce you or even kiss you as you were meant to be kissed.”
Suddenly on guard again, Kate sat up straighter in her seat. “Trust me, I have been courted by expert seducers.”
“But you prefer to remain a virginal spinster.”
His gibe about her spinsterhood rankled. “You assume I am a virginal spinster.”