“And heirs,” he lied desperately. “Earls have to make heirs. Surely you can see the opportunity this presents.”
“By George,” she might say to herself, in that way she had. “If I seduce him and he gets a child on me, he’ll have to marry me for real.”
Perhaps he had found the answer, for her face softened. Yes! She was going to accept! But she shook her head and turned away.
“What is the trouble?” he demanded.
For an agonizingly long minute, she stood silently, facing away from him. Several tendrils of hair had escaped their pins to caress the bare skin of her neck, brushing the edge of her gown and the buttons that kept it fastened.
“The trouble, my lord, is that was a terrible proposal.” Levity had entered her tone, and when she twirled back around, mischief once more danced in her eyes. “Do they not teach you how to propose at earl school?”
“‘Earl school’?”
“Yes. Lessons in proposals, after your lessons in posturing, prejudice, and pomposity.”
“No need,” Rafe said. “No matter how an earl proposes, there are only three possible answers: ‘Yes, my lord,’ ‘Of course, my lord,’ or ‘I’d be honored, my lord.’”
“And yet again the nobleman gets what he wants without having to work for it.”
“I have no interest in courting you, Miss Knight. If you yearn for pretty words and nice sentiments, you can provide them yourself.”
“Very well, I shall. ‘My dearest Miss Knight—’”
She paused and looked at him expectantly. Rafe met her gaze and said nothing.
She broke the impasse with an overwrought sigh. “A pretty state of affairs, indeed, when a lady must dictate her own marriage proposal. Once upon a time, it was chivalry and gallantry and poetry, but oh no, not with these modern earls.”
Damn her. Why could she not simply behave like a caricature of a social climber? Why did she insist on having a personality? But what else could he do? He was an earl, yet she could make him dance like a carnival bear.
“Fine, I’ll play your blasted game,” he muttered. “My dearest Miss Knight.”
“‘The mere thought of your ankles makes me swoon.’”
“You want that in your marriage proposal?”
She eyed him defiantly. “I rather like the idea of a man swooning over my ankles.”
“If he swoons over your ankles, he won’t be good for much else. I assure you, they are not your most interesting feature.”
“Whatever can you mean? My ankles are fascinating.”
Rafe glanced down, but her ankles were hidden by the shadows under her hem. He was suddenly and irrationally curious about them, how they would look, how they would feel in his hand. Bloody hell. They were ankles, for crying out loud.
Maybe she was better at this than he thought.
He dragged his eyes back to her face. “Your fascinating ankles make me swoon.”
“‘The sight of you makes my heart go pitter-patter like raindrops on a—’”
“No. Enough. Let me emerge with some dignity.”
“Your aim is to emerge with an engagement; your dignity is of no consequence.”
“Anything to end this agony. Pitter-patter heart raindrops. What else do you want?”
Her expression changed again. The mischief faded, replaced by something like sorrow. Rafe’s arms tensed with the improbable urge to offer comfort. She stared at the orchids, and then brushed her thumb over one petal. He bit back his scold. Her fingers were so gentle and reverent, her touch alone might help the orchid recover.
“I want…” She trailed off, and he caught himself leaning forward. “Say: ‘I promise you a lifetime of laughter and kittens and syllabub, and a warm, safe, loving home.’”
Kittens? Syllabub? What?
“Enough!” he snapped. “You have had your entertainment, making me say ridiculous things, but that is too much. You can use this opportunity, so stop playing games and just bloody well agree to marry me.”
A sad smile curved her lips as she nodded. Already she had stopped playing, and he didn’t understand what had changed. How he had lost her, when he had never had her. How he had missed something, something important. Misunderstood, miscalculated, got something horribly wrong.
“No, my lord,” she said softly. “I won’t.”
She snatched up her shawl, backed away, and then turned and ran. A moment later, the door opened and closed, and her figure hurried up the path, a blurred ghost disappearing into the last of the light.
Damn it. Why didn’t she just agree? What kind of inept social climber was she, if she didn’t seize a chance like that?