Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)

“Did you hear something?” the unknown Arabella asked.

Amy bit her lip and cursed her betraying gasp. Through her numbed shock, she was desperate to disentangle herself from Lord Pascal’s grasp. Only to find he’d already released her.

“Don’t be such a henwit. There’s nobody else here. Let’s go back to the dancing. Sir Brandon Deerham has requested the next waltz—and he’s both handsome and plump in the pocket.”

Over the slow death knell playing in her ears, Amy didn’t hear anything more. Her stomach knotted into agonizing tangles as she struggled to come to terms with what she’d learned. Blindly she stared at the mahogany door and fumbled for courage, when all she wanted to do was run away and bawl her eyes out.

What an idiot she’d been. A vain, brainless, needy idiot. She knew who she was. She knew who Lord Pascal was. She should immediately have seen that he was out to make a fool of her.

But hindsight provided no comfort and pride couldn’t come to her rescue, when her heart was engaged and threatening to break. She made herself look up into that gorgeous, deceiving face. Lord Pascal appeared sick with devastation.

Well, that was what happened when a fortune slipped through your greedy, grasping fingers.

“Is it true?” she asked in a dead voice.

She waited for him to lie. How ironic that not long ago, she’d been convinced that he’d always been honest with her.

He squared his shoulders and met her eyes without flinching. “Yes.”

Chapter Fifteen

Silently, Pascal reached behind him to close the door. The click of the latch sounded loud in the reverberant silence.

He went across to fill two glasses of brandy. He passed one to Amy who had followed him, then drained his, before returning it to the sideboard. He performed every action with exaggerated care, as if somehow close attention now could make up for his wrongs against her.

Beneath his surface calm writhed lacerating regret. Regret that he’d hurt her. Regret that he was sure to lose her. Regret that she’d never believe him now, when he told her how he treasured her. The pain was so sharp, it was like rats gnawing at his guts.

He deserved it, he supposed. But Amy didn’t. That was the hell of it.

The liquor burned a path down his throat, but didn’t banish his stark memory of her frozen horror when she learned the truth. He braced for her to speak, to storm at him, to accuse him of being a fortune hunter. But she stood silent in the middle of the room.

Her expression was hard to read. He’d seen her immediate, stabbing hurt. Now she’d drawn her formidable defenses tight around her. She was proud and pale, back straight as a ruler and head held high. And as beautiful as he’d ever seen her.

After she sent him away, as she surely must, this was how he’d remember her.

Instead of drinking the brandy, she set her glass on the desk with an unsteady hand. Her accusing gaze leveled on him. “Tell me, Gervaise.”

Pascal found no encouragement in her use of his Christian name. He made a despairing gesture as guilt lashed at him. “It will all sound so hellishly bad.”

Her lips twisted. “Did you ever intend to admit you were after my money?”

He bit back a furious protest. Because of course, that was how it had all started, wasn’t it? “Yes.”

“When?” For the first time, outrage edged her voice. But he wasn’t fooled about what she felt. Any anger stemmed from her anguish at his betrayal. “After we were married, and the settlements were signed, and you had your hands on my fortune?”

He shook his head in bleak denial, although in truth he’d never decided when to reveal his financial embarrassment. He should have told her from the first. She’d have marched away with that damned purposeful strut he loved, but at least she wouldn’t condemn him as a liar.

Pascal swallowed to push down the remorse crammed in his throat. “Please, sit down.”

She didn’t move. “Do you think you can charm me into ignoring this?”

Again he shook his head. “No. But I’d at least like you to understand, before you consign me to the devil.”

He didn’t exaggerate. Life without her was going to be the closest thing to hell he’d experience this side of the grave. But now she was convinced he’d lied from the first, she’d never believe his feelings were sincere.

The curse of all liars.

“If you insist.” Without shifting her gaze from him, she sank down onto the couch.