Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)

She shook her head and clasped her gloved hands in her lap. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

“Why not?” He seemed content to let the horses amble along through the dappled sunshine under the trees. “Anyway, I know more about you than you think.”

“Oh?” She waited for some flippant reply. But his expression was serious as he studied her.

“You love your family, and you’re loyal to your friends. You’re very clever. You have a romantic streak, but you do your best to repress it. You consider yourself a sensible woman—and most of the time, that’s true. You have a dry sense of humor, and the ability to mock yourself and the pomposity of others. How am I going?”

Some women might find it flattering that an attractive man paid such minute attention. Amy was uneasy. The woman he described was better than she was, but the resemblance was unmistakable. It wasn’t her. But it was certainly a version of her.

“You make me sound as if I have no faults,” she said gruffly.

His smile conveyed too much affection for a man who had only met her last night. “I make you sound like you’re perfect for me. I saw immediately that you were something special. And I, my dear Lady Mowbray, am a connoisseur.”

She stared back, both fascinated and appalled. “This is some sort of game.”

“On my honor, it isn’t.” He flicked the reins at the horses to urge them to a trot. “I begin to suspect something else about you—you pretend to more confidence than you possess.”

She cringed. Sally and Morwenna had both said the same thing. “What on earth makes you say that?”

“Your reaction to my proposal, for one thing.”

“I’m very good at running my estate.”

“Oh, I’m not saying you underestimate your brains or competence. But I’m beginning to wonder whether you realize how brilliantly you sparkled last night. Everyone admired you.”

She sighed, as the carriage bumped across the grass. “That was because you made such a fuss about dancing with me. Every woman in that ballroom envied me.”

“And every gentleman envied me. You may as well accept we make a fine pair.”

She bit back a laugh, even as what he said seeped down through chronic self-doubt to settle in her bones. Perhaps Sally had performed a miracle, transforming the hardy thistle Amy Mowbray into a fragrant rose. “Which is no reason to seek a more permanent arrangement.”

He shrugged, not shifting his gaze from the bays. The carriage emerged from the trees onto the lawns where the ton gathered to see and be seen. “I’m thirty years old. I’ve been out in society for more than ten years. I’ve pursued women, and women have pursued me. I’ve learned to tell the genuine jewels from the paste, literally and figuratively. You, Lady Mowbray, are a diamond. A man would be a fool to sit back while some other damned oaf picked you up and put you in his pocket.”

With the presence of other people, the intensity between them receded to a bearable level. Even if Pascal was still talking tosh. On that secluded path, every word had wrapped around Amy like rope, until she feared she’d never escape.

Now she burst out laughing. “Lord Pascal, I appreciate your kindness. I wonder what you’d say if I took you at your word and had the banns called.”

His wicked smile deflated her returning ease. “My dear Lady Mowbray, I’d say you’ve made me the happiest man in England.”

Before she could protest, he was bowing to a handsome lady and her daughter who drew their carriage to a halt beside them. The ladies looked vaguely familiar. Amy’s life in Leicestershire involved meeting the same people over and over. The onslaught of new faces last night had left her floundering.

What a bizarre world London was. Populous and bustling. Yet strangely intimate, so one encountered the next day the people one had met the night before. While she murmured polite responses to the lady’s questions, her eyes roamed the stylish crowd. So many familiar faces, some she could even put a name to.

In the distance, she saw Sally driving a phaeton with Meg and Brandon beside her. She forced her attention back to Lady Compton-Browne and was shocked to catch flaring dislike in Miss Compton-Browne’s eyes.

Amy summoned a smile, but the girl no longer looked at her, but at Lord Pascal. Her expression betrayed the misery of a dog drooling after a juicy bone placed high out of reach.

Ah.

Pascal made his excuses and rolled the carriage forward to greet more of his friends. That set the pattern for the next hour, and to Amy’s surprise, she enjoyed herself. Nobody treated her like an interloper, or questioned her right to be with this superb man. She even found the confidence to face down the ladies’ envious stares.

“You’ve made me a social success,” she said wryly, when Pascal pulled the carriage up with a flourish before Sally’s front steps.

“Nonsense. You did that yourself.”

“Having you as my escort didn’t hurt.”

“It certainly didn’t hurt your escort. He’s had a thoroughly delightful couple of hours.”