Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)

“Never,” she said, too quickly to be convincing.

His voice hardened. “I’ll make you pay for every day of frustration, once you’ve admitted I’m the only man for you.”

“I’m quite terrified.”

“Amy,” he said warningly.

“Shaking in my dancing slippers.”

“And one last thing. You’re never to refer to me as the handsomest man in London again.”

Her eyebrows rose with genuine puzzlement. “Don’t you like it?”

“Not when you use that stupid nickname as an excuse to disparage my sincerity.”

Her regard was thoughtful, but not censorious. “You know, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve underestimated you, Lord Pascal.”

He took her arm in a firm grip and cursed the fact that he couldn’t kiss the insolence from her before he returned her to the crowded party. “I most ardently hope so, Lady Mowbray.”

Chapter Six

The next afternoon, Amy still couldn’t believe that she’d had the temerity to lay down conditions to Pascal. He‘d seemed even more incredulous. Clearly he wasn’t used to his seductions meeting more than token resistance.

Given how astonishingly well he kissed, she couldn’t blame him. She closed her eyes and relived those unforgettable moments in the moonlight. The heat. The pleasure. The hunger. The way everything outside the magical circle of his embrace ceased to matter.

“Are you all right?” he asked from beside her. As promised, he’d called to collect her in his carriage. Today, he’d taken her further afield, for a drive through Richmond Park nine miles outside London.

“Yes, perfectly,” she lied. Telling him she already regretted the ban on kisses would only make trouble.

Trouble looked like a beautiful, golden-haired man. A man she had difficulty keeping at a distance, although she still retained enough common sense to recognize that she needed to know him better before risking heartbreak.

Because heartbreak was a definite possibility. As a girl, she’d longed for Pascal, the way a child dreamed of catching a falling star. But she had a nasty feeling that right now, she was on the verge of a painfully adult infatuation.

Pascal looked wonderful. When didn’t he? The beaver hat was angled precisely right on his gilt hair, and his dark blue coat fit him to perfection and deepened the color of those beautiful eyes.

She tilted her bonneted head up to the pale spring sunshine. It was a glorious day, and now they were out of town, the burgeoning greenery mirrored the sensuality burgeoning inside her. The constant rub of Pascal’s hip against hers was a reminder that last night she’d been lost in his arms.

“I love that you do that.”

When she glanced at him, the lazy curve of his lips spurred her foolish heart into a headlong gallop. “What?”

“Turn your face to the sun. Most ladies are afraid of darkening their skin.”

She laughed. “On my estate in the summer, you’d call me horribly weather-beaten. Sally’s ordered me inside for the last few weeks to turn me pale and interesting.”

“You’re interesting anyway.” Before the compliment had a chance to sink in, he went on. “Did Sally or Morwenna say anything about last night?”

Her lips twitched. “They enjoyed the ball and didn’t lack for partners. Meg has a string of eligible admirers, which is excellent news.”

“It is,” he said. “Now stop teasing, and tell me what you three gossiped about over breakfast.”

“They wanted to know where I’d disappeared to. I said a scandalous reprobate waylaid me.”

“Do they approve?”

“Sally likes you. She’s all in favor of a flirtation.”

Satisfaction warmed his expression. “She’s a good sort, Sally. And clearly full of wise advice. What about Morwenna?”